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THE  CAMBRIDGE  POETS 

Student's  Edition 


POPE 


HENRY  W.  BOYNTON 


Ctje  Cambntigc  poets 


BROWNING 

BURNS 

BYRON 

DRYDEN 

ENGLISH  AND  SCOTTISH 
POPULAR  BALLADS 
KEATS 

LONGFELLOW 

LOWELL 

MILTON 

POPE 

SHAKESPEARE 

SHELLEY 

SPENSER 

TENNYSON 

WHITTIER 

WORDSWORTH 


Edited  by 

Horace  E.  Scudder 
W.  E.  Henley 
Paul  E.  More 
George  R.  Noyes 
) Helen  Child  Sargent 
) George  L.  Kittredge 
Horace  E.  Scudder 
Horace  E.  Scudder 
Horace  E.  Scudder 
William  Vaughn  Moody 
Henry  W.  Boynton 
W.  A.  Neilson 
George  E.  Woodberry 
R.  E.  Neil  Dodge 
William  J.  Rolfe 
Horace  E.  Scudder 
A.  J.  George 


In  Preparation 

CHAUCER  F.  N.  Robinson 


HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 

Boston  New  York  Chicago  Dallas  San  Francisco 


THE 

COMPLETE  POETICAL  WORKS 
OF  ALEXANDER  POPE 


J>tuDent’g  Cambridge  Cbition 


HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 

BOSTON  • NEW  YORK  • CHICAGO  • DALLAS  • SAN  FRANCISCO 
a&tbersfoe  Cambridge 


COPYRIGHT,  1903,  BY  HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  CO. 
ALL  RIGHTS  RESERVED 


®fje  l&ibergilje  $3rcsc 

CAMBRIDGE  . MASSACHUSETTS 
PRINTED  IN  THE  U.S.A. 


EDITOR’S  NOTE 


8.SM 

p / 

/<f03o^ 


n attempt  lias  been  here  made  for  the  first  time  to  include  all  of  Pope’s  poetical 
i within  the  limits  of  a single  volume  ; and  to  print  the  poems  in  an  approxi- 
bly  chronological  order.  It  has  been  often  difficult,  and  sometimes  impossible, 
etermine  the  exact  date  of  a given  poem ; and  the  known  order  of  composition 
been  modified  so  far  as  to  permit  a method  of  grouping  the  shorter  poems 
Jjh  has  been  followed  in  other  volumes  of  this  series.  Only  the  twelve  books  of 
Odyssey  which  were  Pope’s  own  work  are  here  included,  and  all  of  the  notes 
[omer  are  omitted.  Most  of  Pope’s  own  notes  to  the  poems  have  been  retained, 
:jpt  in  the  case  of  certain  notes  on  The  Eunciad,  which  are  so  voluminous  or  so 
ial  as  to  find  no  proper  place  within  the  necessary  limits  of  this  edition. 

’he  allusions  to  Pope’s  contemporaries  are  so  numerous,  particularly  in  the 
ires,  the  Moral  Essays,  and  The  Dunciad,  that  it  has  seemed  advisable  to  rid 
main  body  of  notes  of  such  names  as  are  of  especial  importance,  or  are  fre- 
ntly  mentioned.  The  Glossary  of  Names  will,  it  is  hoped,  prove  useful  in  obvi- 
tg  the  necessity  of  cross-reference. 

?he  text  is  the  result  of  collation,  but  is  based  upon  that  of  the  standard  Croker- 
rin-Courthope  edition.  As  to  the  details  of  capitalization  and  abbreviation,  a 
form  though  necessarily  somewhat  arbitrary  usage  has  been  adopted.  The 
iy  of  facsimiles  has  shown  that  the  poet  himself  employed  capitals  quite  with- 
method.  They  are  here  used  only  in  cases  of  personification  or  of  especially 
jortant  substantives.  As  a result  of  his  religious  preservation  of  the  decasyl- 
ic  form  of  pentameter,  Pope  employed  marks  of  abbreviation  so  profusely  as  often 
produce  a page  distressing  to  the  modern  eye,  and  not  really  helpful  to  the 
dern  ear.  Many  editors  have  therefore  abandoned  these  marks  altogether  ; in 
3 edition  they  have  been  retained  wherever  they  did  not  appear  likely  to  prove 
tumbling-block  to  the  present  generation. 

The  usual  indexes  have  been  furnished,  and  a brief  bibliographical  note,  which, 
ile  it  does  not  pretend  to  exhaustiveness,  may  be  of  aid  to  the  general  reader. 

H.  W.  B. 


Lndovek,  March,  1903. 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 


GRAPHICAL  SKETCH  . . . xi 

RLY  POEMS. 

Ode  on  Solitude  . • • • 1 

A Paraphrase  (On  Thomas  A Kempis, 

I.  hi.  c.  2) 1 

To  the  Author  of  a Poem  en- 
titled Successio  ....  2 

JThe  First  Book  of  Statius’s 
Thebais  ....  • 3 

Imitations  of  English  Poets. 

Chaucer  .....  15 

Spenser:  The  Alley  . . 15 

Waller  : On  a Lady  singing  to 
Her  Lute  ....  16 

On  a Fan  of  the  Author’s 

Design 16 

Cowley  : The  Garden  . . 16 

Weeping 17 

Earl  of  Rochester:  On  Silence  17 
Earl  of  Dorset  : Artemisia  . 18 

Phryne  ....  18 

Dr.  Swift  : The  Happy  Life  of 

a Country  Parson  . . 18 

STORALS. 

Discourse  on  Pastoral  Poetry  19 

I.  Spring;  or,  Damon  . . .21 

II.  Summer;  or,  Alexis  . . 23 

III.  Autumn  ; or,  Hylas  and 

HLgon 34 

IV.  Winter;  or,  Daphne  . . 26 

NDSOR  FOREST  ....  28 

RAPHRASES  FROM  CHAUCER. 
January  and  May  ; or,  The  Mer- 
chant’s Tale 35 

The  Wife  of  Bath  ...  46 

The  Temple  of  Fame  . . .52 

ANSLATIONS  FROM  OVID. 

Sappho  to  Phaon  ....  60 

The  Fable  of  Dryope  . . .63 

Vertumnus  and  Pomona  . . 65 

ESSAY  ON  CRITICISM. 

Part  1 67 

Part  II.  70 

Part  III. 74 

EMS  WRITTEN  BETWEEN  1708 
lND  1712. 

Ode  for  Music  on  St.  Cecilia’s 

Day 78 

Argus 79 


The  Balance  of  Europe 

The  Translator  .... 

On  Mrs.  Tofts,  a Famous  Opera- 

Singer  

Epistle  to  Miss  Blount,  with  the 
Works  of  Voiture  . . • 

The  Dying  Christian  to  His 
Soul  ...... 

Epistle  to  Mr.  Jervas 
Impromptu  to  Lady  Winchilsea 
<*Elegy  to  the  Memory  of  an  Un- 
fortunate Lady  . . . • 

Messiah  ..-••• 


79 

80 

80 

80 

81- 

82 

83 


83- 

84 


THE  RAPE  OF  THE  LOCK. 

/ Canto  I 

Canto  II. 

Canto  III • 

Canto  IV.  ..... 
Canto  V 

POEMS  WRITTEN  BETWEEN  1713 
AND  1717. 


89 

90 
92 
95 
97 


Prologue  to  Mr.  Addison’s  Cato  100 
Epilogue  to  Mr.  Rowe’s  Jane 
Shore  ......  100 

To  a Lady,  with  the  Temple  of 

Fame 161 

Upon  the  Duke  of  Marlborough’s 
House  at  Woodstock  . . . 101 

Lines  to  Lord  Bathurst  . . 102 

Macer  . 102 

Epistle  to  Mrs.  Teresa  Blount  102 
Lines  occasioned  by  Some  Verses 
of  His  Grace  the  Duke  of  Buck- 
ingham   103 

A Farewell  to  London  . . 103 

Imitation  of  Martial  • • • 104 

Imitation  of  Tibullus  . • . 104 

The  Basset-Table  ....  104 
Epigrams  on  the  Toasts  of  the 
Kit-Cat  Club  ....  106 

The  Challenge 106 

<s  The  Looking-Glass  . . .107 

Prologue  designed  for  Mr.  D’Ur- 
fey’s  Last  Play  ....  107 
Prologue  to  the  Three  Hours 
after  Marriage  ....  108 

c Prayer  of  Brutus  ....  108 
«2To  Lady  Mary  Wortley  Mon- 
tagu   • !09 

<s’ Extemporaneous  Lines  : On  a Por- 
trait of  Lady  Mary  Wortley 
Montagu,  painted  by  Kneller  . 109 


*ELOISA  TO  ABELARD  . . . 110 


viii  TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 


To  the  Right  Hon.  the  Earl  of 
Oxford 1: 


POEMS  WRITTEN  BETWEEN  1718 

AND  1727  115 

An  Inscription  upon  a Punch- 

Bowl  115 

Epistle  to  James  Cragg,  Esq.  . 115 

A Dialogue 115 

Verses  to  Mr.  C 116 

To  Mr.  Gay 116 

On  Drawings  of  the  Statues  of 
Apollo,  Venus,  and  Hercules  . 116 
Epistle  to  Robert,  Earl  of  Ox- 
ford and  Mortimer  . . . 116 

Two  Choruses  to  the  Tragedy  of 
Brutus. 

Chorus  of  Athenians  . . 117 

Chorus  of  Youths  and  Vir- 
gins   117 

To  Mrs.  M.  B.  on  Her  Birthday  . 118 

Answer  to  the  Following  Ques- 
tion of  Mrs.  Howe  . . . 118 

"On  a Certain  Lady  at  Court  . 118 
To  Mr.  John  Moore  . . .119 

The  Curll  Miscellanies. 

Umbra 119 

Bishop  Hough  . . . .119 

Sandys’  Ghost  ....  120 

Epitaph 121 

The  Three  Gentle  Shepherds  121 
On  the  Countess  of  Burling- 
ton cutting  Paper  . . 121 

Epigram:  An  Empty  House  . 121 
Poems  suggested  by  Gulliver. 

Ode  to  Quinbus  Flestrin  . 121 
The  Lamentation  of  Glumdal- 
clitch  for  the  Loss  of  Gril- 

drig 122 

To  Mr.  Lemuel  Gulliver  . 123 
Mary  Gulliver  to  Capt.  Lem- 
uel Gulliver  . . . 123 

LATER  POEMS. 

On  Certain  Ladies  ....  125 

Celia 125 

Prologue  (To  a Play  for  Mr.  Den- 
nis’s Benefit) 125 

Song,  by  a Person  of  Quality  . 126 

Verses  left  by  Mr.  Pope  . . 126 

On  His  Grotto  at  Twickenham  . 127 

On  receiving  from  the  Right 
Hon.  the  Lady  Frances  Shirley 
a Standish  and  Two  Pens  . . 127 

On  Beaufort  House  Gate  at  Chis- 
wick   127 

To  Mr.  Thomas  Southern  * . 128 

Epigrams 128 

1740:  a Poem 128 

POEMS  OF  UNCERTAIN  DATE. 

^To  Erinna 130 

Lines  written  in  Windsor  Forest  130 
Verbatim  from  Boileau  . . 130 

Lines  on  Swift’s  Ancestors  . . 130 

J On  seeing  the  Ladies  at  Crux 
Easton  walk  in  the  Woods  by 

the  Grotto 131 

^Inscription  on  a Grotto,  the 
Work  of  Nine  Ladies  . . .131 


EPIGRAMS  AND  EPITAPHS. 

On  a Picture  of  Queen  Caroline  1. 
Epigram  engraved  on  the  Collar 
of  a Dog  which  I gave  to  His 
Royal  Highness  . . . . 1 

Lines  written  in  Evelyn’s  Book 

on  Coins i 

From  the  Grub-Street  Journal. 

I.  Epigram  ij 

II.  Epigram i| 

III.  Mr.  J.  M.  S[myth]e  . . 1 

IV.  Epigram  . . . . ij 

V.  Epigram  . . . . i| 

VI.  Epitaph l| 

VII.  A Question  by  Anony- 
mous   l, 

VIII.  Epigram ij 

IX.  Epigram  ....  1 

Epitaphs. 

On  Charles,  Earl  of  Dorset  . 1 
On  Sir  William  Trumbull  . 1 

On  the  Hon.  Simon  Harcourt  1 
On  James  Craggs,  Esq.  . . 1 

On  Mr.  Rowe  . . . . 1 

On  Mrs.  Corbet  . . . 1 

On  the  Monument  of  the  Hon. 

R.  Digby  and  of  His  Sister 

Mary 1 

On  Sir  Godfrey  Kneller  . 1] 

On  General  Withers  . . lj 

On  Mr.  Elijah  Fenton  . . lj 

On  Mr.  Gay 1 

Intended  for  Sir  Isaac  New- 
ton   1 

On  Dr.  Francis  Atterbury  . ll 
On  Edmund,  Duke  of  Bucking- 

ham 1 ! 

For  One  who  would  not  be 
buried  in  Westminster  Ab- 
bey   1 

Another  on  the  Same  . . ] 

On  Two  Lovers  struck  Dead 
by  Lightning  . . . . li 

Epitaph 1 

*AN  ESSAY  ON  MAN. 

The  Design 1 

Epistle  I.,  Of  the  Nature  and 
State  of  Man  with  Respect  to 
the  Universe  . . . .1 

Epistle  II.  Of  the  Nature  and 
State  of  Man  with  Respect  to 
Himself  as  an  Individual  . . 1 

Epistle  III.  Of  the  Nature  and 
State  of  Man  with  Respect  to 

Society 1 

Epistle  IV.  Of  the  Nature  and 
State  of  Man  with  Respect  to 
Happiness 1 

VMORAL  ESSAYS. 

Advertisement  ....  1 

Epistle  I.  Of  the  Knowledge  and 
Characters  of  Men  . . . 1 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS 


ix 


Epistle  II.  Of  the  Characters  of 

Epistle  *1 1 1 • Of  the  Use  of  Riches  105 

Epistle  IV.  Of  the  Use  of 
Riches  . • • • * . 

Epistle  V.  To  Mr.  Addison,  occa- 
sioned by  His  Dialogue  on 
Medals 

Universal  Prayer  • • • . A‘° 

FIRES. 

Epistle  to  Dr.  Arbuthnot  . . 17b 

Satires,  Epistles,  and  Odes  of 
Horace  imitated 
The  First  Satire  of  the  Sec- 
ond  Book  of  Horace  • • 182 

The  Second  Satire  of  the 
Second  Book  of  Horace  • 184 
The  First  Epistle  of  the  First 
Book  of  Horace  . . . 187 

The  Sixth  Epistle  of  the  First 
Book  of  Horace  • • -l89 

The  First  Epistle  of  the  Sec- 
ond Book  of  Horace  . • 191 

The  Second  Epistle  of  the 
Second  Book  of  Horace  . 197 
Satires  of  Dr.  John  Donne, 
Dean  of  St.  Paul’s,  versi- 

FIED 202 

Epilogue  to  the  Satires  . . 208 

The  Sixth  Satire  of  the  Sec- 
ond  Book  of  Horace  . . 214 

The  Seventh  Epistle  of  the 
First  Book  of  Horace  . . 216 

The  First  Ode  of  the  Fourth 
Book  of  Horace  . . • 217 

The  Ninth  Ode  of  the  Fourth 
Book  of  Horace  . . • 217 

IE  DUNCIAD. 

Martinus  Scriblerus  of  the 

Poem  •••*’'  oon 
Preface  . • • • * 1 

A Letter  to  the  Publisher  • -^l 

Advertisement  to  the  First  Edi- 
tion  . • . ■ • *'24 

Advertisement  to  the  Iirst  &di- 
tion  of  the  Fourth  Book  . 224 

Advertisement  to  the  Complete 
Edition  of  1743  . . . • 22c 

Book  I.  22 

Book  II 28 

Book  III.  . . • • • • ^ 

Book  IV ^ 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 
The  Iliad 

Pope’s  Preface 
Book  I.  . 

Book  II. 

Book  III. 

Book  IV. 

Book  V. 

Book  VI. 

Book  VII. 

Book  VIII. 

Book  IX. 

Book  X* 

Book  XI. 

Book  XII.  . 

Book  XIII. 

Book  XIV. 

Book  XV. 

Book  XVI. 

Book  XVII- 
Book  XVIII 
Book  XIX. 

Bcok  XX.  . 

Book  XXI. 

Book  XXII- 
Book  XXIII 
Book  XXIV.  - 

Pope’s  Concluding  Not 
The  Odyssey. 

Book  III.  • 

Book  V. 

Book  VII.  . 

Book  IX. 

Book  X. 

Book  XIII. 

Book  XIV. 

Book  XV- 
Book  XVII. 

Book  XXI. 

Book  XXII.  • 

Book  XXIV. 

Postscript  by  Pope 

appendix. 

Glossary  .... 
Notes  and  Illustrations 
Bibliographical  Note 
INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES  . 
INDEX  OF  TITLES 


251 
261 
272 
286 
295 
306 
322 
332 
341 
352 
364 
373 
388 
, 396 
411 
, 420 
433 
, 448 
461 
. 471 
477 
. 486 
496 
. 505 
520 
. 534 

535 
. 544 
553 
. 559 
568 
. 578 
585 
. 594 
602 
. 612 
618 
. 626 
635 


. 643 
647 
. 666 
667 
. 670 


nTote  The  photogravure  frontispiece  is  from  a portrait  painted  hy  Eichardson  at  Jmeken- 
ssession  of  Mrs.  Fields,  by  whose  courtesy  it  is  reproduced. 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH 

Alexander  Pope  was  boi-n  in  London,  May  21, 1688.  We  cannot  be  sure  of  any. 
lino-  better  than  respectability  in  his  ancestry,  though  late  in  life  he  himself  claimed 
iuship  with  the  Earls  of  Downe.  His  paternal  grandfather  is  supposed  to  have  been  a 
ergvman  of  the  Church  of  England.  His  mother,  Edith  Turner,  came  of  a family  of 
-nail  gentry  and  landowners  in  Yorkshire.  Alexander  Pope,  senior,  was  a successful 
'nen  merchant  in  London;  so  successful  that  he  found  it  possible  to  retire  early  from 
iusiness,  and  to  buy  a small  estate  at  Binfield,  on  the  edge  of  Windsor  forest.  To  this 
-state,  in  Pope’s  twelfth  year,  the  family  removed  from  Kensington,  and  here  they  lived 
br  sixteen  years.  In  1716  they  removed  to  Chiswick,  where  a year  later  the  father 
ied.  Soon  afterwards  Pope,  then  a man  of  note,  leased  the  estate  at  Twickenham,  on 
diich  he  was  to  live  till  his  death,  in  1744. 

The  circumstances  of  Pope’s  early  life  were  in  many  ways  peculiar.  One  of  the  mam 
easons  for  the  choice  of  Binfield  was  that  a number  of  Roman  Catholic  families  lived  m 
hat  neighborhood.  They  formed  a little  set  sufficiently  agreeable  for  social  purposes, 
houo-h  not  offering  much  intellectual  stimulus  to  such  a mind  as  Pope’s  very  early  sliowec 
tself  to  be.  But  if  to  be  a Roman  Catholic  in  England  then  meant  to  move  in  a narrow 
ocial  circle,  it  carried  with  it  also  more  serious  limitations.  It  debarred  from  public 
chool  and  university;  so  that  beyond  the  inferior  instruction  afforded  by  the  small  Cath- 
ie schools  which  he  attended  till  his  twelfth  year,  Pope  had  no  formal  education  Two 
irThreeTacts  recorded  of  this  school  experience  are  worthy  of  mention  : that  he  was 
aught  the  rudiments  of  Latin  and  Greek  together,  according  to  the  Jesuit  method; 
that  he  left  one  school  in  consequence  of  a flogging  which  he  had  earned  by  satirizing 
the  head  master;  and  that  at  about  the  age  of  ten  he  built  a tragedy  on  the  basis 
>f  Ogilvy’s  translation  of  Homer.  At  twelve  he  had  at  least  learned  the  rudiments  of 
jrreek,  and  could  read  Latin  fluently,  if  not  correctly.  So  far  as  his  failings  in  scholar- 
ship are  concerned,  Pope’s  lack  of  formal  education  has  probably  been  made  too  much  of. 
He  had  no  bent  for  accurate  scholarship,  nor  was  breadth  and  accuracy  of  scholarship  an 
iccomplishment  of  that  age.  Addison,  whose  literary  career  was  preceded  by  a long 
period  of  university  residence,  knew  very  little  of  Greek  literature,  and  had  a by  no 
means  wide  acquaintance  with  the  literature  of  Rome.  Yet  scholarship  in  those  days 

mpope  might  no  doubt°have  profited  by  the  discipline  of  a regular  academic  career.  He 
needed,  as  Mr.  Courthope  says,  ‘ training  in  thought  rather  than  in  taste,  which  he  had 
by  nature.’  But  such  a mind  as  his  is  not  likely  to  submit  itself  readily  to  rigid  pro- 
cesses of  thought.  It  is  impossible  not  to  see,  at  least,  that  the  boy  Pope  knew  how  to 
read,  if  not  how  to  study;  and  that  what  Latin  and  Greek  he  read  was  approached  as  lit- 
erature, — a method  more  common  then  than  now,  it  is  probable.  ‘ When  I had  done  with 
my  priests,’  he  wrote  to  Spence,  ‘ I took  to  reading  by  myself,  for  which  I had  a very 
great  eagerness  and  enthusiasm,  especially  for  poetry;  and  in  a very  few  years  I had 
dipped  into  a great  number  of  English,  French,  Italian,  Latin,  and  Greek  poets.  This 
did  without  any  design  but  that  of  pleasing  myself,  and  got  the  language  by  hunting 


ALEXANDER  POPE 


xii 


after  the  stories  in  the  several  authors  I read  : rather  than  read  the  books  to  get  the  lan- 
guage.’ Virgil  and  Statius  were  his  favorite  Latin  poets  at  this  time,  as  is  attested  not 
only  by  the  Pastorals  and  the  early  translations  of  the  Thebais,  but  by  the  innumerable 
reminiscences,  or  ‘ imitations,’  as  Pope  called  them,  which  may  be  traced  in  his  later  work. 
In  the  meantime,  as  a more  important  result  of  his  having  to  rely  so  much  upon  his 
own  resources,  his  creative  power  was  beginning  to  manifest  itself  with  singular  matu- 
rity. At  twelve  he  wrote  couplets  which  were  long  afterwards  inserted  without  change 
in  the  Essay  on  Criticism , and  even  in  The  Dunciad.  The  Pastorals,  composed  at  sixteen, 
though  conventional  in  conception  and  not  seldom  mechanical  in  execution,  contain  pas- 
sages in  the  poet’s  ripest  manner.  With  the  Essay  on  Criticism,  published  five  years 
later,  Pope  reached  his  full  power.  Such  development  as  is  to  be  found  in  his  later 
work  is  the  result  of  an  increase  in  mental  breadth  and  satirical  force.  His  style  was 
already  formed. 

Whatever  may  have  been  the  importance,  for  good  and  ill,  of  Pope’s  early  method  of 
education,  a far  more  potent  factor  in  determining  the  conduct  of  his  life  and  the  nature  of 
his  work  lay  in  his  bodily  limitations.  The  tradition  that  in  his  childhood  he  was  physi- 
cally normal  is  made  dubious  by  the  reported  fact  that  his  father  was  also  small  and 
crooked,  though  organically  sound.  At  all  events,  the  Pope  whom  the  world  knew  was 
anything  but  normal,  — stunted  to  dwarfishuess,  thin  co  emaciation,  crooked  and  feeble, 
so  that  he  had  to  wear  stays  and  padding,  and  all  his  life  subject  to  severe  bodily  pain. 
Pope’s  relations  with  other  men  were  seriously  affected  by  this  condition.  Masculine  society 
in  eighteenth-century  England  had  little  place  for  weaklings.  The  late  hours  and  heavy 
drinking  of  London  were  as  little  possible  for  the  delicate  constitution  of  Pope  as  the 
hard  riding  and  heavy  drinking  of  the  country  gentlemen  with  whom  he  was  thrown  at 
Binfield.  In  a letter  from  Binfield  in  1710  Pope  writes  : ‘I  assure  you  I am  looked 
upon  in  the  neighborhood  for  a very  sober  and  well-disposed  person,  no  great  hunter, 
indeed,  but  a great  esteemer  of  the  noble  sport,  and  only  unhappy  in  my  want  of  consti- 
tution for  that  and  drinking.’  It  is  a misconception  of  Pope’s  character  to  suppose  him 
lacking  in  a natural  robustness  of  temper  to  which  only  his  physical  limitations  denied 
outlet.  Before  reaching  manhood  he  had  been  given  more  than  one  rude  lesson  in  dis- 
cretion. At  one  time  over-confinement  to  his  books  had  so  much  reduced  his  vitality 
as  to  convince  him  that  he  had  not  long  to  live.  A fortunate  chance  put  his  case  into  the1 
hands  of  a famous  London  physician,  who  prescribed  a strict  diet,  little  study,  and  much 
horseback  riding.  Pope  followed  the  advice,  recovered,  and  thereafter,  for  the  most 
part,  took  excellent  care  of  himself;  it  was  the  price  which  he  had  to  pay  for  living. 
One  unfortunate  result  was  that  he  was  thrown  back  upon  the  companionship  of  women, 
always  petted,  always  deferred  to,  always  nursed.  Such  conditions  naturally  developed1 
the  acid  cleverness,  the  nervous  brilliancy  of  the  poet  Pope  ; and  it  is  matter  of  great1 
wonder  that  from  such  conditions  anything  stronger  should  survive;  that  there  is,  when1 
all  is  said,  so  much  virility  and  restraint  in  the  best  of  his  work. 

The  Pastorals,  Pope’s  first  considerable  poetical  achievement,  were  according  to  the 
poet  written  in  1704,  at  the  age  of  sixteen.  They  were,  like  all  modern  pastorals,  con-' 
ventional;  but  they  contain  some  genuine  poetry,  and  are  wonderful  exercises  in  versifica-l 
tion.  Their  diction  is  often  artificial  to  the  point  of  absurdity,  but  now  and  then  possesses 
a stately  grace,  as  in  the  famous  lines  : — 

‘ Where’er  you  walk,  cool  gales  shall  fan  the  glade; 

Trees,  where  you  sit,  shall  crowd  into  a shade; 

Where’er  you  tread,  the  blushing  flowers  shall  rise, 

And  all  things  flourish  where  you  turn  your  eyes.’ 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH 


xiii 


)e  had  probably  been  encouraged  to  write  the  Pastorals  by  Sir  William  liumbul 
om  the  first  of  them  is  inscribed.  Trumbull  was  a man  of  Oxford  training,  who  after 
istinguished  diplomatic  career  had  come  to  end  his  life  upon  his  estate  near  Binfie  d, 
l who  had  been  drawn  to  the  deformed  boy  by  the  discovery  of  their  common  taste  for 
i classics.  For  some  time  before  the  publication  of  the  Pastorals  the  manuscript  was 
„g  circulated  privately  among  such  men  of  established  literary  reputation  as  Garth, 
alsli,  Congreve,  and  Wycherley,  and  such  patrons  of  letters  as  George  Granville,  Holl- 
and Somers.  To  Walsh  in  particular  Pope  afterward  expressed  his  obligation  He 
d to  encourage  me  much,’  we  read  in  a letter  to  Spence,  written  long  after  and  used 
tell  me  there  was  one  way  left  of  excelling  : for  though  we  had  several  great  poets,  we 
✓er  had  any  one  great  poet  that  was  correct ; and  he  desired  me  to  make  that  my  study 
1 aim.’  The  dictum  has  become  famous,  but  though  Walsh  probably  meant,  by  ‘ correct- 
;s  ’ iustice  of  taste  as  well  as  measured  accuracy  of  poetic  style  his  over-praise  of  the 
storals  leads  us  to  think  that  form  was  the  main  thing  in  his  mind.  If  Pope  s statement 
j the  date  at  which  the  Pastorals  were  written  is  reliable,  however  (and  we  must  keep 
mind  from  the  outset  the  fact  that,  as  Mr.  Courthope  says,  Pope  in  mature  life 
fstematically  antedated  his  compositions  in  order  to  obtain  credit  for  precocity  ),  e 
I not  become  acquainted  with  Walsh  until  some  time  after  they  were  written.  The 
tic’s  advice,  therefore,  amounted  simply  to  an  encouragement  in  pursuing  the  method 
lich  Pope  had  already  adopted  : in  employing  a more  rigid  metrical  scheme  than  any 
evious  poet,  even  Sandys  or  Dryden,  had  attempted.  The  bookseller  Jacob  Tonson 
is  shown  the  manuscript,  and  offered  to  publish  it ; and  in  1709  it  appeared  in 

■inson’s  Sixth  Miscellany.  , . , , , , , 

Through  Walsh  Pope  became  acquainted  with  Wycherley,  who  introduced  the  young 
,et  to  literary  society  in  London  ; that  is,  to  the  society  of  the  London  coffee-houses, 
ae  character  of  the  older  resorts  had  already  begun  to  change.  Even  W ill  s had  ceased 
I be  the  purely  literary  club  of  Dryden’s  day.  It  was  natural  that  the  age  of  Anne,  in 
lich  increasing  public  honors  were  paid  to  literary  men,  should  have  been  also  an  age 
which  literary  men  took  an  increasing  interest  in  politics.  At  about  the  time  when 
ope  first  came  up  to  London,  Whig  and  Tory  were  beginning  to  edge  away  from  each 
her;  and  though  Will’s  for  a time  remained  a sort  of  neutral  ground,  the  old  hearty 
, ter  change  of  thought  and  companionship  was  no  longer  possible.  Part-political,  part- 
ner ary  clubs,  like  the  Kitcat,  the  October  Club,  and  the  Scnblerus  Club,  sapped  the 
;rength  of  the  older  and  freer  institution;  and  its  doom  was  sealed  when  in  171- 
,son  established  at  Button’s  a resort  for  literary  Whigs. 

During  his  first  years  of  London  experience,  Pope  probably  knew  Richard  Steele  more 
.timately  than  any  one  else.  They  had  met  at  Will’s,  and  through  Steele  Pope  had 
jen  presented  to  Addison,  and  had  later  become  a frequenter  of  Button  s.  It  was  Steele 
■ho  uro-ed  Pope  to  write  the  Ode  on  St.  Cecilia’s  Day,  who  got  his  Messiah  published  in 
7 he  Spectator  and  printed  various  short  papers  of  his  in  The  Guardian.  Another  Whig 
,iend  was  Jervas  the  painter,  a pupil  of  Kneller,  but  an  artist  of  no  very  considerable 
eliievement.  The  poet  at  one  time  had  some  lessons  in  painting  from  him,  and  always 
'eld  him  in  esteem.  So  far  Pope  allowed  himself  to  associate  with  the  Whigs;  but  he  had 
,o  intention  of  taking  rank  as  a Whig  partisan.  If  lie  wrote  prose  for  Whig  journals,  it  was 
i honor  of  the  Tory  government  that  the  conclusion  was  added  to  Windsor  Forest  in  1713. 
7o  Swift’s  admiration  for  this  poem,  Pope  owed  the  beginning  of  his  life-long  friendship 
rith  the  Dean;  but  it  was  a friendship  which  committed  him  no  more  to  Toryism  than 
iddison’s  had  to  Whiggery.  ‘ As  old  Dryden  said  before  me,’  he  wrote  in  1713,  ‘ it  is  not 


XIV 


ALEXANDER  POPE 


the  violent  I desire  to  please;  and  in  very  truth,  I believe  they  will  all  find  ine,  at  long 
run,  a mere  Papist.’  One  amusing  fact  about  Pope’s  early  experience  at  Button’s  is  that  he 
is  known  to  have  commended  the  verses  of  Addison’s  satellites,  Budgell  and  Tickell  am! 
Philips,  whom  later  he  was  to  attack  so  bitterly.  The  first  cause  of  offence  was  not  long  in 
coming;  and  an  offence  sown  in  the  mind  of  Pope  was  certain  to  grow  very  fast  and  to  live 
verjr  long.  The  story  of  Pope’s  falling  out  with  Addison  and  his  friends  is  the  story  of  tkffl 
first  of  a long  series  of  personal  enmities  which  embittered  Pope’s  life,  and,  it  is  too  clear| 
impoverished  his  work. 

The  Pastorals  were  published  by  Tonson  at  the  end  of  a volume  which  opened  witl 
some  exercises  in  the  same  kind  of  verse  by  Ambrose  Philips.  Pope  was  disposed  tcj 
commend  the  work  of  Philips,  even  going  so  far  as  to  say  that  ‘ there  were  no  betted! 
eclogues  in  the  language.’  His  ardor  was  somewhat  cooled  when  The  Spectator , in  a! 
paper  which  was  unmistakably  Addison’s,  printed  an  extended  comparison  of  his  work  ancf 
Philips’s,  considerably  to  the  advantage  of  the  latter;  and  was  converted  into  a cold  rage 
by  the  fact  that  presently  the  position  taken  by  The  Spectator  was  expanded  in  fivej 
papers  in  The  Guardian.  The  subtlety  and  ingenuity  of  Pope’s  method  of  retort  was  aril 
interesting  indication  of  the  disingenuousness  which  became  a settled  quality  of  his  prose! 
writing.  Whatever  his  poetry  may  not  have  been,  it  was  certainly  downright;  but  bij 
method  of  getting  it  before  the  public,  of  annotating  it,  and  of  reinforcing  its  thought,  was 
habitually  circuitous  and  not  seldom  dishonest.  Pope  promptly  wrote  a sixth  paper  tc 
The  Guardian , ostensibly  keeping  to  Tickell’s  argument,  but  really  speaking  in  iron} 
from  beginning  to  end,  picking  out  the  weakest  points  in  Philips’s  style  and  matter,  anc 
damning  them  by  fulsome  praise.  Steele,  it  is  said,  was  so  far  deceived  as  to  print  the 
paper  in  good  faith.  Pope’s  revenge  among  the  wits  was  complete;  but  he  never  for- 
got a score  by  paying  it.  In  the  Satires  and  The  Dunciad , poor  namby-pamby  Philips 
comes  up  again  and  again  for  a punishment  to  which,  in  recompense,  he  now  owes  hi; 
fame. 

Pope’s  attitude  toward  Addison  is  a more  serious  matter  to  the  critic.  Up  to  the  yeai 
1714  Pope,  whatever  irritation  he  may  have  felt  toward  Addison,  had  chosen  to  ‘take  i 
out  of’  the  followers  of  the  great  man  rather  than  out  of  the  great  man  himself.  Tin 
insertion  of  the  Tory  passage  in  Windsor  Forest  might  have  been  taken  as  a direct  dial) 
lenge  to  the  Whig  champion,  whose  famous  celebration  of  the  Whig  victory  at  Bleir 
heim  had  been  so  popular.  That  his  relations  with  Addison  were  not  affected  by  it  i 
shown  by  his  supplying  a prologue  for  Cato , which  was  produced  within  a month  of  tin 
publication  of  Windsor  Forest.  Cato  itself  was  to  supply  the  real  bone  of  contention 
It  was  attacked  by  the  veteran  critic  John  Dennis,  against  whose  strictures  Pope  under* 
took  to  take  up  the  cudgels,  in  an  anonymous  Narrative  of  Dr.  Robert  Norris  on  th\ 
Frenzy  of  J.  D.  It  is  uncertain  whether  Addison  suspected  that  Pope  was  its  author* 
and  that  his  championship  was  inspired  by  the  desire  for  personal  revenge  for  Dennis’! 
treatment  of  the  Essay  on  Criticism;  but  he  disclaimed  responsibility  for  the  rejoinde 
in  a letter  written  for  him  to  the  publisher  by  Steele.  The  result  was  a resentmen 
which  bore  its  final  fruit  in  the  lines  on  Atticus  in  the  Epistle  to  Dr.  Arbuthnot.  Addison 
it  must  be  noticed,  had  warmly  praised  the  Essay  on  Criticism  (1711),  and  the  simple 
version  of  The  Rape  of  the  Lock,  published  a year  later  ; but  the  publication  of  Tickell’ 
version  of  the  first  book  of  the  Iliad  simultaneously  with  Pope’s  first  volume,  ant 
Addison’s  preference  of  the  weaker  version,  does  not  leave  the  latter  quite  free  fron 
suspicion  of  parti  pris. 

Whatever  may  have  been  the  rights  of  the  difficulty  between  Addison  and  Pope,  then 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH 


xv 


10  doubt  that  in  one  point,  evidently  a mere  point  of  judgment,  Addison  was  wrong. 
:er  pronouncing  the  first  version  of  The  Rape  of  the  Lock,  published  in  1712,  ‘ a defi- 
es little  thing,  and  merum  sal,’  he  advised  against  Pope’s  plan  for  expanding  it  ith- 
, the  additions  which  the  author  made,  in  spite  of  this  advice,  it  would  hardly  stan  , 
it  now  does,  an  acknowledged  masterpiece  in  its  kind.  Despite  the  apparently  local 
l temporary  nature  of  its  theme,  the  poem  attracted  much  greater  attention  when,  m 
14,  it  appeared  in  the  new  form.  The  poem  affords  the  purest  expression  of  Pope  s 
{uus:  his  imagination  applied  without  strain  to  a theme  with  which  it  was  exactly 
,ed  to  cope,  his  satirical  power  exercised  without  the  goad  of  personal  rancor,  and  his 
Lt  and  elegant  versification  unhampered  by  the  fancied  necessity  for  weightiness 
Ltliiuo*  more  just  has  been  said  about  the  poem  than  this  by  Hazlitt  (On  Dryden  and 
i pe)  It  is  the  most  exquisite  specimen  of  filigree  work  ever  invented.  It  is  as  adnnr- 
le  in  proportion  as  it  is  made  of  nothing  : 

“ More  subtle  web  Arachne  cannot  spin, 

Nor  the  fine  nets,  which  oft  we  woven  see 
Of  scorched  dew,  do  not  in  tli’  air  more  lightly  flee.” 

is  made  of  gauze  and  silver  spangles.  The  most  glittering  appearance  is  given  to 
Lrythiug,  — to  paste,  pomatum,  billet-doux,  and  patches.  Airs,  languid  airs,  breathe 
build  ; the  atmosphere  is  perfumed  with  affectation.  A toilette  is  described  with  the 
iemnity  of  an  altar  raised  to  the  Goddess  of  Vanity,  and  the  history  of  a silver  bodkin 
p-iven  with  all  the  pomp  of  heraldry.  No  pains  are  spared,  no  profusion  of  ornaments, 
splendor  of  poetic  diction,  to  set  off  the  meanest  things.  The  balance  between  the 
incealed  irony  and  the  assumed  gravity  is  as  nicely  trimmed  as  the  balance  of  power  in 
urope.  The  little  is  made  great,  and  the  great  little.  You  hardly  know  whether  to 
Jagli  or  weep.  It  is  the  triumph  of  insignificance,  the  apotheosis  of  foppery  and  folly, 
is  the  perfection  of  the  mock-heroic.’  # . 

If  The  Rape  of  the  Lock  was  Pope’s  masterpiece  in  the  field  of  impersonal  satire,  the 
<ssay  on  Criticism,  which  belongs  to  the  same  period  of  the  poet’s  life,  was  his  master- 
ece  in  the  realm  of  poetic  generalization.  It  was,  according  to  the  account  of  the  poet, 
imposed  in  1709  and  published  in  1711.  The  present  editor  is  inclined  to  think  that 
stice  has  never  been  done  to  this  extraordinary  work,  either  as  a product  of  precocity, 
in  its  own  right.  It  is,  in  his  opinion,  not  only  a manual  of  criticism,  to  which  the 
•actitioner  may  apply  for  sound  guidance  upon  almost  any  given  point,  but  an  exhaus- 
ye  satire  upon  false  methods  of  criticism.  It  is  a compendious  rule  of  criticism  which 
(orks  both  ways  ; hardly  less  rigorous  than  Aristotle,  hardly  less  catholic  than  Samte- 
,euve.  It  does  not,  as  has  been  alleged,  constitute  a mere  helter-skelter  summary  of 
itical  platitudes:  there  is  hardly  a predicament  in  modern  criticism  from  which  it  does 
it  suggest  an  adequate  means  of  extrication.  At  all  events,  it  represented,  as  Mr. 
.ourthope  says,  the  ‘ first  attempt  to  trace  for  English  readers  the  just  boundaries  of  taste. 

’ The  Essay  on  Criticism  was  not,  like  The  Rape  of  the  Lock,  devoid  of  the  note  of_per- 
’mal  enmity  which  was  to  mark  so  much  of  the  poet’s  later  work.  John  Dennis^ had 
pb^BTy  e m ployed  his~sIash nig  “metTiocT  inreviewihg  me  'Pdsiorah,  and  in  the  Essay 
ope  took  occasion  for  revenge  in  the  lines  on  Appius,  which  unmistakably  applied  to 
[ie  author  of  Appius  and  Virginia  ; and  which  after  Dennis’s  rejoinder  were  to  be  fol- 
ded up  by  the  attacks  in  the  Satires  and  The  Dunciad. 

With  the  accession  of  the  house  of  Hanover  in  1714  the  literary  situation  in  London 
jjas  considerably  modified.  The  common  ground  upon  which  Whigs  and  Tories  had, 


svi 


ALEXANDER  POPE 


with  diminishing  success,  continued  to  associate,  was  taken  from  under  their  feet.  Poli 
tics  became  the  first  issue,  and  literature  was  relegated  to  a subordinate  position.  For 
tunately  the  list  of  subscribers  to  Pope’s  translation  of  the  Iliad  had  been  made  up  befor 
the  death  of  Anne.  During  the  few  years  in  which  the  process  of  public  readjustmen] 
absorbed  the  attention  of  London,  Pope  was  hard  at  work  upon  the  most  exacting  tasl 
he  had  yet  undertaken. 

The  removal  of  the  family  from  Binfield  to  Chiswick  was  made  by  Pope’s  desire.  H, 
was  now  not  only  a famous  author,  but  a man  of  fashion  ; and  on  both  accounts  he  wished 
to  be  nearer  London.  In  leaving  the  coffee-house  society  — of  which,  in  truth,  he  ha« 
never  been  a full  member  — he  had  found  entrance  into  ‘ aristocratic  circles;  ’ and  w 
hear  much  in  his  letters  from  this  time  on  of  the  noblemen  whose  hospitality  he  accepted 
while  standing  clear  of  their  direct  patronage.  At  Chiswick  he  found  more  society  am 
less  leisure.  Many  times  during  the  next  few  years  he  accuses  himself  of  laziness,  bu 
it  does  not  appear  that  his  mild  junketings  with  the  nobilities  gave  him  more  relaxation 
from  the  toil  of  his  Homer  translation  than  he  needed.  The  first  books  of  the  Iliad  wer< 
published  in  1715,  and  the  last  books  of  the  Odyssey  in  1723.  The  cripple  and  man  o 
the  world  who  could  do  that  in  the  intervals  of  his  house  parties  and  his  sieges  of  physi 
cal  pain  was  certainly  producing  his  full  share  of  work. 

The  Iliad  was  hailed  with  applause  on  all  sides,  and  handsomely  paid  for.  It  was  h 
one  way  a task  for  which  the  translator  would  appear  to  have  been  quite  unfitted.  Th 
Rape  of  the  Lock  had  proved  him  the  mouthpiece  of  a conventional  and  sophisticated  agei 
and  conventionality  and  sophistication  are  not  qualities  to  go  naturally  with  Homer 
The  elegance  of  Pope’s  verse  becomes  at  times  a mincing  neatness,  and  his  fashionably 
poetic  diction  in  the  mouths  of  Hector  and  Achilles  rings  thin  and  metallic.  But  thougl 
Pope  inevitably  missed  the  simplicity  and  the  hearty  surge  and  swing  of  Homer,  he  ditj 
manage  to  retain  something  of  his  vigor;  and  his  Iliad  is  still  the  classic  English  version 
Only  half  of  the  Odyssey  translation  which  followed  was  really  the  work  of  Pope,  am 
even  his  own  part  was  deficient  in  the  spirit  which  had  marked  the  first  translation.  I| 
had  indeed  been  undertaken  from  a very  different  motive:  he  could  not  hope  to  adt 
greatly  to  the  credit  which  his  Iliad  had  gained  for  him,  but  the  cash  might  readily  fo 
increased.  The  translator  actually  received  nearly  £9000  for  both  translations  — a smal 
fortune  in  those  days.  Pope’s  relations  with  his  collaborators  in  the  affair  of  the  Odyssei 
are  to  be  noticed,  though  they  have  perhaps  been  too  much  dwelt  upon  by  the  commental 
tors.  The  facts  are  briefly  these:  Fenton  translated  four  books  and  Broome  eight.  Botl 
were  Cambridge  men  of  parts,  Fenton  the  more  brilliant  and  Broome  the  more  thorough 
The  latter  furnished  also  all  the  notes.  Pope  paid  them  a very  small  price  for  thei 
labor,  though  not  less  than  they  had  bargained  for,  and  gave  them  very  little  credit  fo 
it.  Moreover,  when  he  found  that  there  was  some  stir  against  him  for  advertising  ai 
Odyssey  which  was  to  be  his  only  in  part,  he  induced  Broome  to  write  a postscript  noti 
claiming  only  three  books  for  his  own  share  and  two  for  Fenton’s,  and  insisting  tha 
whatever  merit  they  might  have  was  due  to  Pope’s  minute  revision. 

Before  attempting  the  Odyssey , Pope  was  unfortunately  led  to  prepare  an  edition  o 
Shakespeare,  which  showed  some  ingenuity  in  textual  emendation.  Phrases  were,  how 
ever,  too  frequently  altered  as  ‘ vulgar,’  and  metres  as  ‘ incorrect.’  The  work  was  oi 
the  whole  so  mediocre  as  fairly  to  lay  itself  open  to  the  strictures  of  Theobald,  who  wa 
consequently  made  the  original  hero  of  The  Dunciad.  In  1718  the  poet  leased  the  estate 
at  Twickenham,  and  set  to  work  upon  the  improvements  which  became  a hobby.  H< 
had  planned  to  build  a town  house,  but  was  fortunately  dissuaded.  The  laying  out  o: 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH 


xvii 


e tiny  five  acres  of  grounds  is  now  a matter  of  history:  the  paths,  the  wilderness,  the 
\incunx,  the  obelisk  to  his  mother’s  memory,  above  all  the  grotto,  — they  are  more  like 
[.tors  than  stage  properties  in  the  quiet  drama  of  Pope  s later  years. 

His  work  after  the  completion  of  the  Homer  translation  was  almost  entirely  restricted 
satire.  Even  the  Moral  Essays  are  largely  satirical,  for  Pope’s  didacticism  was  always 
Hged  with  laughter.  It  was  too  seldom  a kindly  laughter.  His  capacity  for  personal 
4tred  was  suffered  not  only  to  remain,  but  to  grow  upon  him;  until  it  became  at  length 
xe' oTtEe'ruling  motives  of  his  literary  life.  His  first  conception  of  The  Dunciad  was 
femea^searlf 'as'  1720.  Sometime  within  the  five  years  following  he  seems  to  have 
'•cached  his  project  for  wholesale  revenge  to  Swift,  who,  oddlyjmough,  dissuaded  him  : 
Cake  care  the  bad  poets  do  not  outwit  you,’  he  wrote,  ‘as  they  have  the  good  ones  in 
^ery  age,  whom  they  have  provoked  to  transmit  their  names  to  posterity.  Msevius  is  as 
fell  known  as  Virgil,  and  Gildon  will  be  as  well  known  as  you  if  his  name  gets  into  your 
fjrses.’  Thereto  Pope  dutifully  assents:  ‘I  am  much  happier  for  finding  our  judg- 
' ents  jump  in  the  notion  that  all  scribblers  should  be  passed  by  in  silence.  . . . So  let 
ildon  and  Philips  rest  in  peace.’  It  is  not  many  years  later  that  we  find  Swift  encour- 
tring  Pope  to  go  on  with  The  Dunciad , and  Pope  accepting  the  advice  with  an  even 
itter  grace  than  in  the  former  instance.  The  first  judgment  of  both  authors  was 
if  course  the  right  one.  The  Dunciad , with  all  its  cleverness,  remains  the  record  of  a 
;rife  between  persons  whom  we  do  not  now  care  about.  It  has  no  determinable  signifi- 
imce  beyond  that;  it  lacks  the  didactic  soundness  of  his  Essay  on  Criticism , and  the 
Graceful  lightness  of  The  Rape  of  the  Lock.  Only  in  a few  detached  passages  in  the  Moral 
Assays  and  Satires,  indeed,  did  he  ever  succeed  in  approaching  either  of  these  qualities. 
‘Pope’s  writings,’  says  Mr.  Courthope,  ‘fall  naturally  into  two  classes:  those  which 
•ereTnSpifed  by  fancy  or  reflection,  and  those  which  grew  from  personal  feeling  or  cir- 
A instance.’  The  Moral  Essays  belonged  to  the  former  of  these  classes,  the  Satires  to  the 
uiTteE  The  Moral  Essays , and  more  particularly  the  Essay  on  Man,  are  the  product  of  a 
[Materialism  which  marked  the  age,  and  which  was  set  before  Pope  in  something  like 
(systematic  form  by  Bolingbroke.  As  Bolingbroke  was  primarily  a politician,  and  dab- 
jjled  in  philosophy  only  because  the  favorite  game  was  for  a great  part  of  his  life  denied 
dm,  it  could  not  be  expected  that  much  more  than  shallow  generalization  would  come 
ut  of  him.  At  all  events,  his  system  of  sophistry  was  all  that  Pope  needed  for  a 
'bread  upon  which  to  string  his  couplets.  Whatever  we  may  think  of  the  Essay  on  Man 
i'ow,  we  need  not  forget  that  so  keen  a critic  as  Voltaire  once  called  it  ‘the  most  beau- 
i)ful,  the  most  awful,  the  most  sublime  didactic  poem  that  has  ever  been  written  in  any 
inguage.’  Even  in  our  day  a conservative  critic  can  say  of  it  : ‘ Form  and  art  triumph 
ven  in  the  midst  of  error  ; a framework  of  fallacious  generalization  gives  coherence  to 
jshe  epigrammatic  statement  of  a multitude  of  individual  truths.’ 

(.  Some  of  the  difficulty  that  we  have  found  in  The  Dunciad  is  present  in  the  Satires. 
Bi?hey  are  full  of  personalities.  As  a rule,  however,  the  persons  hit  off  are  of  some 
ccount,  both  in  themselves  and  as  types,  rather  than  as  mere  objects  of  private  rancor. 
Altogether  these  poems  contain,  besides  the  famous  portraits  of  contemporaries,  many 
Passages  of  universal  application  to  the  virtues  and  the  shortcomings  of  any  practical  age. 

With  the  completion  of  the  Satires  in  1738,  Pope’s  work  was  practically  done.  His 
emaining  years  were  to  be  spent  mainly  in  revising  his  works  and  correspondence;  the 
Inal  additions  and  alterations  to  The  Dunciad  being  the  only  task  of  special  importance 
vhich  in  his  weakening  health,  and  decreasing  creative  impulse,  he  was  able  to  under- 
take. The  range  of  the  poet’s  possible  achievement  was  never  very  great;  and  he  had 


ALEXANDER  POPE 


xviii 


now  lost  most  of  the  living  motives  of  his  work.  He  had  numbered  among  his  acquaint- 
ances all  the  prominent  men  of  the  time  ; and  not  a few  of  them  had  been  friends  upor 
whom  he  depended  for  encouragement  and  companionship.  Gay  had  died  in  1732. 
Pope’s  mother  a year  later,  and  Arbuthnot  in  1735.  Swift  was  meantime  rapidly  break 
ing  up  in  mind  and  body,  and  by  1740  Pope  was  separated  from  him  by  a chasm  as 
impassable  as  that  of  death.  Bolingbroke  remained  to  him,  and  he  was  to  have  oik 
other  friend,  Warbnrton,  upon  whom  he  relied  for  advice  and  aid  during  his  last  years 
and  who  became  his  literary  executor.  These,  however,  were  friendships  of  the  mine 
rather  than  of  the  heart  ; and  there  is  something  a little  pathetic  in  the  spectacle  of  tin 
still  brilliant  poet’s  dependence  upon  the  chill  and  disappointed  politician  BolingbrokcJ 
and  the  worthy  and  adoring  Bishop  Warburton,  who  can  hardly  have  been  a lively  com 
panion. 

Critics  are  now  fairly  well  agreed  as  to  Pope’s  service  to  English  poetry.  Intellectu- 
ally he  was  clever  rather  than  profound,  and,  in  consequence,  though  so  much  of  his  worh 
was  of  the  didactic  type,  he  made  few  original  contributions  to  poetic  thought.  A poen: 
of  Pope’s  is  a collection  of  brilliant  fragments.  He  kept  a note-book  full  of  clever  di- 
stiches set  down  at  random;  presently  so  many  couplets  are  taken  and  classified,  others 
are  added,  a title  is  found,  and  the  world  applauds.  If  we  except  The  Rape  of  the  Lock 
and  possibly  the  Epistle  to  Arbuthnot,  none  of  his  poems  can  be  called  organic  in  structure 
The  patching  is  neatly  done,  but  the  result  is  patchwork.  The  Essay  on  Man , therefore 
which  most  of  his  contemporaries  considered  his  greatest  work,  appears  to  us  a mosaic  oi 
cleverly  phrased  platitudes  and  epigrams.  Many  of  the  couplets  have  become  proverb- 
ial ; the  work  as  a whole  cannot  be  taken  seriously.  ‘ But  the  supposition  is,’  says  Low- 
ell, ‘that  in  the  Essay  on  Man  Pope  did  not  himself  know  what  he  was  writing.  He  was 
only  the  condenser  and  epigrammatizer  of  Bolingbroke  — a very  fitting  St.  John  for  sucll 
a gospel.’  It  is  to  another  and  less  pretentious  sort  of  work  that  we  must  turn  to  find 
the  great  versifier  at  his  best. 

The  Rape  of  the  Lock  affords  exactly  the  field  in  which  Pope  was  fitted  to  excel.  Tlu 
very  qualities  of  artificiality  and  sophistication  which  mar  the  Homer  translations  mak^ 
the  story  of  Belinda  and  her  Baron  a perfect  thing  of  its  kind.  Here  is  the  conven- 
tional society  which  Pope  knew,  and  with  which  — however  he  might  sneer  at  it  — lu 
really  sympathized.  The  polished  trivialities,  the  shallow  gallantry,  the  hardly  veiled 
coarseness  of  the  London  which  Pope  understood,  are  here  to  the  life.  Depth  of  emo- 
tion, of  imagination,  of  thought,  are  absent,  and  properly  so;  but  here  are  present  in 
their  purest  forms  the  flashing  wit,  the  ingenious  fancy,  the  malicious  innuendo,  of  which 
Pope  was  undoubtedly  master. 

In  versification  his  merit  is  to  have  done  one  thing  incomparably  well.  Not  only  is  his 
latest  work  marked  by  the  same  wit,  conciseness,  and  brilliancy  of  finish  which  gainec 
the  attention  of  his  earliest  critics,  but  it  employs  the  same  metrical  form  which  in  boy- 
hood he  had  brought  to  a singular  perfection.  The  heroic  couplet  is  now  pretty  much 
out  of  fashion:  ‘ correctness’  is  no  longer  the  first  quality  which  we  demand  of  poetry 
No  doubt  we  are  fortunate  to  have  escaped  the  trammels  of  the  rigid  mode  which  so  long 
restrained  the  flight  of  English  verse.  But  however  tedious  and  wooden  Pope’s  instru- 
ment may  have  become  in  later  hands,  however  mistaken  he  himself  may  have  been  in 
emphasizing  its  limitations,  there  is  no  doubt  that  it  was  the  instrument  best  suited 
to  his  hand,  and  that  he  secured  by  means  of  it  a surprising  variety  of  effect. 


BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH 


xix 


tVVe  have  chronicled  thus  far  a few  of  the  facts  of  Pope’s  life  and  work.  Something 
.jannot  be  very  much  — remains  to  be  said  of  his  private  character.  It  was  a charac- 
of  marked  contradictions,  the  nether  side  of  which  — the  weaknesses  and  positive  faults 
has,  as  is  common  in  such  cases,  been  laid  bare  with  sufficient  pitilessness.  He  was, 
are  told,  malicious,  penurious,  secretive,  unehivalrous,  underhanded,  implacable.  He 
ild  address  T/ady  Mary  Wortley  one  day  with  fulsome  adulation,  and  the  next  — and 
er  after  — with  foul  abuse.  He  could  deliberately  goad  his  dunces  to  self-betrayal  by 
l Treatise  on  the  Bathos , and  presently  flay  them  in  The  Dunciad  by  way  of  revenge. 
j>  could  by' circuitous  means  cause  his  letters  — letters  carefully  edited  by  him  — to  be 
,blished,  and  prosecute  the  publisher  for  outraging  his  sensibilities.  He  could  stoop  to 
jnpassing  the  most  minute  ends  of  private  malice  by  the  most  elaborate  and  leisurely 
jjthods.  He  played  life  as  a game  composed  of  a series  of  petty  moves,  and,  as  one  of 
. friends  said,  4 could  Hardly  drink  a cup  of  tea  without  a stratagem. 

But  let  us  see  what  we  might  be  fairly  saying  on  the  other  side.  If  he  was  capable  of 
dice,  he  was  incapable  of  flattery;  if  he  was  dishonest  in  the  little  matters,  he  was  hon- 
in  the  great  ones;  if  he  held  mediocrity  in  contempt,  he  had  an  ungrudging  welcome 
l excellence.  In  later  life  he  had  encouragement  for  the  younger  generation  of  writ- 

j5) Johnson,  Young,  Thomson,  and  poor  Savage.  If  he  allowed  a fancied  injury  to 

’parate  him  from  Addison,  he  had  still  to  boast  of  the  friendship  of  men  like  Gay,  Arbuth- 
)t,  and  Swift;  and  they  had  to  boast  of  his.  He  nursed  his  mother  in  extreme  old  age 
th  anxious  devotion,  and  mourned  her  death  with  unaffected  grief.  In  his  best  satin- 
jl  mood,  the  best  in  English  verse,  he  did  not  hesitate  to  arraign  the  highest  as  well 
the  lowest;  not  even  Swift  could  be  so  fearless.  Such  things  are  to  be  remembered 
; this  correct  versifier  and  merciless  satirist  Pope:  that  with  only  half  the  body,  and 
rdly  more  than  half  the  bodily  experience,  of  a man,  he  had  his  full  share  of  a man’s 
ilings  and  a man’s  virtues;  and  that  the  failings  were  on  the  whole  upon  a less  signifi- 
,nt  plane  than  the  virtues. 

Much  has  been  written  of  Pope’s  attitude  toward  women^and  much  has  been  written 
his  acrid  habit  of  mind.  The  relation  between  these  facts  has  been,  perhaps,  insuffi- 
,3iitly  grasped.  Pope  was  not  by  nature  a celibate  or  a hater  of  women.  He  was,  on 
,e  contrary,  fond  of  their  society,  and  anxious  to  make  himself  agreeable  to  them.  His 
[jilure  with  Lady  Mary  Wortley  Montagu  was  deserved;  the  relation  was  a mere  affair 
gallantry,  which  she  took  good  care  to  snuff  out  when  the  adorer’s  protestations  began 
j.  weary  her.  She  was  not  a womanly  person,  and  forestalled  much  public  indignation 
: Pope’s  subsequent  abuse  by  adopting  an  equally  brutal  system  of  retort. 

His  failure  with  Martha  Blount  was  of  a very  different  sort,  and  of  far  greater  signifi- 
.nce.  She  was  the  younger  of  two  daughters  belonging  to  one  of  the  Roman  Catholic 
i/milies  in  Pope’s  Windsor  Forest  circle  of  acquaintance.  With  her  and  with  her  sister 
Teresa,  Pope  was  for  many  years  upon  terms  of  the  closest  intimacy.  “They  were  not 
vuchMike;  and  though  Pope  made  a habit  of  addressing  them  with  guarded  impartial- 
ly in  his  correspondence,  it  is  to  be  seen  almost  from  the  first  that  his  feeling  for  the 
I ore  practical  and  worldly  older  sister  was  less  warm  than  his  feeling  for  the  amiable 
lid  feminine  “ Patty.*’  Eventually,  after  years  of  friendship,  the  poet  made  a few  in- 
iirect  overtures  to  Martha  in  the  direction  of  marriage;  and  at  last  ventured  to  express 
liunself  plainly  to  Teresa.  To  his  unspeakable  humiliation  and  grief,  she  treated  his 
ismest  declaration  as  an  affront  to  her  sister,  and  upon  precisely  the  painful  ground  of 
is  deformity,  which  had  for  so  many  years  kept  him  from  speaking.  Pope  could  not  help 
jeling  that  however  Martha  might,  if  left  to  herself,  have  received  his  advances,  it 


XX 


ALEXANDER  POPE 


was  now  out  of  the  question  to  pursue  them.  His  behavior  under  the  circumstance 
was  full  of  dignity.  It  was  impossible  for  the  friendship  to  be  renewed  upon  the  oh 
footing,  but  his  only  revenge  beyond  that  of  the  necessary  withdrawal  from  familiar  in 
tercourse  was  to  settle  a pension  upon  Teresa  at  the  time,  and  to  leave  most  of  his  pro 
perty  by  will  to  Martha.  We  can  hardly  imagine  Pope  madly  in  love,  but  that  he  had  ; 
calm  and  steadfast  affection  for  Martha  Blount  we  cannot  doubt.  He  was  disposed  t< 
marry,  and  he  would  have  liked  to  marry  her.  She  represented  the  ideal  of  womaTrhooi 
in  his  mind;  and  to  her,  in  the  heat  of  his  most  savage  bouts  of  idol-breaking,  he  pause 
to  raise  a white  shaft  of  love  and  faith. 

If  the  present  editor,  after  a careful  and  well-rewarded  study  of  the  poet  and  the  mai: 
has  any  mite  of  interpretation  to  offer,  it  is  not  that  Pope  was  a greater  poet,  but  tha 
he  was  a better  man,  than  he  is  commonly  painted;  an  unamiable  man,  yet  not  for  thal 
reason  altogether  unworthy  of  regard;  a man  with  little  meannesses  carried  upon  hu 
sleeve  for  all  the  world  to  mock  at,  and  with  the  large  magnanimity  which  could  face  th] 
world  alone,  without  advantages  of  birth  or  wealth  or  education  or  even  health,  and  wii 
a great  victory.  Such  a man  cannot  conceivably  be  supposed  to  have  stumbled  upoi 
success.  Not  only  inspired  cleverness  of  hand,  but  force  of  character  and  sanity  of  mini) 
must  be  responsible  for  his  work.  After  the  lapse  of  nearly  two  centuries  it  shouh 
perhaps  be  right  to  indulge  ourselves  somewhat  more  sparingly  in  condemnation  of  hi| 
foibles,  and  to  recall  more  willingly  the  sound  kernel  of  character  which  is  the  basis  o 
his  personality.  Whatever  slander  he  may  have  retailed  about  the  camp-fire,  whatevei 
foolish  vanity  he  may  have  had  in  his  uniform,  Pope  fought  the  good  fight.  ‘ Afte 
all,’  he  wrote  to  Bishop  Atterbury,  who  was  trying  to  make  a Protestant  of  him,  ‘ ( 
verily  believe  your  Lordship  and  I are  both  of  the  same  religion,  if  we  were  thorough! 
understood  by  one  another,  and  that  all  honest  and  reasonable  Christians  would  be  sc] 
if  they  did  but  talk  together  everyday;  and  had  nothing  to  do  together  but  to  serve  Go«j 
and  live  in  peace  with  their  neighbors.’ 

H.  W.  B. 

Andover,  March , 1903. 


EARLY  POEMS 


l 

ODE  ON  SOLITUDE 

I 

‘ This  was  a very  early  production  of  our 
ruthor,  written  at  about  twelve  years  old,’  says 
tope  in  one  of  his  unsigned  and  unreliable  notes. 

the  statement  is  true,  it  was  probably  writ- 
,n  during  the  year  1700.  It  is  apparently 
*ie  earliest  poem  of  Pope’s  which  remains  to 
though  according  to  Roscoe,  ‘ Dodsley,  who 
as  honoured  with  his  intimacy,  had  seen  se v- 
*al  pieces  of  an  earlier  date.’ 

i[appy  the  man  whose  wish  and  care 
i A few  paternal  acres  bound, 
r ontent  to  breathe  his  native  air 
In  bis  own  ground. 

Vhose  herds  with  milk,  whose  fields  with 
bread, 

Whose  flocks  supply  him  with  attire, 
VLose  trees  in  summer  yield  him  shade, 

In  winter  fire. 

lless’d  who  can  unconcern’dly  find 
Hours,  days,  and  years  slide  soft  away, 
n health  of  body,  peace  of  mind, 

Quiet  by  day; 

lound  sleep  by  night : study  and  ease 
Together  mix’d;  sweet  recreation; 
ind  innocence,  which  most  does  please, 
With  meditation. 

This  let  me  live,  unseen,  unknown, 

Thus  unlamented  let  me  die  ; 

Steal  from  the  world,  and  not  a stone 
Tell  where  I lie. 


V PARAPHRASE  (ON  THOMAS  A 
KEMPIS,  l.  in.  c.  2) 

Supposed  to  have  been  written  in  1700 ; first 
mblished  from  the  Caryll  Papers  in  the  Athe- 
weum , July  15,  1854. 


Speak,  Gracious  Lord,  oh,  speak;  thy  ser- 
vant hears: 

For  I ’m  thy  servant  and  I ’ll  still  be 
so: 

Speak  words  of  comfort  in  my  willing 
ears; 

And  since  my  tongue  is  in  thy  praises 
slow, 

And  since  that  thine  all  Rhetoric  exceeds: 

Speak  thou  in  words,  but  let  me  speak  in 
deeds ! 

Nor  speak  alone,  but  give  me  grace  to 
hear 

What  thy  celestial  Sweetness  does  im- 
part; 

Let  it  not  stop  when  enter’d  at  the  ear, 

But  sink,  and  take  deep  rooting  in  my 
heart. 

As  the  parch’d  Earth  drinks  rain  (but  grace 
afford) 

With  such  a gust  will  I receive  thy  word. 

Nor  with  the  Israelites  shall  I desire 

Thy  heav’nly  word  by  Moses  to  receive, 

Lest  I should  die  : but  Thou  who  didst  in- 
spire 

Moses  himself,  speak  Thou,  that  I may 
live. 

Rather  with  Samuel  I beseech  with  tears, 

Speak,  gracious  Lord,  oh,  speak,  thy  ser- 
vant hears. 

Moses,  indeed,  may  say  the  words,  but 
Thou 

Must  give  the  Spirit,  and  the  Life  in- 
spire; 

Our  Love  to  thee  his  fervent  breath  may 
blow, 

But ’t  is  thyself  alone  can  give  the  fire : 

Thou  without  them  may’st  speak  and  profit 
too; 

But  without  thee  what  could  the  Prophets 
do? 


EARLY  POEMS 


They  preach  the  Doctrine,  but  thou  mak’st 
us  do ’t  ; 

They  teach  the  inyst’ries  thou  dost  open 
lay  ; 

The  trees  they  water,  but  thou  giv’st  the 
fruit  ; 

They  to  Salvation  show  the  arduous  way, 
But  none  but  you  can  give  us  strength  to 
walk  ; 

You  give  the  Practice,  they  but  give  the 
Talk. 

Let  them  be  silent  then  ; and  thou  alone, 

My  God  ! speak  comfort  to  my  ravish’d 
ears  ; 

Light  of  my  eyes,  my  Consolation, 

Speak  when  thou  wilt,  for  still  thy  ser- 
vant hears. 

Whate’er  thou  speak’st,  let  this  be  under- 
stood : 

Thy  greater  Glory,  and  my  greater  Good  ! 

TO  THE  AUTHOR  OF  A POEM 
ENTITLED  SUCCESSIO 

Elkanah  Settle,  celebrated  as  Doeg  in  Dry- 
den’s  Absalom  and  Achitophel.  wrote  Succes- 
sio  in  honor  of  the  incoming  Brunswick  dy- 
nasty. Warburton  (or  possibly  Pope)  in  a note 
on  Bunciad , I.  181,  says  that  the  poem  was 
‘ written  at  fourteen  years  old,  and  soon  after 
printed.’  A good  instance  of  Pope’s  economy 
of  material  will  be  found  in  the  passage  upon 
which  that  note  bears  : an  adaptation  of  lines 
4,  17  and  18  of  this  early  poem.  It  was  first 
published  in  Lin  tot’s  Miscellanies , 1712. 

Begone,  ye  Critics,  and  restrain  your  spite, 
Codrus  writes  on,  and  will  forever  write. 
The  heaviest  Muse  the  swiftest  course  has 
gone, 

As  clocks  run  fastest  when  most  lead  is  on; 
What  tho’  no  bees  around  vour  cradle  flew, 
Nor  on  your  lips  distill’d  their  golden  dew ; 
Yet  have  we  oft  discover’d  in  their  stead 
A swarm  of  drones  that  buzz’d  about  your 
head. 

When  you,  like  Orpheus,  strike  the  war- 
bling lyre, 

Attentive  blocks  stand  round  you  and  ad- 
mire. 

Wit  pass’d  thro’  thee  no  longer  is  the 
same, 

As  meat  digested  takes  a diff’rent  name; 
But  sense  must  sure  thy  safest  plunder  be, 


Since  no  reprisals  can  be  made  on  thee. 
Thus  thou  may’st  rise,  and  in  thy  daring 
flight 

(Tho’  ne’er  so  weighty)  reach  a wondrous, 
height. 

So,  forc’d  from  engines,  lead  itself  caiH 

fly,  . 

And  pond’rous  slugs  move  nimbly  thro’  the 
sky. 

Sure  Bavius  copied  Mcevius  to  the  full, 

And  Chcerilus  taught  Codrus  to  be  dull; 
Therefore,  dear  friend,  at  my  advice  give 
o’er 

This  needless  labour  ; and  contend  no  more 
To  prove  a dull  succession  to  be  true, 

Since ’t  is  enough  we  find  it  so  in  you. 


THE  FIRST  BOOK  OF  STATIUS’S, 
THEBAIS 

t 

TRANSLATED  IN  THE  YEAR  1 703 

Though  Pope  ascribes  this  translation  to 
1703,  there  is  evidence  that  part  of  it  was  dona 
as  early  as  1G99.  It  was  finally  revised  and  pub- 
lished in  1712,  but  Courthope  asserts  that  1 i( 
is  fair  to  assume  that  the  body  of  the  composi- 
tion is  preserved  in  its  original  form.’ 

ARGUMENT 

(Edipus,  King  of  Thebes,  having,  by  mis-! 
take,  slain  his  father  Laius,  and  married  his 
mother  Jocasta,  put  out  his  own  eyes,  and  re- 
sign’d the  realm  to  his  sons  Eteocles  and  Polv- 
nices.  Being  neglected  by  them,  he  makes  his 
prayer  to  the  Fury  Tisiphone,  to  sow  debat< 
betwixt  the  brothers.  They  agree  at  last  tc 
reign  singly,  each  a year  by  turns,  and  tht 
first  lot  is  obtain’d  by  Eteocles.  Jupiter,  in  t 
council  of  the  gods,  declares  his  resolution  o 
punishing  the  Thebans,  and  Argives  also,  b^ 
means  of  a marriage  betwixt  Polynices  am 
one  of  the  daughters  of  Adrastus  King  of  Ar 
gos.  Juno  opposes,  but  to  no  effect  ; am 
Mercury  is  sent  on  a message  to  the  shades,  tt 
the  ghost  of  Laius,  who  is  to  appear  to  Eteoi 
cles,  and  provoke  him  to  break  the  agreement 
Polynices,  in  the  mean  time,  departs  fron 
Thebes  by  night,  is  overtaken  by  a storm,  am 
arrives  at  Argos  ; where  he  meets  with  Tideud 
who  had  fled  from  Calidon,  having  kill’d  hi 
brother.  Adrastus  entertains  them,  havim 
receiv’d  an  oracle  from  Apollo  that  his  daugh 
ters  should  be  married  to  a boar  and  a lion 
which  he  understands  to  be  meant  of  thes 
strangers,  by  whom  the  hides  of  those  beast 
were  worn,  and  who  arrived  at  the  time  wke: 


THE  FIRST  BOOK  OF  STATIUS’S  THEBAIS 


3 


kept  an  annual  feast  in  honour  of  that  god. 
le  rise  of  this  solemnity.  He  relates  to  his 
tests  the  loves  of  Phoebus  and  Psamathe, 
d the  story  of  Choroebus  : he  inquires,  and 
made  acquainted,  with  their  descent  and 
tality.  The  sacrifice  is  renew’d,  and  the  book 
ncludes  with  a hymn  to  Apollo. 

raternal  rage,  the  guilty  Thebes’ 
alarms, 

h’  alternate  reign  destroy’d  by  impious 
arms 

emand  our  song  ; a sacred  fury  fires 
.y  ravish’d  breast,  and  all  the  Muse  in- 
spires. 

Goddess  ! say,  shall  I deduce  my  rhymes 
rom  the  dire  nation  in  its  early  times, 
uropa’s  rape,  Agenor’s  stern  decree, 
nd  Cadmus  searching  round  the  spacious 
, sea  ? 

iow  with  the  serpent’s  teeth  he  sow’d  the 
soil, 

nd  reap’d  an  iron  harvest  of  his  toil  ; io 
r how  from  joining  stones  the  city  sprung, 
/’liile  to  his  harp  divine  Arnphion  sung  ? 

Jr  shall  I Juno’s  hate  to  Thebes  resound, 
jVTliose  fatal  rage  th’  unhappy  monarch 
found  ? 

/he  sire  against  the  son  his  arrows  drew, 
I’er  the  wide  fields  the  furious  mother 
flew, 

.nd  while  her  arms  a second  hope  contain, 
prung  from  the  rocks,  and  plunged  into 

i the  main. 

But  waive  whate’er  to  Cadmus  may 
t belong, 

Lnd  fix,  O Muse  ! the  barrier  of  thy  song 
Vt  CEdipus  — from  his  disasters  trace  21 
'/he  long  confusions  of  his  guilty  race  : 
lor  yet  attempt  to  stretch  thy  bolder 

> wing> 

(laid  mighty  Caesar’s  conquering  eagles 

ii  sing  ; 

Tow  twice  he  tamed  proud  Ister’s  rapid 

I flood. 

While  Dacian  mountains  stream’d  with 
barb’rous  blood  : 

n?wice  taught  the  Rhine  beneath  his  laws 
a to  roll, 

[fX nd  stretch’d  his  empire  to  the  frozen 
; pole  ; 

i)r,  long  before,  with  early  valour  strove 
n youthful  arms  t’ assert  the  cause  of 

II  Jove.  30 

And  thou,  great  heir  of  all  thy  father’s 

fame. 


Increase  of  glory  to  the  Latian  name, 

O ! bless  thy  Rome  with  an  eternal  reign, 
Nor  let  desiring  worlds  entreat  in  vain  ! 
What  tho’  the  stars  contract  their  heav’nly 
space, 

And  crowd  their  shining  ranks  to  yield 
thee  place  ; 

Tho’  all  the  skies,  ambitious  of  thy  sway, 
Conspire  to  court  thee  from  our  world 
away  ; 

Tho’  Phoebus  longs  to  mix  his  rays  with 
thine, 

And  in  thy  glories  more  serenely  shine  ; 40 
Tho’  Jove  himself  no  less  content  would 
be 

To  part  his  throne,  and  share  his  Heav’n 
with  thee  ? 

Yet  stay,  great  Caesar  ! and  vouchsafe  to 
reign 

O’er  the  wide  earth,  and  o’er  the  wat’ry 
main  ; 

Resign  to  Jove  his  empire  of  the  skies, 

And  people  Heav’n  with  Roman  deities. 

The  time  will  come  when  a diviner  flame 
Shall  warm  my  breast  to  sing  of  Caesar’s 
fame  ; 

Meanwhile  permit  that  my  preluding 
Muse 

In  Theban  wars  an  humbler  theme  may 
choose.  5° 

Of  furious  hate  surviving  death  she  sings, 
A fatal  throne  to  two  contending  kings, 
And  funeral  flames  that,  parting  wide  in 
air, 

Express  the  discord  of  the  souls  they  bear: 
Of  towns  dispeopled,  and  the  wand’ring 
ghosts 

Of  kings  unburied  in  the  wasted  coasts  ; 
When  Dirce’s  fountain  blush’d  with  Gre- 
cian blood, 

And  Thetis,  near  Ismenos’  swelling  flood, 
With  dread  beheld  the  rolling  surges 
sweep 

In  heaps  his  slaughter’d  sons  into  the 
deep.  60 

What  hero,  Clio!  wilt  thou  first  relate  ? 
The  rage  of  Tydeus,  or  the  prophet’s 
fate  ? 

Or  how,  with  hills  of  slain  on  every  side, 
Hippomedon  repell’d  the  hostile  tide  ? 

Or  how  the  youth,  with  ev’ry  grace 
adorn’d, 

Untimely  fell,  to  be  forever  mourn’d  ? 
Then  to  fierce  Capaneus  thy  verse  extend, 
And  sing  with  horror  his  prodigious  end. 


Now  wretched  CEdipus,  deprived  of 

sight, 

Led  a long  death  in  everlasting  night  ; 7o 
But  while  he  dwells  where  not  a cheerful 


ray 


Can  pierce  the  darkness,  and  abhors  the 
day, 

The  clear  reflecting  mind  presents  his  sin 
In  frightful  views,  and  makes  it  day  within; 
Returning  thoughts  in  endless  circles  roll, 
And  thousand  furies  haunt  his  guilty  soul  : 
The  wretch  then  lifted  to  th’  unpitying 
skies 

Those  empty  orbs  from  whence  he  tore  his 
eyes, 

Whose  wounds,  yet  fresh,  with  bloody 
hands  he  strook, 

While  from  his  breast  these  dreadful  ac- 
cents broke  : — go 

‘ Ye  Gods  ! that  o’er  the  gloomy  regions 
reign, 

Where  guilty  spirits  feel  eternal  pain  ; 
Thou,  sable  Styx  ! whose  livid  streams  are 
roll’d 

Through  dreary  coasts,  which  I tho’  blind 
behold  ; 

Tisi phone  ! that  oft  has  heard  my  prayer, 
Assist,  if  CEdipus  deserve  thy  care. 

If  you  receiv’d  me  from  Jocasta’s  womb, 
And  nurs’d  the  hope  of  mischiefs  yet  to 
come  ; 

If,  leaving  Polybus,  I took  my  way 
To  Cyrrha’s  temple,  on  that  fatal  day  9o 
When  by  the  son  the  trembling  father  died, 
Where  the  three  roads  the  Phocian  fields 
divide  ; 

If  I the  Sphynx’s  riddles  durst  explain, 
Taught  by  thyself  to  win  the  promis’d 
reign  ; 

If  wretched  I,  by  baleful  furies  led, 

With  monstrous  mixture  stain’d  my  mo- 
ther’s bed, 

For  Hell  and  thee  begot  an  impious  brood, 
And  with  full  lust  those  horrid  joys  re- 
new’d, 

Then,  self  condemn’d,  to  shades  of  endless 
night, 

Forc’d  from  these  orbs  the  bleeding  balls 
of  sight,  IOO 

Oh  hear  ! and  aid  the  vengeance  I require, 
If  worthy  thee,  and  what  thou  might’st  in- 
spire. 

My  sons  their  old  unhappy  sire  despise, 
Spoil’d  of  his  kingdom,  and  deprived  of 
eyes  ; 


Guideless  I wander,  unregarded  mourn 
Whilst  these  exalt  their  sceptres  o’er*  m i 
urn  ; J 

These  sons,  ye  Gods  ! who  with  flagitiomi 
pride 

Insult  my  darkness  and  my  groans  deride 
Art  thou  a father,  unregarding  Jove  ! 

And  sleeps  thy  thunder  in°  the  realms 
above  ? I1( 

Thou  Fury!  then  some  lasting  curse  entail 
Which  o’er  their  children’s  children  shall 
prevail  ; 

Place  on  their  heads  that  crown  distain’d 
with  gore, 

Which  these  dire  hands  from  my  slain 
father  tore  ; 

Go  ! and  a parent’s  heavy  curses  bear;  1 
Break  all  the  bonds  of  Nature,  and  pre-  I 


pare 


Their  kindred  souls  to  mutual  hate  and 


Give  them  to  dare,  what  I might  wish  to  see; 

Blind  as  I am,  some  glorious  villany  ! 

Soon  shalt  thou  find,  if  thou  but  arm  their 
hands, 

Their  ready  guilt  preventing  thy  com- 
mands : 

Couldst  thou  some  great  proportion’d  mis- 
chief frame, 

They ’d  prove  the  father  from  whose  loins 
they  came.’ 

The  Fury  heard,  while  on  Cocytus’  brink 

Her  snakes,  untied,  sulphureous  waters 
drink  ; 

But  at  the  summons  roll’d  her  eyes  around, 

And  snatch’d  the  starting  serpents  from 
the  ground. 

Not  half  so  swiftly  shoots  along  in  air 

The  gliding  lightning  or  descending  star. 

Thro’  crowds  of  airy  shades  she  wing’d  her 
flight,  I3o 

And  dark  dominions  of  the  silent  night  ; 

Swift  as  she  pass’d  the  flitting  ghosts  with- 
drew, 

And  the  pale  spectres  trembled  at  her 


To  th’  iron  gates  of  Tenarus  she  flies, 
There  spreads  her  dusky  pinions  to  the 
skies. 


The  Day  beheld,  and,  sick’ning  at  the  sight, 
Veil’d  her  fair  glories  in  the  shades  of 


night. 

Affrighted  Atlas  on  the  distant  shore 
Trembled,  and  shook  the  heav’ns  and  Gods 
he  bore. 


THE  FIRST  BOOK  OF  STATIUS’S  THEBAIS 


5 


Jow  from  beneath  Malea’s  airy  height  140 
Uoft  she  sprung,  and  steer’d  to  Thebes 
her  flight ; 

Vith  eager  speed  the  well  known  journey 
took, 

'Tor  here  regrets  the  Hell  she  late  forsook. 

hundred  snakes  her  gloomy  visage  shade, 
L hundred  serpents  guard  her  horrid  head; 
11  her  sunk  eyeballs  dreadful  meteors 
1 glow: 

Such  rays  from  Fhcebe’s  bloody  circle  flow, 
When,  lab’ring  with  strong  charms,  she 
shoots  from  high 

X fiery  gleam,  and  reddens  all  the  sky. 
'flood  stain’d  her  cheeks,  and  from  her 
mouth  there  came  150 

flue  steaming  poisons,  and  a length  of 
| flame. 

’rom  every  blast  of  her  contagious  breath 
’amine  and  Drought  proceed,  and  Plagues 
and  Death. 

L robe  obscene  was  o’er  her  shoulders 
thrown, 

X dress  by  Fates  and  Furies  worn  alone. 
Hie  toss’d  her  meagre  arms  ; her  better 
hand 

n waving  circles  whirl’d  a funeral  brand  ; 
1 serpent  from  her  left  was  seen  to  rear 
ttis  flaming  crest,  and  lash  the  yielding 
air.  159 

flit  when  the  Fury  took  her  stand  on  high, 
Where  vast  Cithseron’s  top  salutes  the  sky, 
\ hiss  from  all  the  snaky  tire  went  round : ") 
Che  dreadful  signal  all  the  rocks  rebound,  I 
*ind  thro’  th’  Achaian  cities  send  the  [ 

" sound.  J 

Ete,  with  high  Parnassus,  heard  the  voice; 
£urotas’  banks  remurmur’d  to  the  noise  ; 
Igain  Leueothea  shook  at  these  alarms, 
Ind  press’d  Palsemon  closer  in  her  arms, 
leadlong  from  thence  the  glowing  Fury 
springs, 

\nd  o’er  the  Theban  palace  spreads  her 
wings,  170 

)nce  more  invades  the  guilty  dome,  and 
shrouds 

ts  bright  pavilions  in  a veil  of  clouds, 
itraight  with  the  rage  of  all  their  race ' 
possest, 

Stung  to  the  soul,  the  brothers  start 
from  rest,  [ 

Lnd  all  their  furies  wake  within  their 
! breast : 

’heir  tortured  minds  repining  Envy  tears, 
lud  Hate,  engender’d  by  suspicious  Fears; 


And  sacred  thirst  of  Sway,  and  all  the  ties 
Of  Nature  broke,  and  royal  Perjuries  ; 

And  impotent  desire  to  reign  alone,  180 
That  scorns  the  dull  reversion  of  a throne  : 
Each  would  the  sweets  of  sov’reign  Rule 
devour, 

While  Discord  waits  upon  divided  power. 

As  stubborn  steers,  by  brawny  plough- 
men broke, 

And  join’d  reluctant  to  the  galling  yoke, 
Alike  disdain  with  servile  necks  to  bear 
Th’  unwonted  weight,  or  drag  the  crooked 
share, 

But  rend  the  reins,  and  bound  a diff’rent 
way, 

And  all  the  furrows  in  confusion  lay  : 

Such  was  the  discord  of  the  royal  pair  190 
Whom  fury  drove  precipitate  to  war. 

I11  vain  the  chiefs  contrived  a specious  way 
To  govern  Thebes  by  their  alternate  sway: 
Unjust  decree  ! while  this  enjoys  the  state, 
That  mourns  in  exile  his  unequal  fate, 

And  the  short  monarch  of  a hasty  year 
Foresees  with  anguish  his  returning  heir. 
Thus  did  the  league  their  impious  arms  re- 
strain, 

But  scarce  subsisted  to  the  second  reign. 

Yet  then  no  proud  aspiring  piles  were 
rais’d,  200 

No  fretted  roofs  with  polish’d  metals 
blazed  ; 

No  labour’d  columns  in  long  order  placed, 
No  Grecian  stone  the  pompous  arches 
graced  ; 

No  nightly  bands  in  glitt’ring  armour  wait 
Before  the  sleepless  tyrant’s  guarded  gate; 
No  charges  then  were  wrought  in  burnish’d 
gold, 

Nor  silver  vases  took  the  forming  mould  ; 
Nor  gems  on  bowls  emboss’d  were  seen  to 
shine, 

Blaze  on  the  brims,  and  sparkle  in  the 
wine. 

Say,  wretched  rivals  1 what  provokes  your 
rage  ? 210 

Say  to  what  end  your  impious  arms  en- 
gage ? 

Not  all  bright  Phoebus  views  in  early  morn, 
Or  when  his  ev’ning  beams  the  west  adorn, 
When  the  South  glows  with  his  meridian 

ray, 

And  the  cold  North  receives  a fainter 
day  — 

For  crimes  like  these  not  all  those  realms 
suffice, 


6 


EARLY  TOEMS 


Were  all  those  realms  the  guilty  victor’s 
prize  ! 

But  Fortune  now  (the  lots  of  empire 
thrown) 

Decrees  to  proud  Eteocles  the  crown. 

What  joys,  O Tyrant  ! swell’d  thy  soul  that 
day,  220 

When  ali  were  slaves  thou  could’st  around 
survey, 

Pleas’d  to  behold  unbounded  power  thy 
own, 

And  singly  fill  a fear’d  and  envied  throne  ! 

But  the  vile  vulgar,  ever  discontent, 

Their  growing  fears  in  secret  murmurs 
vent  ; 

Still  prone  to  change,  tlio’  still  the  slaves  of 


state, 

And  sure  the  monarch  whom  they  have  to 
hate  ; 

New  lords  they  madly  make,  then  tamely 
bear, 

And  softly  curse  the  tyrants  whom  they 
fear. 

And  one  of  those  who  groan  beneath  the 
sway  230 

Of  kings  imposed,  and  grudgingly  obey, 

(Whom  Envy  to  the  great,  and  vulgar 
Spite, 

With  Scandal  arm’d,  th’  ignoble  mind’s  de- 
light) 

Exclaim’d  — “O  Thebes!  for  thee  what 
fates  remain, 

Wliat  woes  attend  this  unauspicious  reign  ? 

Must  we,  alas  ! our  doubtful  necks  prepare  ) 

Each  haughty  master’s  yoke  by  turns  to 


bear, 


And  still  to  change  whom  changed  we 
still  must  fear  ? J 

These  now  control  a wretched  people’s  fate, 
These  can  divide,  and  these  reverse  the 
state  : 240 

Ev’n  Fortune  rules  no  more  — O servile 
land, 

Where  exiled  tyrants  still  by  turns  com- 
mand ! 

Thou  Sire  of  Gods  and  men,  imperial  Jove! 
Is  this  th’  eternal  doom  decreed  above  ? 
On  thy  own  offspring  hast  thou  fix’d  this 
fate 

From  the  first  birth  of  our  unhappy  state, 
When  banish’d  Cadmus,  wand’ring  o’er  the 


main, 

For  lost  Europa  search’d  the  world  in  vain, 
And  fated  in  Boeotian  fields  to  found 


A rising  empire  on  a foreign  ground,  250 


First  rais’d  our  walls  on  that  ill-omen ’d 
plain 

Where  earth-born  brothers  were  by  bro- 
thers slain  ? 

What  lofty  looks  th’  unrivall’d  monarch 
bears  ! 

How  all  the  Tyrant  in  his  face  appears  ! 
What  sullen  fury  clouds  his  scornful  brow  ! 
Gods  ! how  his  eyes  with  threat’ning  ar- 
dour glow  ! 

Can  this  imperious  lord  forget  to  reign, 
Quit  all  his  state,  descend,  and  serve  again 
Yet  who  before  more  popularly  bow’d  ? 
Who  more  propitious  to  the  suppliani 
crowd  ? 261 

Patient  of  right,  familiar  in  the  throne, 
What  wonder  then  ? lie  was  not  then  alone 
Oh  wretched  we  ! a vile  submissive  train, 
Fortune’s  tame  fools,  and  slaves  in  everj 
reign  ! 

‘ As  when  two  winds  with  rival  fore* 
contend, 

This  way  and  that  the  wavering  sails  the’ 
bend, 

While  freezing  Boreas  and  black  Euru 
blow, 

Now  here,  now  there  the  reeling  vesse 
throw  ; 

Thus  on  each  side,  alas  ! our  tott’ring  stab 
Feels  all  the  fury  of  resistless  Fate,  27 
And  doubtful  still,  and  still  distracte< 
stands, 

While  that  prince  threatens,  and  while  tlii 
commands.’ 

And  now  th’  almighty  Father  of  the  God 
Convenes  a council  in  the  bless’d  abodes. 
Far  in  the  bright  recesses  of  the  skies, 
High  o’er  the  rolling  heav’ns,  a mansion  liei 
Whence,  far  below,  the  Gods  at  once 
survey 

The  realms  of  rising  and  declining  day, 
And  all  th’  extended  space  of  earth, 
and  air,  and  sea.  279^ 

Full  in  the  midst,  and  on  a starry  throne, 
The  Majesty  of  Heav’n  superior  shone  : 
Serene  he  look’d,  and  gave  an  awful  nod, 
And  all  the  trembling  spheres  confess’d  th 
God. 

At  Jove’s  assent  the  deities  around 
In  solemn  state  the  consistory  crown’d. 
Next  a long  order  of  inferior  powers 
Ascend  from  hills,  and  plains,  and  shad 
bowers  ; 

Those  from  whose  urns  the  rolling  rive: 
flow, 


THE  FIRST  BOOK  OF  STATIUS’S  THEBAIS  7 


ind  those  that  give  the  wand’ring  winds  to 
blow  : 

Iere  all  their  rage  andev’n  their  murmurs 
cease,  . 290 

1 nd  sacred  Silence  reigns,  and  universal 
Peace. 

L shining  synod  of  majestic  Gods 
iilds  with  new  lustre  the  divine  abodes  : 
Teav’n  seems  improv’d  with  a superior  ray, 
Vnd  the  bright  arch  reflects  a double  day. 
'lie  Monarch  then  his  solemn  silence  broke, 
'?he  still  creation  listen’d  while  lie  spoke  ; 
Cach  sacred  accent  bears  eternal  weight, 
Ind  each  irrevocable  word  is  Fate. 

‘ How  long  shall  man  the  wrath  of 
Heav’11  defy,  300 

tnd  force  unwilling  vengeance  from  the 
sky  ? 

l)  race  confed’rate  into  crimes,  that  prove 
triumphant  o’er  th’  eluded  rage  of  Jove  ! 
This  wearied  arm  can  scarce  the  bolt  sus- 
tain, 

\nd  unregarded  thunder  rolls  in  vain  : 
th’  o’erlabour’d  Cyclop  from  his  task  re- 
1 tires, 

th’  iEolian  forge  exhausted  of  its  fires, 
rnr  this  I suffer’d  Phoebus’  steeds  to  stray, 
Vnd  the  mad  ruler  to  misguide  the  day, 
When  the  wide  earth  to  heaps  of  ashes 
1 turn’d,  310 

Ynd  Heav’n  itself  the  wand’ring  chariot 
burn’d  ; 

'’or  this  my  brother  of  the  wat’ry  reign  ~J 
Releas’d  th’  impetuous  sluices  of  the  main;  [ 
J$ut  flames  consumed,  and  billows  raged  f 
in  vain.  J 

two  races  now,  allied  to  Jove,  offend  ; 
to  punish  these,  see  Jove  himself  descend, 
the  Theban  kings  their  line  from  Cadmus 
trace, 

i’rom  godlike  Perseus  those  of  Argive  race. 
Jnliappy  Cadmus’  fate  who  does  not  know, 
Gid  the  long  series  of  succeeding  woe  ? 320 
Tow  oft  the  Furies  from  the  deeps  of  night 
Vrose,  and  mix’d  with  men  in  mortal  fight; 
Th’  exulting  mother  stain’d  with  filial 
blood, 

The  savage  hunter  and  the  haunted  wood  ? 
The  direful  banquet  why  should  I pro- 
claim, 

ind  crimes  that  grieve  the  trembling  Gods 
IJ  to  name  ? 

3re  I recount  the  sins  of  these  profane,  '1 
The  sun  would  sink  into  the  western  main,  > 
ind,  rising,  gild  the  radiant  east  again.  J 


Have  we  not  seen  (the  blood  of  Laius 
shed)  330 

The  murd’ring  son  ascend  his  parent’s  bed, 
Thro’  violated  Nature  force  his  way, 

And  stain  the  sacred  womb  where  once  he 
lay? 

Yet  now  in  darkness  and  despair  he  groans, 
And  for  the  crimes  of  guilty  Fate  atones; 
His  sons  with  scorn  their  eyeless  father 
view, 

Insult  his  wounds,  and  make  them  bleed 
anew.  337 

Thy  curse,  O CEdipus  ! just  Heav’n  alarms, 
And  sets  th’  avenging  Thunderer  in  arms. 

I from  the  root  thy  guilty  race  will  tear, 
And  give  the  nations  to  the  waste  of  war. 
Adrastus  soon,  with  Gods  averse,  shall  join 
I11  dire  alliance  with  the  Theban  line  ; 
Hence  strife  shall  rise,  and  mortal  war  suc- 
ceed ; 

The  guilty  realms  of  Tantalus  shall  bleed  : 
Fix’d  is  their  doom.  This  all-rememb’ring 
breast 

Yet  harbours  vengeance  for  the  tyrant’s 
feast.’ 

He  said  ; and  thus  the  Queen  of  Heav’n 
return’d 

(With  sudden  grief  her  lab’ring  bosom 
burn’d)  : 

‘ Must  I,  whose  cares  Phoroneus’  towers 
defend,  350 

Must  I,  O Jove  ! in  bloody  wars  contend  ? 
Thou  know’st  those  regions  my  protection 
claim, 

Glorious  in  Arms,  in  Riches,  and  in  Fame  : 
Tho’  there  the  fair  Egyptian  heifer  fed, 
And  there  deluded  Argus  slept  and  bled  ; 
Tho’  there  the  brazen  tower  was  storm’d  of 
old, 

When  Jove  descended  in  almighty  gold  ! 
Yet  I can  pardon  those  obscurer  rapes, 
Those  bashful  crimes  disguis’d  in  borrow’d 
shapes ; 

But  Thebes,  where,  shining  in  celestial 
charms,  360 

Thou  earnest  triumphant  to  a mortal’s 
arms, 

When  all  my  glories  o’er  her  limbs  were 
spread, 

And  blazing  lightnings  danced  around  her 
bed  ; 

Curs’d  Thebes  the  vengeance  it  deserves 
may  prove  — 

Ah  ! why  should  Argos  feel  the  rage  of 
Jove? 


8 


EARLY  POEMS 


Yet  since  thou  wilt  thy  sister-queen  control, 
Since  still  the  lust  of  Discord  tires  thy  soul, 
Go,  raze  my  Samos,  let  Mycene  fall, 

And  level  with  the  dust  the  Spartan  wall  ; 
No  more  let  mortals  Juno’s  power  invoke,  "1 
Her  fanes  no  more  with  eastern  incense 
smoke,  37i  l 

Nor  victims  sink  beneath  the  sacred 
stroke ; J 

But  to  your  Isis  all  my  rights  transfer, 

Let  altars  blaze  and  temples  smoke  for  her  ! 
For  her,  thro’  Egypt’s  fruitful  clime  re- 
nown’d, 

Let  weeping  Nilus  hear  the  timbrel  sound. 
But  if  thou  must  reform  the  stubborn 
times, 

Avenging  on  the  sons  the  fathers’  crimes, 
And  from  the  long  records  of  distant  age 
Derive  incitements  to  renew  thy  rage  ; 380 

Say,  from  what  period  then  has  Jove  de- 
sign’d 

To  date  his  vengeance  ? to  what  bounds 
confin’d  ? 

Begin  from  thence,  where  first  Alpheus'j 
hides 

His  wand’ring  stream,  and  thro’  the  briny  >• 
tides 

Unmix’d  to  his  Sicilian  river  glides.  J 
Thy  own  Arcadians  there  the  thunder 
claim, 

Whose  impious  rites  disgrace  thy  mighty 
name  ; 

Who  raise  thy  temples  where  the  chariot 
stood 

Of  fierce  (Enomaiis,  defil’d  with  blood  ; 
Where  once  his  steeds  their  savage  ban- 
quet found,  390 

And  human  bones  yet  whiten  all  the 
ground. 

Say,  can  those  honours  please  ? and  canst 
thou  love 

Presumptuous  Crete,  that  boasts  the  tomb 
of  Jove  ? 

And  shall  not  Tantalus’s  kingdoms  share 
Thy  wife  and  sister’s  tutelary  care  ? 
Reverse,  O Jove  ! thy’-  too  severe  decree, 
Nor  doom  to  war  a race  derived  from  thee  ; 
On  impious  realms  and  barb’rous  kings 
impose 

Thy  plagues,  and  curse  them  with  such 
sons  as  those.’ 

Thus  in  reproach  and  prayer  the  Queen 
exprest  40° 

The  rage  and  grief  contending  in  her 
breast ; 


Unmov’d  remain’d  the  Ruler  of  the  Sky, 
And  from  his  throne  return’d  this  ster 
reply : 

’T  was  thus  I deem’d  thy  haughty  soul  "I 
would  bear 

The  dire  tho’ just  revenge  which  I prepare  j 
Against  a nation  thy  peculiar  care  : J 

No  less  Dione  might  for  Thebes  contend, 
Nor  Bacchus  less  his  native  town  defend  ; 
Yet  these  in  silence  see  the  Fates  fulfil 
Their  work,  and  rev’rence  our  superio 
will  : 4i 

For  by  the  black  infernal  Styx  I swear 
(That  dreadful  oath  which  binds  the  Thun 
derer) 

’T  is  fix’d,  th’  irrevocable  doom  of  Jove  ; 
No  Force  can  bend  me,  no  Persuasio: 
move. 

Haste  then,  Cyllenius,  thro’  the  liquid  air 
Go,  mount  the  winds,  and  to  the  shades  re 
pair  ; 

Bid  Hell’s  black  monarch  my  command 
obey,  . 4i 

And  give  up  Laius  to  the  realms  of  day, 
Whose  ghost  yet  shiv’ring  on  Cocytus’  san< 
Expects  its  passage  to  the  further  strand  : 
Let  the  pale  sire  revisit  Thebes,  and  bear 
These  pleasing  orders  to  the  tyrant’s  ear  ; 
That  from  his  exiled  brother,  swell’d  wit 
pride 

Of  foreign  forces  and  his  Argive  bride, 
Almighty  Jove  commands  him  to  detain 
The  promis’d  empire,  and  alternate  reign 
Be  this  the  cause  of  more  than  mortal  hate 
The  rest  succeeding  times  shall  ripen  int 
Fate.’ 

The  God  obeys,  and  to  his  feet  applies 
Those  golden  wings  that  cut  the  yieldinj 
skies  ; 43 

His  ample  hat  his  beamy  locks  o’erspread 
And  veil’d  the  starry  glories  of  his  head. 
He  seiz’d  the  wand  that  causes  sleep  to  fly 
Or  in  soft  slumbers  seals  the  wakeful  eye 
That  drives  the  dead  to  dark  Tartarea 
coasts, 

Or  back  to  life  compels  the  wand’rin; 
ghosts. 

Thus  thro’  the  parting  clouds  the  son  o 
May 

Wings  on  the  whistling  winds  his  raph 
way; 

Now  smoothly  steers  thro’  air  his  equa 
flight, 

Now  springs  aloft,  and  towers  th’  etherea 
height  ; 4< 


THE  FIRST  BOOR  OF  STATIUS’S  THEBAIS 


9 


hen  wheeling  down  the  steep  of  heav’n 
1 he  flies, 

nd  draws  a radiant  circle  o’er  the  skies. 
Meantime  the  banish’d  Polynices  roves 
iis  Thebes  abandon’d)  thro’  th’  Aonian 
groves, 

71iile  future  realms  his  wand’ring  thoughts 
' delight, 

[is  daily  vision,  and  his  dream  by  night, 
orbidden  Thebes  appears  before  his  eye, 
rom  whence  he  sees  his  absent  brother  fly, 
7ith  transport  views  the  airy  rule  his  own, 
nd  swells  on  an  imaginary  throne.  450 
ain  would  he  cast  a tedious  age  away, 
nd  live  out  all  in  one  triumphant  day  : 

[e  chides  the  lazy  progress  of  the  sun, 
nd  bids  the  year  with  swifter  motion 
run  : 

yith  anxious  hopes  his  craving  mind  is  tost, 
lid  all  his  joys  in  length  of  wishes  lost. 
The  hero  then  resolves  his  course  to'j 
bend 

There  ancient  Danaus’  fruitful  fields  ex-  [> 
tend, 

.nd  famed  Mycene’s  lofty  towers  ascend  J 
Where  late  the  sun  did  Atreus’  crimes 
detest,  46° 

aid  disappear’d  in  horror  of  the  feast)  ; 
Ind  now  by  Chance,  by  Fate,  or  Furies  led, 
rom  Bacchus’  consecrated  caves  he  fled, 
There  the  shrill  cries  of  frantic  matrons 
sound, 

aid  Pentheus’  blood  enrich’d  the  rising 
ground  ; 

’hen  sees  Cithieron  towering  o’er  the  plain, 
aid  thence  declining  gently  to  the  main  ; 
lext  to  the  bounds  of  Nisus’  realm  re- 
pairs, 

[Vhere  treach’rous  Scylla  cut  the  purple 
hairs  ; 

’he  hanging  cliffs  of  Scyron’s  rock  ex- 
plores, 470 

tnd  hears  the  murmurs  of  the  diff’rent 
shores  ; 

’asses  the  strait  that  parts  the  foaming 
seas, 

Lnd  stately  Corinth’s  pleasing  site  surveys. 

’T  was  now  the  time  when  Phoebus  yields 
( to  night, 

Lnd  rising  Cynthia  sheds  her  silver  light  ; 
Vide  o’er  the  world  in  solemn  pomp  she 
drew 

ler  airy  chariot,  hung  with  pearly  dew  : 
Lll  birds  and  beasts  lie  hush’d  : sleep  steals 
away 


The  wild  desires  of  men,  and  toils  of  day, 
And  brings,  descending  thro’  the  silent  air, 
A sweet  forgetfulness  of  human  care.  481 
Yet  110  red  clouds,  with  golden  borders  gay, 
Promise  the  skies  the  bright  return  of  day  ; 
No  faint  reflections  of  the  distant  light 
Streak  with  long  gleams  the  scatt’ring 
shades  of  night ; 

From  the  damp  earth  impervious  vapours 
rise, 

Increase  the  darkness,  and  involve  the  skies. 
At  once  the  rushing  winds  with  roaring 
sound 

Burst  from  th’  iEolian  caves,  and  rend  the 
ground  ; 

With  equal  rage  their  airy  quarrel  try,  490 
And  win  by  turns  the  kingdom  of  the  sky. 
But  with  a thicker  night  black  Auster 
shrouds 

The  heav’ns,  and  drives  on  heaps  the  roll- 
ing clouds 

From  whose  dark  womb  a rattling  tempest 
pours, 

Which  the  cold  north  congeals  to  haily 
showers  : 

From  pole  to  pole  the  thunder  roars  aloud, 
And  broken  lightnings  flash  from  every 
cloud. 

Now  smokes  with  showers  the  misty  moun- 
tain-ground, 

And  floated  fields  lie  undistinguish’d 
round  ; 

Th’  Inachian  streams  with  headlong  fury 
run,  500 

And  Erasmus  rolls  a deluge  on  ; 

The  foaming  Lerna  swells  above  its  bounds, 
And  spreads  its  ancient  poisons  o’er  the 
grounds ; 

Where  late  was  dust,  now  rapid  torrents 
play, 

Rush  thro’  the  mounds,  and  bear  the  dams 
away  ; 

Old  limbs  of  trees,  from  crackling  forests 
torn, 

Are  whirl’d  in  air,  and  on  the  winds  are 
borne  ; 

The  storm  the  dark  Lycsean  groves  dis- 
play’d, 

And  first  to  light  exposed  the  sacred  shade. 
Th’  intrepid  Theban  hears  the  bursting  sky, 
Sees  yawning  rocks  in  massy  fragments 
fly,  . si* 

And  views  astonish’d,  from  the  hills  afar, 
The  floods  descending,  and  the  wat’ry 
war, 


EARLY  POEMS 


io 


That,  driv’n  by  storms  and  pouring  o’er 
the  plain, 

Swept  herds,  and  hinds,  and  houses  to  the 
main. 

Thro’  the  brown  horrors  of  the  night  he  fled, 
Nor  knows,  amaz’d,  what  doubtful  path  to 
tread  ; 

His  brother’s  image  to  his  mind  appears, 
Inflames  his  heart  with  rage, and  wings  his 
feet  with  fears.  519 

So  fares  the  sailor  on  the  stormy  main, 
When  clouds  conceal  Bootes’  golden  wain, 
When  not  a star  its  friendty  lustre  keeps, 
Nor  trembling  Cynthia  glimmers  on  the 
deeps  ; 

He  dreads  the  rocks,  and  shoals,  and  seas, 
and  skies, 

While  thunder  roars,  and  lightning  round 
him  flies. 

Thus  strove  the  chief,  on  ev’ry  side  dis- 
tress’d ; 

Thus  still  his  courage  with  his  toils  in- 
creas’d. 

With  his  broad  shield  opposed,  he  forced 
his  way 

Thro’  thickest  woods,  and  rous’d  the  beasts 
of  prey,  529 

Till  he  beheld  where  from  Larissa’s  height 
The  shelving  walls  reflect  a glancing  light. 
Thither  with  haste  the  Theban  hero  flies;'] 
On  this  side  Lerna’s  pois’nous  water  lies,  V 
On  that  Prosymna’s  grove  and  temple  rise.  J 
He  pass’d  the  gates  which  then  unguarded 
lay, 

And  to  the  regal  palace  bent  his  way  ; 

O11  the  cold  marble,  spent  with  toil,  he  lies, 
And  waits  till  pleasing  slumbers  seal  his 
eyes. 

Adrastus  here  his  happy  people  sways, 
Bless’d  with  calm  peace  in  his  declining 
days  ; 54° 

By  both  his  parents  of  descent  divine, 
Great  Jove  and  Phoebus  graced  his  noble 
line  : 

Heav’n  had  not  crown’d  his  wishes  with  a 
son, 

But  two  fair  daughters  heir’d  his  state  and 
throne. 

To  him  Apollo  (wondrous  to  relate  ! 

But  who  can  pierce  into  the  depths  of  fate  ?) 
Had  sung  — ‘ Expect  thy  sons  on  Argos’ 
shore, 

A yellow  lion  and  a bristly  boar.’ 

This  long  revolv’d  in  his  paternal  breast, 
Sat  heavy  on  his  heart,  and  broke  his  rest  ; 


This,  great  Amphiaraus  ! lay  hid  from 
thee,  551 

Tho’  skill’d  in  fate  and  dark  futurity. 

The  father’s  care  and  prophet’s  art  were 
vain, 

For  thus  did  the  predicting  God  ordain.’ 

Lo,  hapless  Tydeus  ! whose  ill-fated  hand 
Had  slain  his  brother,  leaves  his  native  land, 
And,  seiz’d  with  horror  in  the  shades  of 
night, 

Thro’  the  thick  deserts  headlong  urged  his 
flight  : 

Now  by  the  fury  of  the  tempest  driv’n, 

He  seeks  a shelter  from  th’  inclement 
heav’n,  56c 

Till,  led  by  fate,  the  Theban’s  steps  he 
treads, 

And  to  fair  Argos’  open  courts  succeeds. 

When  thus  the  chiefs  from  diff’rent  lands 
resort 

T’  Adrastus’  realms  and  hospitable  court, 
The  King  surveys  his  guests  with  curious 
eyes, 

And  views  their  arms  and  habit  with  sur- 
prise. 

A lion’s  yellow  skin  the  Theban  wears, 
Horrid  his  mane,  and  rough  with  curling 
hairs  ; 

Such  once  employ’d  Alcides’  youthful  toilsi 
Ere  yet  adorn’d  with  Nemea’s  dreadfu 
Spoils.  57< 

A boar’s  stiff  hide,  of  Calydonian  breed, 
Oenides’  manly  shoulders  overspread  ; 
Oblique  his  tusks,  erect  his  bristles  stood, 
Alive  the  pride  and  terror  of  the  wood. 

Struck  with  the  sight,  and  fix’d  in  deej 
amaze, 

The  King  th’  accomplish’d  oracle  surveys. 
Reveres  Apollo’s  vocal  caves,  and  owns 
The  guiding  godhead  and  his  future  sons. 
O’er  all  his  bosom  secret  transports  reign, 
And  a glad  horror  shoots  thro’  ev’ry  vein  ; 
To  Heav’n  he  lifts  his  hands,  erects  hi 
sight,  5* 

And  thus  invokes  the  silent  Queen  c 
Night  : — 

‘Goddess  of  shades!  beneath  whos 
gloomy  reign 

Yon  spangled  arch  glows  with  the  starr 
train  ; 

You  who  the  cares  of  Heav’n  and  Earth' 
allay, 

Till  Nature,  quicken’d  by  th’  inspiring  1 
ray, 

Wakes  to  new  vigour  with  the  rising  day;.. 


THE  FIRST  BOOK  OF  STATIUS’S  THEBAIS 


thou  who  freest  me  from  my  doubtful 
state, 

ng  lost  and  wilder’d  in  the  maze  of  Fate, 
t present  still,  O Goddess  ! in  our  aid; 
oceed,  and  ’firm  those  omens  thou  hast 
made.  591 

e to  thy  name  our  annual  rites  will  pay, 
hid  on  thy  altars  sacrifices  lay  ; 
e sable  flock  shall  fall  beneath  the 
stroke, 

id  fill  thy  temples  with  a grateful 
smoke. 

til,  faithful  Tripos  ! hail,  ye  dark  abodes 
I awful  Phcebus  ; I confess  the  Gods  ! ’ 
.Thus,  seiz’d  with  sacred  fear,  the  Mon- 
t arch  pray’d  ; 

en  to  his  inner  court  the  guests  convey’d, 
here  yet  thin  fumes  from  dying  sparks  "j 
| arise,  600  ! 

lid  dust  yet  white  upon  each  altar  lies,  j 
e relics  of  a former  sacrifice.  J 

jke  King  once  more  the  solemn  rites  re- 
quires, 

yd  bids  renew  the  feasts  and  wake  the 
fires. 

s train  obey  ; while  all  the  courts  around 
rith  noisy  care  and  various  tumult  sound, 
nbroider’d  purple  clothes  the  golden 
,1  beds  ; 

,tis  slave  the  floor,  and  that  the  table 
spreads  ; 

third  dispels  the  darkness  of  the  night, 
id  fills  depending  lamps  with  beams  of 

,i  light  ; 610 

ire  loaves  in  canisters  are  piled  on  high, 
id  there  in  flames  the  slaughter’d  victims 

fly- 

jblime  in  regal  state  Adrastus  shone, 
retch’d  on  rich  carpets  on  his  ivory 
throne  ; 

ijlofty  couch  receives  each  princely  guest  ; 
found,  at  awful  distance,  wait  the  rest. 
,;And  now  the  King,  his  royal  feast  to 
. grace, 

,‘estis  calls,  the  guardian  of  his  race, 
ho  first  their  youth  in  arts  of  Virtue 
it  train’d, 

id  their  ripe  years  in  modest  Grace  main- 
'[  tain’d  ; 620 

len  softly  whisper’d  in  her  faithful  ear, 
f/id  bade  his  daughters  at  the  rites  appear, 
lien  from  the  close  apartments  of  the 
night 

ie  royal  nymphs  approach  divinely 

bright, 


Such  was  Diana’s,  such  Minerva’s  face, 

Nor  shine  their  beauties  with  superior  grace, 
But  that  in  these  a milder  charm  endears, 
And  less  of  terror  in  their  looks  appears. 

As  on  the  heroes  first  they  cast  their  eyes, 
O’er  their  fair  cheeks  the  glowing  blushes 
rise  ; 630 

Their  downcast  looks  a decent  shame  con- 
fest, 

Then  on  their  father’s  rev’rend  features 
rest. 

The  banquet  done,  the  Monarch  gives 
the  sign 

To  fill  the  goblet  high  with  sparkling  wine. 
Which  Danaus  used  in  sacred  rites  of  old, 
With  sculpture  graced,  and  rough  with  ris- 
ing gold. 

Here  to  the  clouds  victorious  Perseus  flies,  1 
Medusa  seems  to  move  her  languid  eyes,  V 
And  ev’11  in  gold,  turns  paler  as  she  dies:  J 
There  from  the  chase  Jove’s  towering 
eagle  bears,  640 

On  golden  wings,  the  Phrygian  to  the 
stars  ; 

Still  as  he  rises  in  th’  ethereal  height, 

His  native  mountains  lessen  to  his  sight, 
While  all  his  sad  companions  upward  gaze, 
Fix’d  on  the  glorious  scene  in  wild  amaze, 
And  the  swift  hounds,  affrighted  as  he 
flies, 

Run  to  the  shade,  and  bark  against  the 
skies. 

This  golden  bowl  with  gen’rous  juice 
was  crown’d, 

The  first  libation  sprinkled  on  the  ground  ; 
By  turns  on  each  celestial  Power  they  call; 
With  Phcebus’  name  resounds  the  vaulted 
hall.  651 

The  courtly  train,  the  strangers,  and  the 
rest, 

Crown’d  with  chaste  laurel,  and  with  gar- 
lands drest, 

While  with  rich  gums  the  fuming  altars 
blaze, 

Salute  the  God  in  numerous  hymns  of 
praise. 

Then  thus  the  King:  ‘ Perhaps,  my  noble 
guests, 

These  honour’d  altars,  and  these  annual 
feasts 

To  bright  Apollo’s  awful  name  design’d, 
Unknown,  with  wonder  may  perplex  your 
mind.  6sg 

Great  was  the  cause  : our  old  solemnities 
From  no  blind  zeal  or  fond  tradition  rise  ; 


EARLY  POEMS 


12 


But  saved  from  death,  our  Argives  yearly 
pay 

These  grateful  honours  to  the  God  of 
Day. 

‘ When  by  a thousand  darts  the  Python 
slain 

With  orbs  unroll’d  lay  cov’ring  all  the 
plain, 

(Transfix’d  as  o’er  Castalia’s  streams  he 
hung, 

And  suck’d  new  poisons  with  his  triple 
tongue) 

To  Argos’  realms  the  victor  God  resorts, 
And  enters  old  Crotopus’  humble  courts. 
This  rural  prince  one  only  daughter 
bless’d,  670 

That  all  the  charms  of  blooming  youth 
possess’d  ; 

Fair  was  her  face,  and  spotless  was  her 
mind, 

Where  filial  love  with  virgin  sweetness 
join’d. 

Happy  ! and  happy  still  she  might  have 
prov’d, 

Were  she  less  beautiful,  or  less  belov’d  ! 
But  Phoebus  lov’d,  and  on  the  flowery  side 
Of  Nemea’s  stream  the  yielding  Fair  en- 
joy’d. 

Now  ere  ten  moons  their  orb  with  light 
adorn, 

Th’  illustrious  offspring  of  the  God  was 
born  ; 679 

The  nymph,  her  father’s  anger  to  evade, 
Retires  from  Argos  to  the  sylvan  shade  ; 
To  woods  and  wilds  the  pleasing  burden 
bears, 

And  trusts  her  infant  to  a shepherd’s  cares. 

* How  mean  a fate,  unhappy  child,  is 
thine  ! 

Ah  ! how  unworthy  those  of  race  divine  ! 
On  flow’ry  herbs  in  some  green  covert 
laid, 

His  bed  the  ground,  his  canopy  the  shade, 
He  mixes  witn  the  bleating  lambs  his  cries,  'I 
While  the  rude  swain  his  rural  music  tries,  > 
To  call  soft  slumbers  on  his  infant  eyes.  J 
Yet  ev’n  in  those  obscure  abodes  to  live  691 
Was  more,  alas  ! than  cruel  Fate  would 
give  ; 

For  on  the  grassy  verdure  as  he  lay, 

And  breathed  the  freshness  of  the  early 
day, 

Devouring  dogs  the  helpless  infant  tore, 
Fed  on  his  trembling  limbs,  and  lapp’d  the 
gore. 


Th’  astonish’d  mother,  when  the  rumou 
came, 

Forgets  her  father,  and  neglects  her  fame 
With  loud  complaints  she  fills  the  yielding 
air, 

And  beats  her  breast,  and  rends  her  flow 
ing  hair  ; 7c 

Then  wild  with  anguish  to  her  sire  shl 
flies, 

Demands  the  sentence,  and  contented  die! 

‘But  touch’d  with  sorrow  for  the  dea 
too  late, 

The  raging  God  prepares  t’  avenge  he 
fate. 

He  sends  a monster  horrible  and  fell, 
Begot  by  furies  in  the  depths  of  Hell. 

The  pest  a virgin’s  face  and  bosom  bears; 
High  on  her  crown  a rising  snake  appears, 
Guards  her  black  front,  and  hisses  in  her 
hairs. 

About  the  realm  she  walks  her  dreadfi 
round,  7 

When  night  with  sable  wings  o’erspreac 
the  ground, 

Devours  young  babes  before  their  parent 
eyes, 

And  feeds  and  thrives  on  public  miseries. 

* But  gen’rous  rage  the  bold  Chorcebi 
warms, 

Chorcebus  ! famed  for  virtue  as  for  arms 
Some  few  like  him,  inspired  with  marti 
flame, 

Thought  a short  life  well  lost  for  endle 
fame. 

These,  where  two  ways  in  equal  parts 
divide, 

The  direful  monster  from  afar  descried, 
Two  bleeding  babes  depending  at  her  side ; 
Whose  panting  vitals,  warm  with  life,  si 
draws,  : 

And  in  their  hearts  imbrues  her  err 
claws. 

The  youths  surround  her  with  extend* 
spears  ; 

But  brave  Chorcebus  in  the  front  appears 
Deep  in  her  breast  he  plunged  his  shim! 
sword, 

And  Hell’s  dire  monster  back  to  Hell  1 
stor’d. 

Th’  Inachians  view  the  slain  with  vast  si1 
prise, 

Her  twisting  volumes  and  her  rolling  ey 
Her  spotted  breast  and  gaping  womb  i 
brued 

With  livid  poison  and  our  children’s  blo< 


THE  FIRST  BOOK  OF  STATIUS’S  THEBAIS 


13 


ie  crowd  in  stupid  wonder  fix’d  appear, 
le  ev’n  in  joy,  nor  yet  forget  to  fear, 
me  with  vast  beams  the  squalid  corse 
; engage, 

id  weary  all  the  wild  efforts  of  rage, 
ie  birds  obscene,  that  nightly  flock’d  to 
. taste, 

[iith  hollow  screeches  fled  the  dire  re- 
past ; 

id  rav’nous  dogs,  allured  by  scented 
1 blood, 

id  starving  wolves,  ran  howling  to  the 
I wood. 

‘ But  fired  with  rage,  from  cleft  Par- 1 
nassus’  brow  739  l 

renging  Phoebus  bent  his  deadly  bow,  j 
id  hissing  flew  the  feather’d  fates  below.  J 
night  of  sultry  clouds  involv’d  around 
tie  towers,  the  fields,  and  the  devoted 
ground : 

id  now  a thousand  lives  together  fled, 
iath  with  his  scythe  cut  off  the  fatal 
j thread, 

id  a whole  province  in  his  triumph  led. 

‘ But  Phoebus,  ask’d  why  noxious  fires 
appear 

id  raging  Sirius  blasts  the  sickly  year, 
(imands  their  lives  by  whom  his  monster 
fell, 

id  dooms  a dreadful  sacrifice  to  Hell. 

* Bless’d  be  thy  dust,  and  let  eternal 

fame  751 

,f,tend  thy  Manes,  and  preserve  thy 
Name, 

g idaunted  Hero  ! who,  divinely  brave, 
such  a cause  disdain’d  thy  life  to  save, 
it  view’d  the  shrine  with  a superior  look, 
id  its  upbraided  godhead  thus  bespoke  : 
jWitli  Piety,  the  soul’s  securest  guard, 
id  conscious  Virtue,  still  its  own  reward, 
r illing  I come,  unknowing  how  to  fear, 

3r  shalt  thou,  Phoebus,  find  a suppliant 
I here : 760 

ly  monster’s  death  to  me  was  owed 

* alone, 

iiid ’t  is  a deed  too  glorious  to  disown. 
;hold  him  here,  for  whom,  so  many  days, 
ipervious  clouds  conceal’d  thy  sullen 
rays  ; 

!j»r  whom,  as  man  no  longer  claim’d  thy 
[ care, 

rich  numbers  fell  by  pestilential  air  ! 
it  if  th’  abandon’d  race  of  human  kind 
om  Gods  above  no  more  compassion 
find  ; 


If  such  inclemency  in  Heav’11  can  dwell,  'J 
Yet  why  must  unoffending  Argos  feel  770  > 
The  vengeance  due  to  this  unlucky  steel?  J 
On  me,  on  mo,  let  all  thy  fury  fall, 

Nor  err  from  me,  since  I deserve  it  all  : 
Unless  our  desert  cities  please  thy  sight, 

Or  funeral  flames  reflect  a grateful  light. 
Discharge  thy  shafts,  this  ready  bosom 
rend, 

And  to  the  shades  a ghost  triumphant 
send  : 

But  for  my  country  let  my  fate  atone  ; 

Be  mine  the  vengeance,  as  the  crime  my 
own.” 

‘ Merit  distress’d  impartial  Heav’11  re- 
lieves : 780 

Unwelcome  life  relenting  Phoebus  gives; 
For  not  the  vengeful  Power,  that  glow’d 
with  rage, 

With  such  amazing  virtue  durst  engage. 
The  clouds  dispers’d,  Apollo’s  wrath  ex- 
pired, 

And  from  the  wond’ring  God  th’  unwilling 
youth  retired. 

Thence  we  these  altars  in  his  temple  raise, 
And  offer  annual  honours,  feasts,  and 
praise  ; 

These  solemn  feasts  propitious  Phoebus 
please  ; 

These  honours,  still  renew’d,  his  ancient 
wrath  appease. 

‘ But  say,  illustrious  guest ! (adjoin’d 
the  King)  790 

What  name  you  bear,  from  what  high  race 
you  spring  ? 

The  noble  Tydeus  stands  confess’d,  and 
known 

Our  neighbour  prince,  and  heir  of  Calydon: 
Relate  your  fortunes,  while  the  friendly 
night 

And  silent  hours  to  various  talk  invite.’ 

The  Theban  bends  on  earth  his  gloomy 
eyes, 

Confused,  and  sadly  thus  at  length  re- 
plies : — 

‘ Before  these  altars  how  shall  I proclaim, 
O gen’rous  Prince  ! my  nation  or  my 
name, 

Or  thro’  what  veins  our  ancient  blood  has 
roll’d  ? 800 

Let  the  sad  tale  for  ever  rest  untold  ! 

Yet  if,  propitious  to  a wretch  unknown, 
You  seek  to  share  in  sorrows  not  your  own, 
Know  then  from  Cadmus  I derive  my 
race, 


IV 

If 


Hi 

{ - 


c 

r?C 

G* 


l 

a 


14 


EARLY  POEMS 


Jocasta’s  son,  and  Thebes  my  native 
place.’ 

To  whom  the  King  (who  felt  his  gen’rous 
breast 

Touch’d  with  concern  for  his  unhappy 
guest) 

Replies  — ‘ Ah  ! why  forbears  the  son  to 
name 

His  wretched  father,  known  too  well  by 
Paine  ? 

Fame,  that  delights  around  the  world  to 
stray,  810 

Scorns  not  to  take  our  Argos  in  her  way. 
Ev’n  those  who  dwell  where  suns  at  dis- 
tance roll, 

In  northern  wilds,  and  freeze  beneath  the 
pole, 

And  those  who  tread  the  burning  Libyan 
lands, 

The  faithless  Syrtes,  and  the  moving 
sands  ; 

Who  view  the  western  sea’s  extremest 
bounds, 

Or  drink  of  Ganges  in  their  eastern 
grounds ; 

All  these  the  woes  of  CEdipus  have  known, 
Your  fates,  your  furies,  and  your  haunted 
town. 

If  on  the  sons  the  parents’  crimes  descend, 
What  prince  from  those  his  lineage  can 
defend  ? 821 

Be  this  thy  comfort,  that ’t  is  thine  t’  ef-  ) 
face, 

With  virtuous  acts,  thy  ancestors’  dis-  V 
grace, 

And  be  thyself  the  honour  of  thy  race.  J 
But  see  ! the  stars  begin  to  steal  away, 
And  shine  more  faintly  at  approaching 
day; 

Now  pour  the  wine  ; and  in  your  tuneful 
lays 

Once  more  resound  the  great  Apollo’s 
praise.’ 

‘ O father  Phcebus  ! whether  Lycia’s 
coast 

And  snowy  mountains  thy  bright  presence 
boast  ; 830 

Whether  to  sweet  Castalia  thou  repair, 
And  bathe  in  silver  dews  thy  yellow  hair  ; 
Or  pleas’d  to  find  fair  Delos  float  no 
more, 

Delight  in  Cynthus  and  the  shady  shore  ; 
Or  choose  thy  seat  in  Ilion’s  proud  abodes, 
The  shining  structures  rais’d  by  lab’ring 
Gods: 


By  thee  the  bow  and  mortal  shafts  ar 
borne  ; 

Eternal  charms  thy  blooming  youth  adori: 
Skill’d  in  the  laws  of  secret  Fate  above, 
And  the  dark  counsels  of  almighty  Jove. 
’T  is  thine  the  seeds  of  future  war  t 
know,  8j 

The  change  of  sceptres  and  impending  woi 
When  direful  meteors  spread  thro’  glowin 
air 

Long  trails  of  light,  and  shake  their  blazin 
hair. 

Thy  rage  the  Phrygian  felt,  who  durs 
aspire 

T’  excel  the  music  of  thy  lieav’nly  lyre  ; 
Thy  shafts  avenged  lewd  Tityus’  guilt 
flame, 

Th’  immortal  victim  of  thy  mother’s  faim 
Thy  hand  slew  Python,  and  the  dame  wl 
lost 

Her  numerous  offspring  for  a fatal  boast 
In  Phlegyas’  doom  thy  just  revenge  a] 
pears,  8 

Condemn’d  to  furies  and  eternal  fears  ; 
He  views  his  food,  but  dreads,  with  lifte 
eye, 

The  mould’ring  rock  that  trembles  from  t 
high. 

Propitious  hear  our  prayer,  O Pow* 
divine  ! 

And  on  thy  hospitable  Argos  shine  ; 
Whether  the  style  of  Titan  please  tin 
more, 

Whose  purple  rays  th’  Aclisemenes  adore1 
Or  great  Osiris,  who  first  taught  the  swaj 
In  Pharian  fields  to  sow  the  golden  grain 
Or  Mitra,  to  whose  beams  the  Persii 
bows, 

And  pays,  in  hollow  rocks,  his  awful  vow 
Mitra!  whose  head  the  blaze  of  lig 
adorns, 

Who  grasps  the  struggling  heifer’s  lun 
horns.’ 

IMITATIONS  OF  ENGLISH 
POETS 

These  imitations,  with  the  exception 
Silence  (Lintot,  1712),  were  not  published  \ 
1727.  Pope  says,  however,  that  they  w< 

‘ done  as  early  as  the  translations,  some 
them  at  fourteen  and  fifteen  years  old.’  1 
Happy  Life  of  a Country  Parson  must  h:i 
been  written  later  than  the  rest,  as  Pope  t 
not  know  Swift  till  1713. 


IMITATIONS  OF  ENGLISH  POETS 


CHAUCER 

omen  ben  full  of  ragerie, 
it  swinken  not  sans  secresie. 
lillce  Moral  shall  ye  understond, 
oiu  schoole-boy’s  Tale  of  fayre  Irelond  ; 
hich  to  the  Fennes  hath  him  betake, 
i»»  tilche  the  grey  Ducke  fro  the  Lake, 
i ght  then  there  passen  by  the  way 
is  Aunt,  and  eke  her  Daughters  tway. 
ucke  in  his  trowses  hath  he  heut, 

>t  to  be  spied  of  ladies  gent.  io 

f But  ho  ! our  Nephew,’  crietli  one  ; 

Io  ! ’ quoth  another,  ‘ Cozen  John  ; ’ 
id  stoppen,  and  lough,  and  callen  out  — 
liis  sely  Clerke  full  low  doth  lout : 
ley  asken  that,  and  talken  this, 

;.jo,  here  is  Coz,  and  here  is  Miss.’ 
lit,  as  he  glozeth  with  speeches  soote, 
le  Ducke  sore  tickleth  his  Erse-roote  : 
rtre-piece  and  buttons  all-to-brest, 
eirth  thrust  a white  neck  and  red  crest.  20 
SCe-liee,’  cried  ladies  ; clerke  nought 
spake  ; 

iss  stared,  and  grey  Ducke  crietli 
‘ quaake.’ 

) Moder,  Moder  !’  quoth  the  Daughter, 
5e  thilke  same  thing  Maids  longeu  a’ter  ? 
/;tte  is  to  pine  on  coals  and  chalke, 
jen  trust  on  Mon  whose  yerde  can  talke.’ 

SPENSER 

)(  v 

THE  ALLEY 

iff  ev’ry  Town  where  Thamis  rolls  his 
tyde, 

1 narrow  pass  there  is,  with  houses  low, 
jfhere  ever  and  anon  the  stream  is  eyed, 
nd  many  a boat  soft  sliding  to  and  fro  : 
here  oft  are  heard  the  notes  of  Infant 
W oe, 

he  short  thick  Sob,  loud  Scream,  and 
] shriller  Squall  : 
ow  can  ve,  Mothers,  vex  your  children 
so? 

>me  play,  some  eat,  some  cack  against 
the  wall, 

nd  as  they  crouclien  low,  for  bread  and 
butter  call. 

nd  on  the  broken  pavement,  here  and 
there, 

oth  many  a stinking  sprat  and  herring  lie  ; 


*5 


A brandy  and  tobacco  shop  is  neare, 

And  hens,  and  dogs,  and  hogs,  are  feeding 
by  ; 

And  here  a sailor’s  jacket  hangs  to  dry. 

At  ev’ry  door  are  sunburnt  matrons  seen, 
Mending  old  nets  to  catch  the  scaly  fry  , 
Now  singing  shrill,  and  scolding  eft  be- 
tween ; 

Scolds  answer  foul-mouth’d  Scolds  ; bac 
neighbourhood  I ween. 

The  snappish  cur  (the  passengers’  annoy) 
Close  at  my  heel  with  yelping  treble  flies  ; 
The  whimp’ring  Girl,  and  hoarser  scream 
ing  Boy, 

Join  to  the  yelping  treble  shrilling  cries  ; 
The  scolding  Quean  to  louder  notes  doth  rise. 
And  her  full  pipes  those  shrilling  cries 
confound  ; 

To  her  full  pipes  the  grunting  hog  replies  ; 
The  grunting  hogs  alarm  the  neighbours 
round, 

And  Curs,  Girls,  Boys,  and  Scolds,  in  the 
deep  bass  are  drown’d. 

Hard  by  a sty,  beneath  a roof  of  thatch, 
Dwelt  Obloquy,  who  in  her  early  days 
Baskets  of  fish  at  Billingsgate  did  watch, 
Cod,  whiting,  oyster,  mackrel,  sprat,  or 
plaice  : 

There  learn’d  she  speech  from  tongues 
that  never  cease. 

Slander  beside  her  like  a magpie  chatters, 
With  Envy  (spitting  cat),  dread  foe  to 
peace  ; 

Like  a curs’d  cur,  Malice  before  her  clat- 
ters, 

And  vexing  ev’ry  wight,  tears  clothes  and 
all  to  tatters. 

Her  dugs  were  mark’d  by  ev’ry  Collier! 
hand, 

Her  mouth  was  black  as  bull-dogs  at  the 
stall  : 

She  scratched,  bit,  and  spared  ne  lace  ne 
band, 

And  bitch  and  rogue  her  answer  was  to  all. 
Nay,  ev’n  the  parts  of  shame  by  name 
would  call  : 

Yea,  when  she  passed  by  or  lane  or  nook, 
Would  greet  the  man  who  turn’d  him  to 
the  wall, 

And  by  his  hand  obscene  the  porter  took, 
Nor  ever  did  askance  like  modest  virgin 
look. 


EARLY  POEMS 


16 


Such  place  hath  Deptford,  navy-building 
town, 

Woolwich  and  Wapping,  smelling  strong  of 
pitch  ; 

Such  Lambeth,  envy  of  each  band  and 
gown, 

And  Twick’nam  such,  which  fairer  scenes 
enrich, 

Grots,  statues,  urns,  and  Jo — n’s  dog  and 
bitch. 

Ne  village  is  without,  on  either  side, 

All  np  the  silver  Thames,  or  all  adown  ; 

Ne  Richmond’s  self,  from  whose  tall  front 
are  eyed 

Vales,  spires,  meand’ring  streams,  and 
Windsor’s  tow’ry  pride. 


Lo,  the  glad  gales  o’er  all  her  beauties 
stray, 

Breathe  on  her  lips,  and  in  her  bosom  play  ; 
In  Delia’s  hand  this  toy  is  fatal  found, 

Nor  could  that  fabled  dart  more  surely 
wound  : 

Both  gifts  destructive  to  the  givers  prove  j 
Alike  both  lovers  fall  by  those  they  love. 
Yet  guiltless  too  this  bright  destroyer  lives, 
At  random  wounds,  nor  knows  the  wounds 
she  gives  ; 

She  views  the  story  with  attentive  eyes, 
And  pities  Procris  while  her  lover  dies. 


COWLEY 


WALLER 


ON  A LADY  SINGING  TO  HER  LUTE 


Fair  Charmer,  cease  ! nor  make  your 
Voice’s  prize 

A heart  resign’d  the  conquest  of  your 
Eyes  : 

Well  might,  alas  ! that  threaten’d  vessel 
fail, 

Which  winds  and  lightning  both  at  once 
assail. 

We  were  too  bless’d  with  these  enchanting 


plays  : 

But  killing  charms  your  lover’s  death  con- 
trive, 

Lest  heav’nly  music  should  be  heard  alive. 

Orpheus  could  charm  the  trees  ; but  thus  a 
tree, 

Taught  by  your  hand,  can  charm  no  less 
than  he  ; 

A poet  made  the  silent  wood  pursue  ; 

This  vocal  wood  had  drawn  the  poet  too. 


J 


ON  A FAN  OF  THE 


author’s  DESIGN 


IN  WHTCH  WAS  PAINTED  THE  STORY  OF  CEPHAI.US 
AND  PROCRIS,  WITH  THE  MOTTO  ‘ AURA  VENI 

Come,  gentle  air  ! th’  iEolian  shepherd 
said, 

While  Procris  panted  in  the  secret  shade  ; 
Come,  gentle  air  ! the  fairer  Delia  cries. 
While  at  her  feet  her  swain  expiring 
lies. 


THE  GARDEN 

Fain  would  my  Muse  the  flow’ry  treasure! 
sing, 

And  humble  glories  of  the  youthfu 
Spring  ; 

Where  op’ning  roses  breathing  sweets  dif 
fuse, 

And  soft  carnations  shower  their  balnr 
dews  ; 

Where  lilies  smile  in  virgin  robes  of  white 
The  thin  undress  of  superficial  light  ; 

And  varied  tulips  show  so  dazzling  gay, 
Blushing  in  bright  diversities  of  day. 

Each  painted  flow’ret  in  the  lake  below 
Surveys  its  beauties,  whence  its  beautie 
grow  ; ; 

And  pale  Narcissus,  on  the  bank  in  vain  | 
Transformed,  gazes  on  himself  again. 

Here  aged  trees  cathedral  walks  compose 
And  mount  the  hill  in  venerable  rows  ; 
There  the  green  infants  in  their  beds  ai 
laid, 

The  garden’s  hope,  and  its  expected  shad 
Here  orange  trees  with  blooms  and  pei 
dants  shine, 

And  Vernal  honours  to  their  Autumn  joii 
Exceed  their  promise  in  the  ripen’d  store 
Yet  in  the  rising  blossom  promise  more. 
There  in  bright  drops  the  crystal  fountaii 
play, 

By  laurels  shielded  from  the  piercing  dai 
Where  Daphne,  now  a tree  as  once  a mai 
Still  from  Apollo  vindicates  her  shade; 
Still  turns  her  beauties  from  th’  invadii 
beam, 

Nor  seeks  in  vain  for  succour  to  t 
stream. 


IMITATIONS  OF  ENGLISH  POETS 


17 


e stream  at  once  preserves  her  virgin 
leaves, 

once  a shelter  from  her  boughs  re- 
ceives, 

Lere  summer’s  beauty  midst  of  winter 
stays, 

d winter’s  coolness  spit6  of  summer’s 
rays.  3° 

WEEPING  V 

3ILE  Celia’s  tears  make  sorrow  bright, 
r’roud  grief  sits  swelling  in  her  eyes  ; 
e sun,  next  those  the  fairest  light, 

Tims  from  the  ocean  first  did  rise  : 
d thus  thro’  mists  we  see  the  sun, 
lich  else  we  durst  not  gaze  upon. 

,.ese  silver  drops,  like  morning  dew, 
foretell  the  fervor  of  the  day  : 
from  one  cloud  soft  showers  we  view, 
bid  blasting  lightnings  burst  away. 

; e stars  that  fall  from  Celia’s  eye 
blare  our  doom  is  drawing  nigh. 

s baby  in  that  sunny  sphere 
>0  like  a Phaeton  appears, 
it  Heav’n,  the  threaten’d  world  to  spare, 
Thought  fit  to  drown  him  in  her  tears  ; 
e might  th’  ambitious  nymph  aspire 
set,  like  him,  Heav’n  too  on  fire. 


EARL  OF  ROCHESTER 

» ON  SILENCE 

flfENCE  f coeval  with  Eternity, 

9u  wert  ere  Nature’s  self  began  to  be, 
was  one  vast  nothing  all,  and  all  slept 
fast  in  thee. 

ne  was  the  sway  ere  Heav’n  was 
form’d,  or  earth, 

5 fruitful  thought  conceiv’d  Creation’s 

birth, 

midwife  word  gave  aid,  and  spoke  the 
infant  forth. 

6 

?n  various  elements  against  thee  join’d, 
9ne  more  various  animal  combin’d, 

I framed  the  clam’rous  race  of  busy 
humankind. 


The  tongue  mov’d  gently  first,  and  speech 
was  low, 

Till  wrangling  Science  taught  its  noise  and 
show, 

And  wicked  Wit  arose,  thy  most  abusive 
foe. 

But  rebel  Wit  deserts  thee  oft  in  vain  ; 

Lost  in  the  maze  of  words  he  turns  again, 

And  seeks  a surer  state,  and  courts  thy 
gentle  reign. 

Afflicted  Sense  thou  kindly  dost  set  free, 

Oppress’d  with  argumental  tyranny, 

And  routed  Reason  finds  a safe  retreat  ifl 
thee. 

With  thee  in  private  modest  Dulness  lies, 

And  in  thy  bosom  lurks  in  thought’s  dis- 
guise ; 

Thou  varnisher  of  fools,  and  cheat  of  all 
the  wise  ! 

Yet  thy  indulgence  is  by  both  confest  ; 

Folly  by  thee  lies  sleeping  in  the  breast, 

And ’t  is  in  thee  at  last  that  Wisdom  seeks 
for  rest. 

Silence,  the  knave’s  repute,  the  whore’s 
good  name, 

The  only  honour  of  the  wishing  dame  ; 

The  very  want  of  tongue  makes  thee  a 
kind  of  Fame. 

But  couldst  thou  seize  some  tongues  that 
now  are  free, 

How  Church  and  State  should  be  obliged 
to  thee  ! 

At  Senate  and  at  Bar  how  welcome  wouldst 
thou  be  ! 

Yet  speech,  ev’11  there,  submissively  with- 
draws 

From  rights  of  subjects,  and  the  poor 
man’s  cause ; 

Then  pompous  Silence  reigns,  and  stills  the 
noisy  Laws. 

Past  services  of  friends,  good  deeds  of 
foes, 

What  fav’rites  gain,  and  what  the  nation 
owes, 

Fly  the  forgetful  world,  and  in  thy  arms 
repose. 


The  country  wit,  religion  of  the  town, 

The  courtier’s  learning,  policy  o’  th’  gown, 
Are  best  by  thee  express’d,  and  shine  in 
thee  alone. 


The  parson’s  cant,  the  lawyer’s  sophistry, 
Lord’s  quibble,  critic’s  jest,  all  end  in  thee; 
All  rest  in  peace  at  last,  and  sleep  eternally. 


KRL  OF  DORSET 


ARTEMISIA 


Tho’  Artemisia  talks  by  fits 
Of  councils,  classics,  fathers,  wits, 

Reads  Malbranche,  Boyle,  and  Locke, 
Yet  in  some  things  methinks  she  fails  : 
5T  were  well  if  she  would  pare  her  nails, 
And  wear  a cleaner  smock. 


Haughty  and  huge  as  High  Dutch  bride, 
Such  nastiness  and  so  much  pride 
Are  oddly  join’d  by  fate  : 

On  her  large  squab  you  find  her  spread, 
Like  a fat  corpse  upon  a bed, 

That  lies  and  stinks  in  state. 


- She  wears  no  colours  (sign  of  grace) 
On  any  part  except  her  face  ; 

All  white  and  black  beside  : 
Dauntless  her  look,  her  gesture  proud, 
Her  voice  theatrically  loud, 

And  masculine  her  stride. 


So  have  I seen,  in  black  and  white, 

A prating  thing,  a magpie  hight, 
Majestically  stalk  ; 

A stately  worthless  animal, 

That  plies  the  tongue,  and  wags  the  tail, 
All  flutter,  pride,  and  talk. 


Phryne  had  talents  for  mankind  ; 
Open  she  was  and  unconfin’d, 

Like  some  free  port  of  trade  : 
Merchants  unloaded  here  their  freight, 
And  agents  from  each  foreign  state 
Here  first  their  entry  made. 


Her  learning  and  good  breeding  such, 
Whether  th’  Italian  or  the  Dutch, 
Spaniards  or  French,  came  to  her, 

To  all  obliging  she ’d  appear  ; 

’T  was  Si  Signior , ’t  was  Yaw  Mynheery 
’T  was  SHI  vous  plait,  Monsieur. 


Obscure  by  birth,  renown’d  by  crimes, 
Still  changing  names,  religions,  climes, 
At  length  she  turns  a bride  : 

In  diamonds,  pearls,  and  rich  brocades, 
She  shines  the  first  of  batter’d  jades, 
And  flutters  in  her  pride. 


So  have  I known  those  insects  fair 
(Which  curious  Germans  hold  so  rare) 
Still  vary  shapes  and  dyes  ; 

Still  gain  new  titles  with  new  forms  ; 
First  grubs  obscene,  then  wriggling  worr 
Then  painted  butterflies. 


DR.  SWIFT 


THE  HAPPY  LIFE  OF  A COUNTRY  PARS( 


Parson,  these  things  in  thy  possessing 
Are  better  than  the  bishop’s  blessing  : 

A wife  that  makes  conserves  ; a steed 
That  carries  double  when  there ’s  need  ; 
October  store,  and  best  Virginia, 

Tythe  pig,  and  mortuary  guinea  ; 
Gazettes  sent  gratis  down  and  frank’d, 
For  which  thy  patron ’s  weekly  thank’d 
A large  Concordance,  bound  long  since  : 
Sermons  to  Charles  the  First,  when  prim 
A Chronicle  of  ancient  standing  ; 

A Chrysostom  to  smooth  thy  band  in  ; 
The  Polyglott  — three  parts — my  text, 
Howbeit  — likewise  — now  to  my  next  ; 
Lo  here  the  Septuagint — and  Paul,  ✓ 

To  sum  the  whole  — the  close  of  all. 

He  that  has  these  may  pass  his  life, 
Drink  with  the  ’Squire,  and  kiss  his  wif 
On  Sundays  preach,  and  eat  his  fill, 

And  fast  on  Fridays  — if  he  will  ; 

Toast  Church  and  Queen,  explain  the  no 
Talk  with  Churchwardens  about  pews, 
Pray  heartily  for  some  new  gift, 

And  shake  his  head  at  Doctor  S — t- 


PASTORALS 


*9 


PASTORALS 

Rura  milii  et  rigui  placeant  in  vallibus  amnea, 
Flumina  ainem,  sylvaaque,  inglorius  ! 

Virg. 


The  Pastorals,  by  Pope’s  account,  were  writ- 
3n  at  sixteen,  in  1704.  ‘ Beyond  the  fact  that 
e systematically  antedated  his  compositions  in 
rder  to  obtain  credit  for  precocity,’  says  Court- 
ope,  ‘ there  is  nothing1  improbable  in  the  state- 
ient.’  They  were  first  published  in  1709,  in 

DISCOURSE  ON  PASTORAL 
POETRY 

There  are  not,  I believe,  a greater  number 
f any  sort  of  verses  than  of  those  which  are 
ailed  Pastorals  ; nor  a smaller  than  of  those 
rhich  are  truly  so.  It  therefore  seems  neces- 
ary  to  give  some  account  of  this  kind  of 
oem  ; and  it  is  my  design  to  comprise  in  this 
hort  paper  the  substance  of  those  numerous 
issertations  that  critics  have  made  on  the 
abject,  without  omitting  any  of  their  rules  in 
ly  own  favour.  You  will  also  find  some 
oints  reconciled,  about  which  they  seem  to 
iffer,  and  a few  remarks  which,  I think,  have 
scaped  their  observation. 

The  origin  of  Poetry  is  ascribed  to  that  age 
hich  succeeded  the  creation  of  the  world  : 
nd  as  the  keeping  of  flocks  seems  to  have 
een  the  first  employment  of  mankind,  the 
lost  ancient  sort  of  poetry  was  probably  pas- 
iral.1  It  is  natural  to  imagine,  that  the  lei- 
lre  of  those  ancient  shepherds  admitting  and 
■lviting  some  diversion,  none  was  so  proper  to 
iat  solitary  and  sedentary  life  as  singing ; and 
aat  in  their  songs  they  took  occasion  to  cele- 
rate  their  own  felicity.  From  hence  a poem 
as  invented,  and  afterwards  improved  to  a 
; erf ect  image  of  that  happy  time ; which,  by 
iving  us  an  esteem  for  the  virtues  of  a former 
ge,  might  recommend  them  to  the  present, 
nd  since  the  life  of  shepherds  was  attended 
ith  more  tranquillity  than  any  other  rural 
nployment,  the  poets  chose  to  introduce  their 
arsons,  from  whom  it  received  the  name  of 
; astoral. 

A Pastoral  is  an  imitation  of  the  action  of  a 
iiepherd,  or  one  considered  under  that  charac- 
,r.  The  form  of  this  imitation  is  dramatic, 

I • narrative,  or  mixed  of  both  : 2 the  fable 
mple,  the  manners  not  too  polite  nor  too  rus- 
| o : the  thoughts  are  plain,  yet  admit  a little 
| lickness  and  passion,  but  that  short  and  flow* 

1 Fontenelle’s  Discourse  on  Pastorals. 

2 Heinsius  in  Theocr. 

8 Rapin  de  Carm.  Past.  p.  2. 


Tonson’s  Sixth  Miscellany.  The  Discourse  on 
Pastoral  Poetry  did  not  appear  till  the  edition  of 
1717,  but  is  here  given  the  place  which  he  de- 
sired for  it  at  the  head  of  the  Pastorals : and 
the  original  footnotes,  referring  to  critical  au- 
thorities, are  retained. 

ing  : the  expression  humble,  yet  as  pure  as  the 
language  will  afford ; neat,  but  not  florid  ; 
easy,  and  yet  lively.  In  short,  the  fable,  man- 
ners, thoughts,  and  expressions  are  full  of  the 
greatest  simplicity  in  nature. 

The  complete  character  of  this  poem  con- 
sists in  simplicity,3  brevity,  and  delicacy  ; the 
two  first  of  which  render  an  eclogue  natural, 
and  the  last  delightful. 

If  we  would  copy  nature,  it  may  be  useful 
to  take  this  idea  along  with  us,  that  Pastoral 
is  an  image  of  what  they  call  the  golden  age  : 
so  that  we  are  not  to  describe  our  shepherds  as 
shepherds  at  this  day  really  are,  but  as  they 
may  be  conceived  then  to  have  been,  when  the 
best  of  men  followed  the  employment.  To 
carry  this  resemblance  yet  further,  it  would 
not  be  amiss  to  give  these  shepherds  some  skill 
in  astronomy,  as  far  as  it  may  be  useful  to  that 
sort  of  life ; and  an  air  of  piety  to  the  gods 
should  shine  through  the  poem,  which  so  visi- 
bly appears  in  all  the  works  of  antiquity ; and 
it  ought  to  preserve  some  relish  of  the  old 
way  of  writing : the  connection  should  be  loose, 
the  narrations  and  descriptions  short,4  and  the 
periods  concise.  Yet  it  is  not  sufficient  that 
the  sentences  only  be  brief ; the  whole  ec- 
logue should  be  so  too : for  we  cannot  sup- 
pose poetry  in  those  days  to  have  been  the 
business  of  men,  but  their  recreation  at  vacant 
hours. 

But,  with  respect  to  the  present  age,  nothing 
more  conduces  to  make  these  composures  nat- 
ural, than  when  some  knowledge  in  rural 
affairs  is  discovered.5  This  may  be  made  to 
appear  rather  done  by  chance  than  on  design, 
and  sometimes  is  best  shown  by  inference  ; lest, 
by  too  much  study  to  seem  natural,  we  destroy 
that  easy  simplicity  from  whence  arises  the 
delight.  For  what  is  inviting  in  this  sort  of 
poetry  proceeds  not  so  much  from  the  idea  of 
that  business,  as  of  the  tranquillity  of  a coun- 
try life. 

4 Rapin,  Rbjlez.  sur  VArt  Poit.  d'Arist.  part  ii.  r<Sfl. 
xxvii. 

5 Pref.  to  Virg.  Past,  in  Dryd.  Virg. 


PASTORALS 


20 


We  must  therefore  use  some  illusion  to  ren- 
der a pastoral  delightful ; and  this  consists  in 
exposing'  the  best  side  only  of  a shepherd’s 
life,  and  in  concealing'  its  miseries.1  Nor  is  it 
enough  to  introduce  shepherds  discoursing  to- 
gether in  a natural  way  ; but  a regard  must  be 
had  to  the  subject ; that  it  contain  some  par- 
ticular beauty  in  itself,  and  that  it  be  different 
in  every  eclogue.  Besides,  in  each  of  them  a 
designed  scene  or  prospect  is  to  be  presented  to 
our  view,  which  should  likewise  have  its  vari- 
ety. This  variety  is  obtained,  in  a great  de- 
gree, by  frequent  comparisons,  drawn  from  the 
most  agreeable  objects  of  the  country;  by  in- 
terrogations to  things  inanimate  ; by  beautiful 
digressions,  but  those  short ; sometimes  by  in- 
sisting a little  on  circumstances  ; and,  lastly, 
by  elegant  turns  on  the  words,  which  render 
the  numbers  extremely  sweet  and  pleasing. 
As  for  the  numbers  themselves,  though  they 
are  properly  of  the  heroic  measure,  they  should 
be  the  smoothest,  the  most  easy  and  flowing 
imaginable. 

It  is  by  rules  like  these  that  we  ought  to 
judge  of  Pastoral.  And  since  the  instructions 
given  for  any  art  are  to  be  delivered  as  that 
art  is  in  perfection,  they  must  of  necessity  be 
derived  from  those  in  whom  it  is  acknowledged 
so  to  be.  It  is  therefore  from  the  practice  of 
Theocritus  and  Virgil  (the  only  undisputed 
authors  of  Pastoral)  that  the  critics  have  drawn 
the  foregoing  notions  concerning  it. 

Theocritus  excels  all  others  in  nature  and 
simplicity.  The  subjects  of  his  Idyllia  are 
purely  pastoral ; but  he  is  not  so  exact  in  his 
persons,  having  introduced  reapers  2 and  fisher- 
men as  well  as  shepherds.  He  is  apt  to  be  too 
long  in  his  descriptions,  of  which  that  of  the 
cup  in  the  first  pastoral  is  a remarkable  in- 
stance. In  the  manners  he  seems  a little  defec- 
tive, for  his  swains  are  sometimes  abusive  and 
immodest,  and  perhaps  too  much  inclining  to 
rusticity  ; for  instance,  in  his  fourth  and  fifth 
Idyllia.  But  it  is  enough  that  all  others 
learned  their  excellences  from  him,  and  that 
his  dialect  alone  has  a secret  charm  in  it, 
which  no  other  could  ever  attain. 

Virgil,  who  copies  Theocritus,  refines  upon 
his  original ; and,  in  all  points  where  judgment 
is  principally  concerned,  he  is  much  superior  to 
his  master.  Though  some  of  his  subjects  are 
not  pastoral  in  themselves,  but  only  seem  to  be 
such,  they  have  a wonderful  variety  in  them, 
which  the  Greek  was  a stranger  to.3  He  ex- 
ceeds him  in  regularity  and  brevity,  and  falls 
short  of  him  in  nothing  but  simplicity  and 
propriety  of  style  ; the  first  of  which,  perhaps, 

1 Fontenelle’s  Discourse  on  Pastorals. 

* Oepco ran,  Idyl.  x.  and  *AAi«s,  Idyl.  xxi. 


was  the  fault  of  his  age,  and  the  last  of  hi 
language. 

Among  the  moderns  their  success  has  beei 
greatest  who  have  most  endeavoured  to  mat 
these  ancients  their  pattern.  The  most  cot 
siderable  genius  appears  in  the  famous  Tass< 
and  our  Spenser.  Tasso,  in  his  Aminta,  In; 
as  far  excelled  all  the  pastoral  writers,  as  i, 
his  Gierusalemme  he  has  outdone  the  epi 
poets  of  his  country.  But  as  this  piece  seen; 
to  have  been  the  original  of  a new  sort  ( 
poem,  the  pastoral  comedy,  in  Italy,  it  cann< 
so  well  be  considered  as  a copy  of  the  ancient 
Spenser’s  Calendar,  in  Mr.  Dryden’s  opinion, 
the  most  complete  work  of  this  kind  vdiic 
any  nation  has  produced  ever  since  the  time  c 
Virgil.4  Not  but  that  he  may  be  thought  in 
perfect  in  some  few  points  : his  eclogues  ai 
somewhat  too  long,  if  we  compare  them  wit 
the  ancients ; he  is  sometimes  too  allegorica 
and  treats  of  matters  of  religion  in  a pastor; 
style,  as  the  Mantuan  had  done  before  him ; 1 
has  employed  the  lyric  measure,  which  is  co 
trary  to  the  practice  of  the  old  poets ; li 
stanza  is  not  still  the  same,  nor  always  we 
chosen.  This  last  may  be  the  reason  his  e 
pression  is  sometimes  not  concise  enough  ; f 
the  tetrastic  has  obliged  him  to  extend  h 
sense  to  the  length  of  four  lines,  which  won 
have  been  more  closely  confined  in  the  couph 

In  the  manners,  thoughts,  and  charactei 
he  comes  near  to  Theocritus  himself  ; thoug 
notwithstanding  all  the  care  he  has  taken,  ! 
is  certainly  inferior  in  his  dialect  : for  t 
Doric  had  its  beauty  and  propriety  in  the  tir 
of  Theocritus  ; it  was  used  in  part  of  Gree< 
and  frequent  in  the  mouths  of  many  of  t 
greatest  persons : whereas  the  old  English  a 
country  phrases  of  Spenser  were  either  entire 
obsolete,  or  spoken  only  by  people  of  the  lo 
est  condition.  As  there  is  a difference  l 
twixt  simplicity  and  rusticity,  so  the  expressi 
of  simple  thoughts  should  be  plain,  but  r 
clownish.  The  addition  he  has  made  of  a c 
endar  to  his  eclogues  is  very  beautiful ; sir 
by  this,  besides  the  general  moral  of  innocei 
and  simplicity,  which  is  common  to  other  r 
thors  of  Pastoral,  he  has  one  peculiar  to  hi 
self  ; he  compares  human  life  to  the  sevei 
seasons,  and  at  once  exposes  to  his  readers 
view  of  the  great  and  little  worlds,  in  th 
various  changes  and  aspects.  Yet  the  scru] 
lous  division  of  his  pastorals  into  months  1 
obliged  him  either  to  repeat  the  same  descr 
tion,  in  other  words,  for  three  months  togetli 
or,  when  it  was  exhausted  before,  entirely 
omit  it ; whence  it  comes  to  pass  that  some 

s Rapin,  Refl.  on  Arist.  part  ii.  refl.  xxvii.  --  P 
to  the  Eel.  in  Dryden’s  Virg. 

I * Dedication  to  Virg.  Ed. 


SPRING;  OR,  DAMON 


21 


3 eclogues  (as  the  sixth,  eighth,  and  tenth 
r example)  have  nothing  but  their  titles  to 
stinguish  them.  The  reason  is  evident,  ho- 
use the  year  has  not  that  variety  in  it  to  fur- 
dv  every  month  with  a particular  description, 
it  may  every  season. 

Of  the  following  eclogues  I shall  only  say, 
at  these  four  comprehend  all  the  subjects 
liiich  the  critics  upon  Theocritus  and  Virgil 
'ill  allow  to  be  fit  for  Pastoral;  that  they 
ive  as  much  variety  of  description,  in  respect 
the  several  seasons,  as  Spenser’s  ; that,  in 
'der  to  add  to  this  variety,  the  several  times 
the  day  are  observed,  the  rural  employ- 
ments in  each  season  or  time  of  day,  and  the 
ral  scenes  or  places  proper  to  such  employ- 
ees, not  without  seme  regard  to  the  several 
es  of  man,  and  the  different  passions  proper 
1 each  age. 

But  after  all,  if  they  have  any  merit,  it  is  to 
attributed  to  some  good  old  authors  ; whose 
arks,  as  I had  leisure  to  study,  so,  I hope,  I 
ive  not  wanted  care  to  imitate. 

I 

SPRING  ; OR,  DAMON 

1 TO  SIR  WILLIAM  TRUMBULL 

irst  in  these  fields  I try  the  sylvan 
strains, 

or  blush  to  sport  on  Windsor’s  blissful 
plains  : 

air  Thames,  flow  gently  from  thy  sacred 
spring, 

Virile  on  thy  banks  Sicilian  Muses  sing  ; 
et  vernal  airs  thro’  trembling  osiers  play, 
nd  Albion’s  cliffs  resound  the  rural  lay. 
You,  that  too  wise  for  pride,  too  good 
for  power, 

I njoy  the  glory  to  be  great  no  more, 

.nd  carrying  with  you  all  the  world  can 
boast, 

o all  the  world  illustriously  are  lost  ! io 
let  my  Muse  her  slender  reed  inspire, 
l ill  in  your  native  shades  you  tune  the  lyre  : 
o when  the  nightingale  to  rest  removes, 
he  thrush  may  chant  to  the  forsaken 
groves  ; 

[ lit  charm’d  to  silence,  listens  while  she 
►i  sings, 

it  nd  all  th’  aerial  audience  clap  their  wings, 
j Soon  as  the  flocks  shook  off  the  nightly 
dews, 

wo  swains,  whom  love  kept  wakeful,  and 
the  Muse, 


Pour’d  o’er  the  whitening  vale  their  fleecy 
care, 

Fresh  as  the  morn,  and  as  the  season 
fair  : 20 

The  dawn  now  blushing  on  the  mountain’s 
side, 

Thus  Daphnis  spoke,  and  Strephon  thus 
replied  : 

DAPHNIS. 

Hear  how  the  birds  on  ev’ry  blooming 
spray 

With  joyous  music  wake  the  dawning 
day  ! 

Why  sit  we  mute,  when  early  linnets 
sing, 

When  warbling  Philomel  salutes  the 
spring  ? 

Why  sit  we  sad,  when  Phosphor  shines  so 
clear, 

And  lavish  Nature  paints  the  purple  year  ? 

STREPHON. 

Sing,  then,  and  Damon  shall  attend  the 
strain, 

While  yon  slow  oxen  turn  the  furrow’d 
plain.  30 

Here  the  bright  crocus  and  blue  violet 
glow  ; 

Here  western  winds  on  breathing  roses 
blow. 

I ’ll  stake  yon  lamb,  that  near  the  fountain 
plays, 

And  from  the  brink  his  dancing  shade 
surveys. 

DAPHNIS. 

And  I this  bowl,  where  wanton  ivy  twines, 

And  swelling  clusters  bend  the  curling 
vines  : 

Four  figures  rising  from  the  work  appear, 

The  various  seasons  of  the  rolling  year  ; 

And  what  is  that,  which  binds  the  radiant 
sky, 

Where  twelve  fair  signs  in  beauteous  order 
lie  ? 40 

DAMON. 

Then  sing  by  turns,  by  turns  the  Muses 
sing  ; 

Now  hawthorns  blossom,  now  the  daisies 
spring  ; 

Now  leaves  the  trees,  and  flowers  adorn 
the  ground  : 

Begin,  the  vales  shall  every  note  rebound. 


PASTORALS 


22 


STREPHON. 

Inspire  me,  Phcebus,  in  my  Delia’s  praise, 
With  Waller’s  strains,  or  Granville’s  mov- 
ing lays  ! 

A milk-white  bull  shall  at  your  altars 
stand, 

That  threats  a fight,  and  spurns  the  rising 
sand. 

DAPHNIS. 

O Love  ! for  Sylvia  let  me  gain  the  prize, 
And  make  my  tongue  victorious  as  her 
eyes  : 50 

No  lambs  or  sheep  for  victims  I ’ll  impart, 
Thy  victim,  Love,  shall  be  the  shepherd’s 
heart. 

STREPHON. 

Me  gentle  Delia  beckons  from  the  plain, 
Then,  hid  in  shades,  eludes  her  eager 
swain  ; 

But  feigns  a laugh  to  see  me  search 
around, 

And  by  that  laugh  the  willing  Fair  is 
found. 

DAPHNIS. 

The  sprightly  Sylvia  trips  along  the  green; 
She  runs,  but  hopes  she  does  not  run  un- 
seen. 

While  a kind  glance  at  her  pursuer  flies, 
How  much  at  variance  are  her  feet  and 
eyes  ! 60 

STREPHON. 

O’er  golden  sands  let  rich  Pactolus  flow, 
And  trees  weep  amber  on  the  banks  of 
Po; 

Blest  Thames’s  shores  the  brightest  beau- 
ties yield  : 

Feed  here,  my  lambs,  I ’ll  seek  no  distant 
field. 

DAPHNIS. 

Celestial  Venus  haunts  Idalia’s  groves  ; 
Diana  Cynthus,  Ceres  Hybla  loves  : 

If  Windsor  shades  delight  the  matchless 
maid, 

Cynthus  and  Hybla  yield  to  Windsor 
shade. 

STREPHON. 

All  nature  mourns,  the  skies  relent  in 
showers, 

Hush’d  are  the  birds,  and  closed  the  droop- 
ing flowers  j 7° 


If  Delia  smile,  the  flowers  begin  to  spring 
The  skies  to  brighten,  and  the  birds  tc 
sing. 

DAPHNIS. 

All  Nature  laughs,  the  groves  are  fresl 
and  fair, 

The  sun’s  mild  lustre  warms  the  vital  air ; 
If  Sylvia  smiles,  new  glories  gild  the  shore 
And  vanquish’d  Nature  seems  to  charm  nc 
more. 

STREPHON. 

In  spring  the  fields,  in  autumn  hills  I love 
At  morn  the  plains,  at  noon  the  shadj 
grove, 

But  Delia  always  ; absent  from  her  sight, 
Nor  plains  at  morn,  nor  groves  at  11001 
delight.  8. 

DAPHNIS. 

Sylvia ’s  like  autumn  ripe,  yet  mild  as  May 
More  bright  than  noon,  yet  fresh  as  earh 
day  : 

Ev’11  spring  displeases,  when  she  shines  no 
here, 

But  bless’d  with  her,  ’t  is  spring  throughout 
the  year. 

STREPHON. 

Say,  Daphnis,  say,  in  what  glad  soil  ap 
pears 

A wondrous  tree,  that  sacred  monarch 
bears  ? 

Tell  me  but  this,  and  I ’ll  disclaim  th< 
prize, 

And  give  the  conquest  to  thy  Sylvia’ 
eyes. 

DAPHNIS. 

Nay,  tell  me  first,  in  what  more  happy  field 
The  thistle  springs,  to  which  the  lily  yields 
And  then  a nobler  prize  I will  resign  ; 9 

For  Sylvia,  charming  Sylvia,  shall  be  thine 

DAMON. 

Cease  to  contend  ; for,  Daphnis,  I decree 
The  bowl  to  Strephon,  and  the  lamb  t 
thee. 

Blest  swains,  whose  nymphs  in  ev’ry  grac 
excel  ; 

Blest  nymphs,  whose  swains  those  gTace 
sing  so  well  ! 

Now  rise,  and  haste  to  yonder  woodbin 
bowers, 

A soft  retreat  from  sudden  vernal  showers 


SUMMER;  OR,  ALEXIS 


23 


9 turf  with  rural  dainties  shall  be 
1 crown’d, 

lile  opening  blooms  diffuse  their  sweets 
around.  too 

: see  ! the  gath’ring  flocks  to  shelter 
tend, 

d from  the  Pleiads  fruitful  showers  de- 
scend. 

II 

SUMMER;  OR,  ALEXIS 

TO  DR.  GARTH 

shepherd’s  boy  (he  seeks  no  better 
name) 

1 forth  his  flocks  along  the  silver 
Thame, 

lere  dancing  sunbeams  on  the  waters 
; play’d 

d verdant  alders  form’d  a quiv’ring 
shade. 

i:t  as  he  mourn’d,  the  streams  forgot  to 
flow, 

ie  flocks  around  a dumb  compassion 
show, 

e Naiads  wept  in  ev’ry  wat’ry  bower, 
d Jove  consented  in  a silent  shower. 
[\ccept,  O Garth  ! the  Muse’s  early  lays, 
at  adds  this  wreath  of  ivy  to  thy  bays; 
lar  what  from  love  unpractis’d  hearts 
endure,  ti 

bm  love,  the  sole  disease  thou  canst  not 
cure. 

t£e  shady  beeches,  and  ye  cooling 
streams, 

fence  from  Phoebus’,  not  from  Cupid’s 
beams, 

1 you  I mourn  ; nor  to  the  deaf  I sing  : 

‘e  woods  shall  answer,  and  their  echo 
ring. 

e hills  and  rocks  attend  my  doleful 
lay, 

ly  art  thou  prouder  and  more  hard  than 
9 they  ? 

e bleating  sheep  with  my  complaints 
agree, 

J ey  parch’d  with  heat,  and  I inflamed  by 
thee.  20 

*'e  sultry  Sirius  burns  the  thirsty  plains, 
lile  in  thy  heart  eternal  Winter  reigns. 
Where  stray  ye,  Muses  ! in  what  lawn  or 
grove, 

bile  your  Alexis  pines  in  hopeless  love  ? 


In  those  fair  fields  where  sacred  Isis 
glides, 

Or  else  where  Cam  his  winding  vales  di- 
vides ? 

As  in  the  crystal  spring  I view  my  face, 
Fresh  rising  blushes  paint  the  wat’ry  glass; 
But  since  those  graces  please  thy  eyes  no 
more, 

I shun  the  fountains  which  I sought  be- 
fore. 30 

Once  I was  skill’d  in  ev’ry  herb  that  grew, 
And  ev’ry  plant  that  drinks  the  morning 
dew; 

Ah,  wretched  shepherd,  what  avails  thy  art, 
To  cure  thy  lambs,  but  not  to  heal  thy 
heart  ! 

Let  other  swains  attend  the  rural  care, 
Feed  fairer  flocks,  or  richer  fleeces  shear  : 
But  nigh  yon  mountain  let  me  tune  my 
lays, 

Embrace  my  love,  and  bind  my  brows  with 
bays. 

That  flute  is  mine  which  Colin’s  tuneful 
breath 

Inspired  when  living,  and  bequeath’d  in 
death  : 40 

He  said,  ‘ Alexis,  take  this  pipe,  the  same 
That  taught  the  groves  my  Rosalinda’s 
name.’ 

But  now  the  reeds  shall  hang  on  yonder 
tree, 

Forever  silent,  since  despised  by  thee. 

Oh  ! were  I made  by  some  transforming 
power 

The  captive  bird  that  sings  within  thy 
bower  ! 

Then  might  my  voice  thy  list’ning  ears 
employ, 

And  I those  kisses  he  receives  enjoy. 

And  yet  my  numbers  please  the  rural 
throng, 

Rough  satyrs  dance,  and  Pan  applauds  the 
song  ; 50 

The  nymphs,  forsaking  ev’ry  cave  and 
spring, 

Their  early  fruit  and  milk-white  turtles 
bring  ; 

Each  am’rous  nymph  prefers  her  gifts  in 
vain. 

On  you  their  gifts  are  all  bestow’d  again. 
For  you  the  swains  the  fairest  flowers  de- 
sign, 

And  in  one  garland  all  their  beauties  join  ; 
Accept  the  wreath  which  you  deserve  alone, 
In  whom  all  beauties  are  comprised  in  one. 


PASTORALS 


24 


See  what  delights  in  sylvan  scenes  ap- 
pear ! 59 

Descending  Gods  have  found  Elysium  here. 
In  woods  bright  Venus  with  Adonis  stray’d, 
And  chaste  Diana  haunts  the  forest-shade. 
Come,  lovely  nymph,  and  bless  the  silent 
hours, 

When  swains  from  shearing  seek  their 
nightly  bowers  ; 

When  weary  reapers  quit  the  sultry  field, 
And,  crown’d  with  corn,  their  thanks  to 
Ceres  yield. 

This  harmless  grove  no  lurking  viper  hides, 
But  in  my  breast  the  serpent  Love  abides. 
Here  bees  from  blossoms  sip  the  rosy  dew, 
But  your  Alexis  knows  no  sweets  but  you. 
O deign  to  visit  our  forsaken  seats,  71 

The  mossy  fountains,  and  the  green  re- 
treats ! 

Where’er  you  walk,  cool  gales  shall  fan  the 
glade ; 

Trees,  where  you  sit,  shall  crowd  into  a 
shade  ; 

Where’er  you  tread,  the  blushing  flowers 
shall  rise, 

And  all  things  flourish  where  you  turn 
your  eyes. 

O ! how  I long  with  you  to  pass  my  days, 
Invoke  the  Muses,  and  resound  your 
praise  ! 

Your  praise  the  birds  shall  chant  in  ev’ry 
grove, 

And  winds  shall  waft  it  to  the  powers 
above.  80 

But  would  you  sing,  and  rival  Orpheus’ 
strain, 

The  womlTing  forests  soon  should  dance 
again  ; 

The  moving  mountains  hear  the  powerful 
call, 

And  headlong  streams  hang  list’ning  in  their 
fall  ! 

But  see,  the  shepherds  shun  the  noonday 
heat, 

The  lowing  herds  to  murmuring  brooks 
retreat, 

To  closer  shades  the  panting  flocks  re- 
move : 

Ye  Gods  ! and  is  there  no  relief  for  love  ? 
But  soon  the  sun  with  milder  rays  de- 
scends 

To  the  cool  ocean,  where  his  journey 
ends.  90 

On  me  Love’s  fiercer  flames  forever  prey, 
By  night  he  scorches,  as  he  burns  by  day. 


Ill 

AUTUMN;  OR,  HYLAS  AND 
ALG  ON 

TO  MR.  WYCHERLEY 

Beneath  the  shade  a spreading  beech  dii 
plays, 

Hylas  and  iEgon  sung  their  rural  lays  ; 

This  mourn’d  a faithless,  that  an  absei 
love, 

And  Delia’s  name  and  Doris’  fill’d  tli 
grove. 

Ye  Mantuan  Nymphs,  your  sacred  succor 
bring, 

Hylas  and  iEgon’s  rural  lays  I sing. 

Thou,  whom  the  Nine  with  Plautus’  w 
inspire, 

The  art  of  Terence,  and  Menander’s  fire 

Whose  sense  instructs  us,  and  whose  hi 
mour  charms, 

Whose  judgment  sways  us,  and  whos 
spirit  warms  ! 

O,  skill’d  in  Nature  ! see  the  hearts  <1 
swains, 

Their  artless  passions,  and  their  tendi 
pains. 

Now  setting  Phoebus  shone  serene- 
bright, 

And  fleecy  clouds  were  streak’d  with  purp 
light  ; 

When  tuneful  Hylas,  with  melodious  moa 

Taught  rocks  to  weep,  and  made  the  mom 
tains  groan. 

Go,  gentle  gales,  and  bear  my  sigl 
away  ! 

To  Delia’s  ear  the  tender  notes  convey. 

As  some  sad  turtle  his  lost  love  deplores, 

And  with  deep  murmurs  fills  the  soundii 
shores  ; 

Thus,  far  from  Delia,  to  the  winds 
mourn, 

Alike  unheard,  unpitied,  and  forlorn. 

Go,  gentle  gales,  and  bear  my  sig] 
along  ! 

For  her,  the  feather’d  quires  neglect  thd 
song  ; 

For  her,  the  limes  their  pleasing  shad 
deny  ; 

For  her,  the  lilies  hang  their  heads  and  di 

Ye  flowers  that  droop,  forsaken  by  tl 
spring, 

Ye  birds  that,  left  by  Summer,  cease 
sing, 


AUTUMN;  OR,  HYLAS  AND  ^GON 


25 


\ trees,  that  fade  when  Autumn-heats  re- 
move, 

y,  is  not  absence  death  to  those  who 
love  ? . 30 

Go,  gentle  gales,  and  bear  my  sighs 
away  ! 

irs’d  be  the  fields  that  cause  my  Delia’s 
stay  ! 

ide  ev’ry  blossom,  wither  ev’ry  tree, 
e ev’ry  flower,  and  perish  all  but  she  ! 
hat  have  I said?  Where’er  my  Delia 
1 flies, 

;t  Spring  attend,  and  sudden  flowers 
arise  ! 

at  op’ning  roses  knotted  oaks  adorn, 
nd  liquid  amber  drop  from  ev’ry  thorn  ! 
Go,  gentle  gales,  and  bear  my  sighs 
along  ! 

he  birds  shall  cease  to  tune  their  ev’ning 
song,  4° 

he  winds  to  breathe,  the  waving  woods 
to  move, 

nd  streams  to  murmur,  ere  I cease  to 
' love. 

ot  bubbling  fountains  to  the  thirsty  swain, 
ot  balmy  sleep  to  lab’rers  faint  with  pain, 
jot  showers  to  larks,  nor  sunshine  to  the 
bee, 

re  half  so  charming  as  thy  sight  to  me. 

Go,  gentle  gales,  and  bear  my  sighs 
away  ! 

ome,  Delia,  come  ; ah,  why  this  long  de- 
lay  ? 

'hro’  rocks  and  caves  the  name  of  Delia 
sounds, 

)elia,  each  cave  and  echoing  rock  re- 
3 bounds.  5° 

re  Powers,  what  pleasing  frenzy  soothes 
my  mind  ! 

)o  lovers  dream,  or  is  my  Delia  kind  ? 
die  comes,  my  Delia  comes  ! — Now  cease, 
my  lay, 

\nd  cease,  ye  gales,  to  bear  my  sighs 
away  ! 

Next  iEgon  sung,  while  Windsor  groves 
3 admired  : 

lehearse,  ye  Muses,  what  yourselves  in- 
1 spired. 

Resound,  ye  hills,  resound  my  mournful 
strain  ! 

3f  perjur’d  Doris  dying  I complain  : 
dere  where  the  mountains,  less’ning  as 
they  rise, 

Lose  the  low  vales,  and  steal  into  the 
skies  : 60 


While  lab’ring  oxen,  spent  with  toil  and 
heat, 

In  their  loose  traces  from  the  field  retreat: 

While  curling  smokes  from  village-tops 
are  seen, 

And  the  fleet  shades  glide  o’er  the  dusky 
green. 

Resound,  ye  hills,  resound  my  mournful 
lay  ! 

Beneath  yon  poplar  oft  we  pass’d  the  day  : 

Oft  on  the  rind  I carv’d  her  am’rous 
vows, 

While  she  with  garlands  hung  the  bending 
boughs  : 

The  garlands  fade,  the  vows  are  worn 
away  ; 

So  dies  her  love,  and  so  my  hopes  decay. 

Resound,  ye  hills,  resound  my  mournful 
strain ! 7T 

Now  bright  Arcturus  glads  the  teeming 
grain, 

Now  golden  fruits  on  loaded  branches 
shine, 

And  grateful  clusters  swell  with  floods  of 
wine  ; 

Now  blushing  berries  paint  the  yellow 
grove  : 

Just  Gods  ! shall  all  things  yield  returns 
but  love  ? 

Resound,  ye  hills,  resound  my  mournful 
lay  ! 

The  shepherds  cry,  ‘Thy  flocks  are  left  a 
prey  ’ — 

Ah  ! what  avails  it  me  the  flocks  to  keep, 

Who  lost  my  heart  while  I preserv’d  my 
sheep  ! £0 

Pan  came,  and  ask’d,  ‘ What  magic  caus’d 
my  smart, 

Or  what  ill  eyes  malignant  glances  dart  ? ’ 

What  eyes  but  hers,  alas,  have  power  to 
move  ! 

And  is  there  magic  but  what  dwells  in 
love  ? 

Resound,  ye  hills,  resound  my  mournful 
strains  ! 

I ’ll  fly  from  shepherds,  flocks,  and  flow’ry 
plains  ; 

From  shepherds,  flocks,  and  plains,  I may 
remove, 

Forsake  mankind,  and  all  the  world  — but 
Love  ! 

I know  thee,  Love  ! on  foreign  mountains 
bred, 

Wolves  gave  thee  suck,  and  savage  tigers 
fed.  90 


f 


U* 


s»* 

{ 

fit 

m 


1 


20 


PASTORALS 


Tliou  wert  from  ^Etna’s  burning  entrails 
torn, 

Got  by  fierce  whirlwinds,  and  in  thunder 
born  ! 

Resound,  ye  hills,  resound  my  mournful 
lay  ! ‘ 

Farewell,  ye  woods  ; adieu  the  light  of 
day  ! 

One  leap  from  yonder  cliff  shall  end  my 
pains, 

No  more,  ye  hills,  no  more  resound  my 
strains  ! 

Thus  sung  the  shepherds  till  tli’  approach 
of  night, 

The  skies  yet  blushing  with  departing 
light, 

When  fallen  dews  with  spangles  deck’d  the 
glade, 

And  the  low  sun  had  lengthen’d  ev’ry 
shade.  ioo 


IV 

WINTER  ; OR,  DAPHNE 

TO  THE  MEMORY  OF  MRS.  TEMPEST 
LYCIDAS.  L 

Thyrsis  ! the  music  of  that  murm’ring 
spring 

Is  not  so  mournful  as  the  strains  you  sing  ; 

Nor  rivers  winding  thro’  the  vales  below 

So  sweetly  warble,  or  so  smoothly  flow. 

Now  sleeping  flocks  on  their  soft  fleeces 
lie, 

The  moon,  serene  in  glory,  mounts  the 
sky  ; 

While  silent  birds  forget  their  tuneful 
lays, 

O sing  of  Daphne’s  fate,  and  Daphne's 
praise  ! 

thyrsis. 

Behold  the  groves  that  shine  with  silver 
frost, 

Their  beauty  wither’d,  and  their  verdure 
lost.  IO 

Here  shall  I try  the  sweet  Alexis’  strain, 

That  call’d  the  list’ning  Dryads  to  the 
plain  ? 

Thames  heard  the  numbers  as  he  flow’d 
along, 

And  bade  his  willows  learn  the  moving 
song, 


LYCIDAS. 

So  may  kind  rains  their  vital  moistu 
yield, 

And  swell  the  future  harvest  of  the  field. 
Begin  : this  charge  the  dying  Daphne  ga\ 
And  said,  ‘ Ye  shepherds,  sing  around  n 
grave  ! ’ 

Sing,  while  beside  the  shaded  tomb 
mourn, 

And  with  fresh  bays  her  rural  shri 
adorn. 

THYRSIS. 

Ye  gentle  Muses,  leave  your  crystal  sprin 
Let  Nymphs  and  Sylvans  cypress  garlan 
bring  : 

Ye  weeping  Loves,  the  stream  with  myrtl 
hide, 

And  break  your  bows,  as  when  Adoi 
died  ! 

And  with  your  golden  darts,  now  uselt 
grown, 

Inscribe  a verse  on  this  relenting  stone  : 

‘ Let  Nature  change,  let  Heav’n  and  Ear 
deplore, 

Fair  Daphne ’s  dead,  and  Love  is  now 
more  ! ’ 

’T  is  done  ; and  Nature’s  various  chari 
</  decay, 

See  gloomy  clouds  obscure  the  cheer^ 
day  ! 

Now  hung  with  pearls  the  dropping  trt 
appear, 

Their  faded  honours  scatter’d  on  her  hie 
See,  where  on  earth  the  flow’ry  glories  1 
With  her  they  flourish’d,  and  with  her  tli 
die. 

Ah,  what  avail  the  beauties  Nature  wore 
Fair  Daphne ’s  dead,  and  Beauty  is 
more  ! 

For  her  the  flocks  refuse  their  verda 
food, 

The  thirsty  heifers  shun  the  gliding  floo< 
The  silver  swans  her  hapless  fate  bemoa 
In  notes  more  sad  than  when  they  si 
their  own  ; 

In  hollow  caves  sweet  Echo  silent  lies, 
Silent,  or  only  to  her  name  replies  ; 

Her  name  with  pleasure  once  she  tang 
the  shore  ; 

Now  Daphne’s  dead,  and  Pleasure  is 
more  ! 

No  grateful  dews  descend  from  ev’ni 

skies, 

Nor  morning  odours  from  the  flowers  ari' 


WINTER;  OR,  DAPHNE 


27 


0 rich  perfumes  refresh  the  fruitful  field, 
or  fragrant  herbs  their  native  incense 

yield. 

he  balmy  zephyrs,  silent  since  her  death, 
ament  the  ceasing  of  a sweeter  breath  ; 50 
h’  industrious  bees  neglect  their  golden 
store  : 

air  Daphne ’s  dead,  and  sweetness  is  no 
more  ! 

No  more  the  mountain  larks,  while 
Daphne  sings, 

hall,  list’ning  in  mid-air,  suspend  their 
wings  ; 

To  more  the  birds  shall  imitate  her  lays, 

)r,  hush’d  with  wonder,  hearken  from  the 
sprays  ; 

To  more  the  streams  their  murmurs  shall 
forbear, 

1 sweeter  music  than  their  own  to  hear  ; 
Jut  tell  the  reeds,  and  tell  the  vocal  shore, 
"air  Daphne ’s  dead,  and  music  is  no 

more  ! 60 

ler  fate  is  whisper’d  by  the  gentle  breeze, 
Hid  told  in  sighs  to  all  the  trembling 
trees  ; 

Che  trembling  trees,  in  every  plain  and 
wood, 

ler  fate  remurmur  to  the  silver  flood  ; 

Che  silver  flood,  so  lately  calm,  appears 
dwell’d  with  new  passion,  and  o’erflows 
with  tears  ; 

The  winds  and  trees  and  floods  her  death 
deplore, 

Daphne,  our  Grief,  our  Glory  now  no  more  ! 

But  see  ! where  Daphne  wond’ring 
mounts  on  high 

Hbove  the  clouds,  above  the  starry  sky  ! 70 
Eternal  beauties  grace  the  shining  scene, 


Fields  ever  fresh,  and  groves  for  ever 
green  ! 

There  while  you  rest  in  amaranthine  bow- 
ers, 

Or  from  those  meads  select  unfading 
flowers, 

Behold  us  kindly,  who  your  name  implore, 

Daphne,  our  Goddess,  and  our  Grief  no 
more  ! 

LYCIDA8. 

How  all  things  listen,  while  thy  Muse  com- 
plains ! 

Such  silence  waits  on  Philomela’s  strains, 

In  some  still  ev’ning,  when  the  whisp’riug 
breeze 

Pants  on  the  leaves,  and  dies  upon  the 
trees.  80 

To  thee,  bright  Goddess,  oft  a lamb  shall 
bleed, 

If  teeming  ewes  increase  my  fleecy  breed. 

While  plants  their  shade,  or  flowers  their 
odours  give, 

Thy  name,  thy  honour,  and  thy  praise  shall 
live  ! 

THYRSIS. 

But  see,  Orion  sheds  unwholesome  dews  ; 

Arise,  the  pines  a noxious  shade  diffuse  ; 

Sharp  Boreas  blows,  and  Nature  feels  de- 
cay, 

Time  conquers  all,  and  we  must  Time  obey. 

Adieu,  ye  vales,  ye  mountains,  streams,  and 
groves  ; 

Adieu,  ye  shepherds’  rural  lays  and  loves  ; 

Adieu,  my  flocks  ; farewell,  ye  sylvan 
crew  ; 91 

Daphne,  farewell  ; and  all  the  world  adieu  ! 


28 


WINDSOR  FOREST 


WINDSOR  FOREST 

TO  THE 

RIGHT  HON.  GEORGE  LORD  LANSDOWN 


Non  injussa  cano  : — “-te  nostras,  Fare,  myricse, 

Te  Nemus  omne  canet : nec  Phoebo  gratior  ulla  est, 
Quam  sibi  quae  Vari  praescripsit  pagina  nomen. 

Virg.  Ed.  vi.  10-12. 


1 This  poem,1  says  Pope,  ‘ was  written  at 
two  different  times;  the  first  part  of  it,  which 
relates  to  the  country,  in  1704,  at  the  same 
time  with  the  Pastorals  ; the  latter  part  was  not 
added  till  the  year  1713,  in  which  it  was  pub- 
lished.’ The  first  289  lines  belong-  to  the 
earlier  date.  The  rest  of  the  poem,  with  its 
celebration  of  the  Peace  of  Utrecht,  was  added 
at  the  instance  of  Lord  J^ansdowp,  the  Gran- 


ville of  the  opening  lines.  The  aim  was  obvi- 
ously that  Pope  should  do  for  the  peaceful 
triumph  of  Utrecht  what  Addison  had  done  foi 
Marlborough’s  victory  at  Blenheim  in  1704 
It  is  printed  here  because  the  conclusion  wa* 
an  afterthought,  and  in  spite  of  it  the  poem  as 
a whole  ‘ substantially  belongs,’  as  Courtliopt 
remarks,  ‘ to  theTaatoral  period.’/Pope  ranked 
it  among  his  ‘juvenile  poems.*)  ^ 


^Th Y_f orest,  Windsor  ! and  thy  green  re- 
treats, 

r'  At  once  the  Monarch’s  and  the  Muse’s 
seats, 

Tnvite  my  Jays.  Be  present,  Sylvan  ISJaicis  ! 

Unlock  your  springs,  and  open  all  your 
shades. 

Granville  commands  : your  aid,  O Muses, 
bring  ! 

What  muse  for  Granville  can  refuse  to  sing? 

The  groves  of  Eden,  vanish’d  now  so 

. lon£’  . 

Live  in  description,  and  look  green  in  song  : 

These,  were  my  breast  inspired  with  equal 
flame, 

Like  thei$  in  Beauty,  should  be  like  in 
Fame.  io 

Here  hills  and  vales,  the  woodland  and  the 
plain, 

Here  earth  and  water  seem  to  strive  again; 

Not,  chaos - like  together  crush’d  and 
hxms’d, 

JLit,  as  the  world,  harmoniously  confused: 

jWhe recorder  in  variety  we  see,  ) 

I And  where,  tho’  all  things  differ,  all  agreed 

■Here  waving 'groves  a chequer’d  scene  dis- 
play, _ "" — " 

And  part  admit,  and  part  exclude  the  day; 

As  some  coy  nymph  her  lover’s  warm  ad- 
dress ; 

Nor  quite  indulges,  nor  can  quite  repress. 

There,  interspers’d  in  lawns  and  opening 
glades,  21 

Thin  trees  arise  that  shun  each  other’s 
shades. 


Here  in  full  light  the  russet  plains  extend 
There  wrapt  in  clouds  the  bluish  hills  as- 
cend. 

Ev’n  the  wild  heath  displays  her  purple  dyes 
And  ’midst  the  desert  fruitful  fields  arise, 
That  crown’d  with  tufted  trees  and  spring- 
ing corn, 

Like  verdant  isles,  the  sable  waste  adorn. 
Let  India  boast  her  plants,  nor  envy  we 
The  weeping  amber  or  the  balmy  tree,  3c 
While  by  our  oaks  the  precious  loads  art 
borne, 

And  realms  commanded  which  those  trees 
adorn. 

Not  proud  Olympus  yields  a nobler  sight, 
Tho’  Gods  assembled  grace  his  tow’rin^ 
height, 

Than  what  more  humble  mountains  offei 
here, 

Where,  in  their  blessings,  all  those  Gods 
appear. 

See  Ban  with  flocks,  with  fruits  Pomoiif 
crown’d, 

Here  blushing-  Blara  paints  til’  enamell’c 
ground, 

Here  Ceres’  gifts  in  waving  prospect  stand 
And  nodding  tempt  the  joyful  reaper’: 

hand  ; 4, 

Rich  Industry  sits  smiling  on  the  plains, 
CAnd_  peace  and  plenty  tell.  aJ^tnart-relgns 
^rNot  thus  the  land  appear’d  in  ages  past. 
A dreary  desert,  and  a gloomy  waste, 

To  savage  beasts  and  savage  laws  a prey, 
And  Kings  more  furious  and  severe  thai 
they; 


Hio  claim’d  the  skies,  dispeopled  air  and 
floods, 

he  lonely  lords  of  empty  wilds  and  woods: 
ilka,  laid  waste,  they  storm’d  thejdens 
and  caves  _ 

For  wiser  brutes  were  backward  to  be 
slaves) ; 5° 

/hat  could  be  free,  when  lawless  beasts 
ohey’cT,  ? 

.nd  ev’n  the  elements  a Tyrant  sway’d  ? 
u vain  kThcl  seasons  swell’d  the  teeming 
grain, 

oft  showers  distill’d,  and  suns  grew  warm 
in  vain  : 

'he  swain  with  tears  his  frustrate  labour 
yields, 

bid  famish’d  dies  amidst  his  ripen’d  fields. 
Vliat  wonder  then,  a beast  or  subject  slain\ 
V ere  equal  crimes  in  a despotic  reign  ? 
loth  doom’d  alike,  for  sportive  tyrants 
bled, 

3ut  while  the  subject  starv’d,  the  beast 
wa£35L  * 6o* 

?roud(  Nimrod  }irst  the'(bloody  chase  began,] 
V mighty  hunter,  and  Ins  prey  was., mail  : 

Jur  haughty  Norp^an  boasts  that  barb  rous 
name, 

A. lid  makes  his  trembling  slaves. _the^royal 
game. 

rhe  fields  are  ravish’d  from  th’  industrious 
swains, 

From  men  their  cities,  and  from  Gods  their 
fanes  ; t H 

The  levell’d  towns  with  weeds  lie  cover’d 
o’er  ; 

The  hollow  winds  thro’  naked  temples 
roar  ; . ,68 

Round  broken  columns  clasping  ivy  twin’d; 
O’er  heaps  of  ruin  stalk’d  the  stately  hind  ; 
The  fox  obscene  to  gaping  tombs  retires, 
And  savage  bowlings  fill  the  sacred  quires. 
Aw’d  by  his  nobles,  by  his  commons  curstrj 
Th’  Oppressor  ruled  tyrannic  where  he  durst, J 
StretchATn’er  the  poor  and  church  his  iron 
rod,  f 

And  serv’d,, jtlike  hisjasaa.ls.and  IfisGod.  ) 
Whom  ev’n  tlie'  Sajon  spar’d,  and  bloody 
Dane,  # a 

The  wairfon  victims  of  his  sport  remain.  \ 
But  see,  the  man  who  spacious  regions  gave 
A wasfe  'fo^r“beasTs,  himseIf  denied  a 

grave  i 80 

StretclrcTbn  the  lawn(his  second  hope  sur- 
vey, 

A.t  once  the  chaser,  and  at  once  the  prey  ! 


Lo  Rufus,  tugging  at  the  deadly  dart, 
BleedsTn  the  forest  like  a wounded  J^rt ! , 


Succeeding  monarchs  heard  the  subjects 
cries, 

Nor  saw  displeas’d  the  peaceful  cottage 
rise  : 

Then  gatli’ring  flocks  on  unknown  moun- 
tains fed, 

O’er  sandy  wilds  were  yellow  harvests 
spread, 

The  forest  wonder’d  at  th’  unusual  grain, 

And  secret  transports  touch’d  the  conscious 
swain.  9° 

Fair  Liberty.  BidianmalsAzoddess,, rears 

Her  cheerful  head,  and  leads  the  golden 


/ lyears./ 

0Te  vigorous  Swains  ! while  youth  fer- 
ments your  blood, 

And  purer  spirits  swell  the  sprightly  flood, 
Now  range  the  hills,  the  gameful  woods 
beset, 

Wind  the  shrill  horn,  or  spread  the  waving 
net. ) 

When  milder  Autumn  Summer’s  heat  suc- 
ceeds, 

And  in  the  new-shorn  field  the  partridge 
feeds, 

B ef ore-his-iord- 1 he  jrea<iy_p> a n i el  bounds,. 
Panting  with  hope,  he  tries  the  furrow  d 
grounds  ; 103 

But  when  the  tainted  gales  the  game  be- 
tray, 

Couch’d  close  he  lies,  and  meditates  the 
prey  ; 

Secure  they  trust  th’  unfaithful  field  beset, 
Till  hov’ring  o’er  them  sweeps  the  swelling 
net.  ^ 

/Thus  (if  small  things  we  may  with^great j 

V compare) 

When  tIThioiAsends  her  eager  sons  to  war, 
Some  thoughtless  town,  with  ease  and 
plenty  blest, 

Near,  and  more  near,  the  closing  lines  in- 
vest ; 

Sudden  they  seize  th’  amaz’d,  defenceless 
prize, 

And  high  in  air  Britannia’s  standard  flies. 

See  ! from  the  brake  the  whirring  pheas- 
ant  springs,  111  'j 

And  mounts  exulting  on  triumphant  wings  : 
Short  Is  his  joy  ; he  feels  the,  fiery  wound,  ^ 
Flutters  in  blood,  and  panting  beats  the 
ground. 

Ah  ! what  avail  his  glossy,  varying  dyes, 

His  purple  crest,  and  scarlet-circled  eyes, 


3° 


WINDSOR  FOREST 


The  vivid  green  his  shining  plumes  un- 
fold, 

His  painted  wings,  and  breast  that  flames 
with  gold  ? 

S Nor  jet,  when  moist  Arcturus  clouds  the 
sky, 

The  woods  and  fields  their  pleasing  toils 
deny.  120 

To  plains  with  well-breathed  beagles  we 
repair, 

And  trace  the  mazes  of  the  circling  hare 
(Beasts,  urged  by  us,  their  fellow  beasts 
pursue, 

\ And  learn  of  man  each  other  to  nndo).^ 
With  slaughtering  guns  th’  unwearied 
fowler  roves, 

When  frosts  have  whiten’d  all  the  naked 
groves, 

Where  doves  in  flocks  the  leafless  trees  o’er- 
sliade, 

And  lonely  woodcocks  haunt  the  wat’ry 
glade. 

He  lifts  the  tube,  and  levels  with  his  eye  ; 
Straight  a short  thunder  breaks  the  frozen 
sky  : i3o 

Oft,  as  in  airy  rings  they  skim  the  heath, 
The  clamTous  lapwings  feel  the  leaden 
, death  ; 

j Oft,  as  the  mounting  larks  their  notes  pre- 
J pare, 

(They  fall,  and  leave  their  little  lives  in 
air. 

In  genial  Spring,  beneath  the  quiv’ring 
shade, 

Where  cooling  vapours  breathe  along  the 
mead, 

The  patient  fisher  takes  his  silent  stand, 
Intent,  his  angle  trembling  in  his  hand: 
With  looks  un mov’d,  he  hopes  the  scaly 
breed, 

And  eyes  the  dancing  cork  and  bending 
reed.  i4o 

Our  plenteous  streams  a various  race  sup- 

ply, 

The  bright-eyed  perch  with  fins  of  Tv.rian 

. dye> 

The  silver  eel,  in  shining  volumes  roll’d, 
The  yellow  carp,  in  scales  bedropp’d  with 
gold, 

Swift  trouts,  diversified  with  crimson 
stains, 


•y-  (And  pikes,  the  ty^wits  of  the  wat’ry  plains.) 
^Now  Cancer  glows  with  Phnahus’  fiery 


The  youth  rush  eager  to  the  sylvan  war, 


Swarm  o’er  the  lawns,  the  forest  walk! 
surround, 

Rouse  the  fleet  hart,  and  cheer  the  opening 
hound.  ,, 

Th’  impatient-CQurseiqiants  in  every  vein, 
And,  pawing,  seems  to  beat  the  distam 
plain  : 

Hills,  vales,  and  floods  appear  already 
cross’d, 

And  ere  he  starts,  a thousand  steps  art 
lost. 

See  the  bold  youth  strain  up  the  threat- 
hiijigLsteep, 

Rush  thro’  the  thickets,  down  the  valley: 
sweep, 

Hang  o’er  their  coursers’  heads  with  eage 
speed, 

And  earth  rolls  back  beneath  the  flying 
steed. 

Let  old  Arcadia  boast  her  ample  plain, 

Th’  immortal  huntress,  and  her  virgii 
train  ; l6. 

Nor  envy,  Windsor  ! since  thy  shades  have 

U seen 

s_  brjgliL__a — Goddess.  an<L  ..as-  -chaste 
Quccn_;  ) 

Whose  care,  like  hers,  protects  the  sylvai 
reign, 

The  earth’s  fair  light,  and  Empress  of  the 
Main. 

Here  Too,  ’t  is  sung,  of  old  Diana  stray’d 
And  Cynthus’  top  forsook  for  Windsoi 
shade  ; 

Here  was  she  seen  o’er  airy  wastes  to  rove 
Seek  the  clear  spring,  or  haunt  the  path 
less  grove  ; 

Here  arm’d  with  silver  bows,  in  earl] 
dawn, 

Her  bugkin’d  virgins  traced  the  dewj 
lawn.  I?l 

Above  the  rest  a rural  nymph  was  famed 
Thy  offspring,  Thames  ! the  fair  Lodom 
named 

(Lodona’s  fate,  in  long  oblivion  cast, 

The  Muse  shall  sing,  and  what  she  sing! 
shall  last). 

Scarce  could  the  Goddess  from  her  nympli 
be  known 

But  by  the  crescent  and  the  golden  zone. 
She  scorn’d  the  praise  of  beauty,  and  the 
care  ; 

A belt  her  waist,  a fillet  binds  her  hair  ; 

A painted  quiver  on  Tier  shoulder  sounds. 
And  with  her  dart  the  flying  deer  she 
wounds. 


WINDSOR  FOREST 


chanced  asT  eager  of  the  chase,  the  maid 
jjyond  the  forest’s  verdant  limits  stray’d, 
in  saw  and  lov’d,  and,  burning  with  de- 
sire, 

jrsued  her  flight  ; her  flight  increas’d  his 


tire. 

ot  half  so  swift  the  trembling  doves  can 


fly, 

Ten  the  fierce  eagle  cleaves  the  liquid 
sky  ; 

ot  half  so  swiftly  the  fierce  eagle  moves, 
Ten  thro’  the  clouds  he  drives  the  trem- 


bling doves  : 

s from  the  God  she  flew  with  furious 


pace, 

r as  the  God,  more  furious,  urged  the 
chase.  190 

ow  fainting,  sinking,  pale,  the  Nymph 
appears  ; 

ow  close  behind,  his  sounding  steps  she 
hears  ; 

nd  now  his  shadow  reach’d  her  as  she 
run, 

is  shadow  lengthen’d  by  the  setting  sun  ; 
nd  now  his  shorter  breath,  with  sultry  air, 
ants  on  her  neck,  and  fans  her  parting 
hair. 

i vain  on  Father  Thames  she  calls  for  aid, 
or  could  Diana  help  her  injur’d  maid, 
aint,  breathless,  thus  she  pray’d,  nor 
pray’d  in  vain: 

jlyCynthia  ! ah  — tho’  banish’d  from  thy 
train,  200 

et  me,  O let  me,  to  the  shades  repair, 

[y  native  shades  — there  weep,  and  mur- 
mur there  ! ’ 

he  said,  and  melting  as  in  tears  sheTay, 

1 a soft  silver  stream  dissolv’d  away, 
he  silver  stream  her  virgin  coldness 
keeps,. 

or  ever  murmurs,  and  for  ever  weeps; 
till  bears  the  name  the  hapless  virgin 
bore, 

nd  bathes  the  forest  where  she  ranged 
before. 

1 her  chaste  current  oft  the  Goddess 

nd  with  celestial  tears  augments  the 
waves.  210 

ft  in  her  glass  the  musing  shepherd  spies 
he  headlong  mountains  and  the  downward 
skies  ; 

he  wat’ry  landscape  of  the  pendent 
woods, 

ud  absent  trees  that  tremble  in  the  floods  : 


In  the  clear  azure  gleam  the  flocks  are 
seen, 

And  floating  forests  paint  the  waves  with 
green  ; 

Thro’  the  fair  scene  roll  slow  the  ling’ring 
streams, 

Then  foaming  pour  along,  and  rush  into 
(ftie  Thames.) 

Thou,  too,  great  Father  of  the  British 
Floods, ! 

With  joyful  pride  survey’st  our  lofty 
woods  ; 220 

Where  tow’ring  oaks  their  growing  hon- 
ours rear, 

And  future  navies  on  thy  shores  appear. 

Not  Neptune’s  self  from  all  his  streams  re- 
ceives 

A wealthier  tribute  than  to  thine  he  gives. 

No  seas  so  rich,  so  gay  no  banks  appear, 

No  lake  so  gentle,  and  no  spring  so  clear. 

Nor  To  so  swells  the  fabling  poet’s  lays, 

While  led  along  the  skies  his  current 
strays, 

As  thine,  which  visifcS-JAindsor’s  famed 
abodes. 

To  grace  the  mansion  of  our  earthly  Gods  : 

Nor  all  his  stars  above  a lustre  show,  231 
/Like  the  bright  beauties  on  thy  banks  be- 
low; | 

Where  Jove,  subdued  by  mortal  passion 
still, 

Might  change  Olyjnpus  for  a nobler  hill. 

Happy  the  man  whom  this  brigliT  court 
approves, 

His  Sov’reign  favours,  and  his  Country 
loves: 

Happy  next  him,  who  to  these  shades  re- 
tires, 

Whom  Nature  charms,  and  whom  the  Muse 
inspires: 

Whom  humbler  joys  of  home-felt  quiet 
please, 

Successive  study,  exercise,  and  ease.  240 

He  gathers  health  from  herbs  the  forest 
yields, 

And  of  their  fragrant  physic  spoils  the 
fields: 

With  chemic  art  exalts  the  mineral  powers, 

And  draws  the  aromatic  souls  of  flowers: 

Now  marks  the  course  of  rolling  orbs  on 
high ; 

O’er  figured  worlds  now  travels  with  his 
eye; 

Of  ancient  writ  unlocks  the  learned  store, 

Consults  the  dead,  and  lives  past  ages  o’er; 


32 


WINDSOR  FOREST 


Or  wand’ring  thoughtful  in  the  silent  wood, 
Attends  the  duties  of  the  wise  and  good,  250 
T’  observe  a mean,  be  to  himself  a friend, 
To  follow  Nature,  and  regard  his  end; 

Or  looks  on  Heav’n  with  more  than  mortal 


eyes, 


Bids  his  free  soul  expatiate  in  the  skies, 
Amid  her  kindred  stars  familiar  roam, 
Survey  the  region,  and  confess  her  home! 
Such  was  the  life  great  Scipio  once  ad- 
mired: — 

Thus  Atticus,  and  Trumbull  thus  retired. 

Ye  sacred  Nine ! that  all  my  soul  possess, 

Whose  raptures  lire  me,  and  whose  visions 
bless,  260 

Bear  me,  O bear  me  to  sequester’d  scenes, 
The  bowery  mazes,  and  surrounding  greens; 
To  Thames’s  banks,  which  fragrant  breezes 
fill, 

Or  where  ye  Muses  sport  on(Cqqper!s_liillJ 
(On  Cooper’s  hill  eternal  wreaths  shall 
grow, 

While  lasts  the  mountain,  or  while  Thames 
shall  flow.) 

I seem  thro’  consecrated  walks  to  rove; 

I hear  soft  music  die  along  the  grove: 

;Led  by  the  sound,  I roam  from  shade  to 
shade, 

\By  godlike  Poets  venerable  made:  270 

^fiere  his  first  lays  majestic  Denham  sung; 
There  the  last  numbers  flow’d  from  Cow- 
ley’s tongue. 

Oh  early  lost!  what  tears  the  river  shed, 
When  the  sad  pomp  along  his  banks  was 
led! 

His  drooping  swans  on  every  note  expire, 
And  on  his  willows  hung  each  Muse’s  lyre. 

Since  Fate  relentless  stopp’d  their  lieav- 
’nly  voice, 

No  more  the  forests  ring,  or  groves  rejoice; 
Who  now  shall  charm  the  shades  where 
Cowley  strung 

His  living  harp,  and  lofty  Denham  sung  ? 
(But  hark!  the  groves  rejoice,  the  forest 
rings!  _ _ 281 

Are  these  revived,  or  is  it  Granville  sings? 
Tis  yours,  my_Lord,  to  bless  our  soft  re- 
treats, 

And  call  the  Muses  to  their  ancient  seats; 
*To  paint  anew  the  flowery  sylvan  scenes, 

To  crown  the  forests  with  immortal  greens, 
Make  Windsor^ hills  in  lofty  numbers  rise, 
And  lift  her  turrets  nearer  to  the  skies; 

To  sing  those  honours  you  deserve  to  wear, 
And  add  new  lustre  to  her  silver  star!  390 


Here  noble  Surrey  felt  the  sacred  rage, 
Surrey,  the  Granville  of  a former  age : 
Matchless  his  pen,  victorious  was  his  lance, 
Bold  in  the  lists,  and  graceful  in  the 
dance : 

In  the  same  shades  the  Cupids  tuned  his 
lyre, 

To  the  same  notes  of  love  and  soft  desire; 


Fair  Geraldine,  bright  object  of  his  vow.  / 
■ ...  '[fra\ 


Then  filPd  the  groves,  as  heav’nly  Mira' 
now. 

Oh  wouldst  thou  sing  what  heroes  Wind- 
sor bore, 

What  Kings  first  breathed  upon  her  winding 
shore,  30a 

Or  raise  old  warriors,  whose  ador’d  remains 
In  weeping  vaults  her  hallow’d  earth  con- 
tains! 

With  Edward’s  acts  adorn  the  shining  page, 
Stretch  liis  long  triumphs  down  thro’  every 
age, 

Draw  Monarchs  chain’d,  and  Qressi’s  glori- 
ous field, 

The  lilies  blazing  on  the  regal  shield: 

Then,  from  her  roofs  when  V errio’s  colours 
fall, 

-And  leave  inanimate  the  naked  wall, 

Still  in  thy  song  should  vanquish’d  France 
appear, 

And  bleed  for  ever  under  Britain’s  spear.  3 J 
^ Let  softer  strains  ill-fated  Henry  mourn 
And  palms  eternal  flourish  round  his  urn. 
Here  o’er  the  martyr-king  the  marbh 
weeps, 

And,  fast  beside  him,  once-fear’d  Edwarc 
sleeps, 

Whom  not  th’  extended  Albion  could  con 
tain, 

From  old  Bellerium  to  the  northern  main; 
( The  grave  TmitcS : where  ev’11  the  grea 
frnd  rest,  ) 

|Ind  blended  lie  th’  oppressor  and  th*  op 
prest!  J 

Make  sacred  Charles’s  tomb  for  eve 
known 

(Obscure  the  place,  and  uninscribed  th 
f stone);  32 

Oh  fact  accurs’d  ! what  tears  has  Albio; 
shed, 

iHeav’ns!  what  new  wounds!  and  how  he 
V old  have  bled! 

She  saw  her  sons  with  purple  death  expire 
Her  sacred  domes  involv’d  in  rolling  fire, 
A dreadful  series  of  intestine  wars, 
Inglorious  triumphs,  and  dishonest  scars. 


WINDSOR  FOREST 


33 


4. 


t length  great  Anna  said,  ‘ Let  discord 
cease! ’ 

lie  saidTthe  world  obey’d,  and  all  was 
peace! 

In  that  blest  moment  from  his  oozy  bed 
>ld  father  Tjjames  advanced  his  rev’rend 
head;  330 

[is  tresses  dropp’d  with  dews,  and  o’er  the 
stream 

lis  shining  horns  diffused  a golden  gleam : 
graved  on  his  urn  appear’d  the  moon,  that 
guides 

lis  swelling  waters  and  alternate  tides; 

.'lie  figured  streams  in  waves  of  silver 
roll’d, 

ind  on  her  banks  Augusta  rose  in  gold. 
Ground  his  throne  the  sea-born  brothers 
stood,  ~ 

Vho  swell  with  tributary  urns  his  flood:  338 


And  harvests  on  a hundred  realms  be- 
stows; 

These  now  no  more  shall  be  the  Muse’s 
themes,  361 

Lost  in  my  fame,  as  in  the  sea  their 
streams. 

Let  Volga’s  banks  with  iron  squadrons 
shine, 

And  groves  of  lances  glitter  on  the  Rhine ; 
Let  barb’rous  Ganges  arm  a servile  train, 
(Be  mine  the  blessings  of  a peaceful  reign  J 
No  Tn ore  my  sons  shall  dye  with  British 
blood 

Red  Iber’s  sands,  or  Ister’s  foaming  flood: 
Safe  on  my  shore  each  unmolested  swain 
Shall  tend  the  flocks,  or  reap  the  bearded 
grain;  37° 

The  shady  empire  shall  retain  no  trace 
Of  war  orJilood^JiutiiLtdie^lvan  chasel> 


V nu  swell  wilii  uumiaij  ill.  no  — j-rr, 

irst  the  famed  authors  of  his  aucient  name ;^^^r^mpet.sleepAwhile  cheerful  horns  are 

the  winding  Isis,  and  the  fruitful  Thame; 

the  Kennet  swift,  for  silver  eels  renown’d; 

Che  Lodclen  slow,  with  verdant  alders 
crown’d; 

3ole,  whose  dark  streams  his  flowery  islands 
lave ; 

And  chalky  Wey,  that  rolls  a milky  wave : 

Hie  blue,  transparent  V&ndalis  appears; 

Che  gulfy  Lee  his  sedgy  tresses  rears; 

And  sullen  Mole,  that  hides  his  diving 
flood ; 

And  silent  Darent,  stain’d  with  Danish 
blood. 

High  in  the  midst,  upon  his  urn  re- 
clin’d 

(His  sea-green  mantle  waving  with  the 
wind),  35° 

The  God  appear’d:  he  turn’d  his  azure 
eyes 

Where  Windsor-domes  and  pompous  tur- 
rets rise; 

(Then  bow’d  and  spoke ; the  winds  forget  to 
roar, 

And  the  hush’d  waves  glide  softly  to  the 
shore. 

‘ HaiL  sacred  Peace  1 hail,  long-expected 
days, 

That  Thames’s  glory  to  the  stars  shall 
raise! 

Tho’  Tiber’s  streams  immortal  Rome  be- 
hold 

Tho’  foaming  Herrpus  swells  with  tides  of 
gold, 

From  Heav’n  itself  tho’  sev’nfold  Nilus 
flows, 


blown, 

(And  arms  employ’d  on  birds  and  beasts 
alone)  ^ 

Behold!  th’  ascending  villas  on  my  side 
Project  long  shadows  o’er  the  crystal  tide; 
Behold!  Augusta’s  glitt’ring  spires  in- 
crease, 

And  temples  rise,  the  beauteous  works  of 
Peace. 

I see,  I see,  where  two  fair  cities  bend 
Their  ample  bow,  a new  Whitehall  as- 
cend! 

There  mighty  nations  shall  inquire  their 
doom,  381 

The  world’s  great  oracle  in  times  to  come; 
There  Kings  shall  sue,  and  suppliant  states 
be  seen 

Once  more  to  bend  before  a British  Queen. 

‘Thy  trees,  fair  Windsor!  now  shall 
leave  their  woods, 

And  half  thy  forests  rush  into  my  floods, 
Bear  Britain’s  thunder,  and  her  cross  dis- 
play 

To  the  bright  regions  of  the  rising  day; 
Tempt  icy  seas,  where  scarce  the  waters 
roll, 

Where  clearer  flames  glow  round  the 
frozen  pole  5 39° 

Or  under  southern  skies  exalt  their  sails, 
Led  by  new  stars,  and  borne  by  spicy 
gales! 

For  me  the  balm  shall  bleed,  and  amber 
flow, 

The  coral  redden,  and  the  ruby  glow, 

The  pearly  shell  its  lucid  globe  infold, 


34 


WINDSOR  FOREST 


And  Phoebus  warm  the  ripening  ore  to 
gold. 

The  time  shall  come,  when,  free  as  seas  or 
wind, 

Unbounded  Thames  shall  flow  for  all  man- 
kind, 

Whole  nations  enter  with  each  swelling 
tide, 

(And  seas  but  join  the  regions  they  divide;) 

1 Earth’s  distant  ends  our  glory  shall  be- 
► hold,  401 

/And  the  new  world  launch  forth  to  seek  the 
old., 

Then  ships  of  uncouth  form  shall  stem  the 
tide, 

And  feather’d  people  crowd  my  wealthy > 
side; 

And  naked  youths  and  painted  chiefs  ad- 
mire 

Our  speech,  our  colour,  and  our  strange  at- 
tire! 

O stretch  thy  reign,  fair  Peace!  from  shore 
to  shore, 

Till  conquest  cease,  and  slavery  be  no 
more; 

Till  the  freed  Indians  in  their  native  groves 

Reap  their  own  fruits,  and  woo  their  sable 
loves;  410 

Peru  once  more  a race  of  kings  behold, 

^.nd  other  Mexicos  be  roof’d  with  gold. 

( Exiled  by  thee  from  earth  to  deepest 
h Hell, 

[ In  brazen  bonds  shall  barb’rous  Discord 
dwell: 


Gigantic  Pride,  pale  Terror,  gloomy  Care. 
And  mad  Ambition  shall  attend  her  there: 
There  purpleTjengeance,  balked  in  gore, 
retires, 

Her  weapons  blunted,  and  extinct  her  fires: 
There  hated  Envy  her  ownHshakes  shall 
feel,  

And  Persecution  mourn  her  broken  wheel: 
There  Faction  roar,  Rebellion  bite  her 
chain, 

And  gasping  Furies  thirst  for  blood  in 
vain.’ 

Here  cease  thy  flight,  nor  with  unhal- 
low’d lays 

Touch  the  fair  fame  of  Albion’s  golden 
/ days: 

/The  thoughts  of  Gods  let  Granville’s  verse 
I recite, 

[And  bring  the  scenes  of  opening  fate  to 
light. 

My  humble  Muse,  in  unambitious  strains, 
Paints  the  green  forests  and  the  flowery 
plains, 

Where  Peace  descending  bids  her  olives 
spring, 

And  scatters  blesjsings  from  her  dovelike 
wing.  430 

Ev’n  I more  sweetly  pass  my  careless 
days, 

) Pleas’d  in  the  silent  shade  with  empty 
] praise; 

[Enough  for  me  that  to  the  list’ning  swains 
First  in  these  fields  I sung  the  sylvan 
strains. 


JANUARY  AND  MAY  35 


^PARAPHRASES  FROM  CHAUCER 


LNUARY  AND  MAY : OR,  THE 
MERCHANT’S  TALE 

Pope  says  that  this  ‘ translation  ’ was  done 
sixteen  or  seventeen  years  of  age.  It 
is  first  published,  with  the  Pastorals , in 
'09,  in  Tonson’s  sixth  Miscellany.  Eventually 
>pe  grouped  the  Chaucer  imitations  with 
loisa  to  Abelard , the  translations  from  Ovid 
d Statius  and  the  brief  Imitations  of  English 
oets.  To  this  collection  be  prefixed  this  Ad- 
Ttisement : — 

‘The  following  Translations  were  selected 
)m  many  others  done  by  the  Author  in  his 
[nth  ; for  the  most  part  indeed  but  a sort  of 
icercises,  while  he  was  improving  himself  in 
e Languages,  and  carried  by  his  early  bent 
Poetry  to  perform  them  rather  in  Verse  than 
•ose.  Mr.  Dryden’s  Fables  came  out  about 
at  time,  which  occasioned  the  Translations 
am  Chaucer.  They  were  first  separately 
inted  in  Miscellanies  by  J.  Tonson  and  B. 
;ntot,  and  afterwards  collected  in  the  Quarto 
lition  of  1717.  The  Imitations  of  English 
uthors , which  are  added  at  the  end,  were  done 
early,  some  of  them  at  fourteen  or  fifteen 
aus  old  ; but  having  also  got  into  Miscella- 

es,  we  have  put  them  here  together  to  com- 
ete  this  Juvenile  Volume.’ 

Warburton  asserts  that  Pope  did  not  intend 
include  this  group  of  poems  in  the  final  edi- 
>n  of  his  works. 

here  liv’d  in  Lombardy,  as  authors 
write, 

i days  of  old,  a wise  and  worthy  Knight; 
f gentle  manners,  as  of  gen’rous  race, 
lest  with  much  sense,  more  riches,  and 
some  grace  : 

et,  led  astray  by  Venus’  soft  delights, 

e scarce  could  rule  some  idle  appetites: 
or  long  ago,  let  priests  say  what  they 
could, 

Teak  sinful  laymen  were  but  flesh  and 
blood. 

But  in  due  time,  when  sixty  years  were 
o’er,  9 

'e  vow’d  to  lead  this  vicious  life  no  more  ; 
Whether  pure  holiness  inspired  his  mind, 
r dotage  turn’d  his  brain,  is  hard  to  find  ; 
at  his  high  courage  prick’d  him  forth  to 
wed, 

nd  try  the  pleasures  of  a lawful  bed. 


This  was  his  nightly  dream,  his  daily  care 
And  to  the  heav’nly  Powers  his  constan 
prayer, 

Once,  ere  he  died,  to  taste  the  blissful  life 
Of  a kind  husband  and  a loving  wife. 

These  thoughts  he  fortified  with  reason* 
still 

(For  none  want  reasons  to  confirm  their 
will).  20 

Grave  authors  say,  and  witty  poets  sing, 
That  honest  wedlock  is  a glorious  thing  : 
But  depth  of  judgment  most  in  him  ap- 
pears 

Who  wisely  weds  in  his  maturer  years. 
Then  let  him  choose  a damsel  young  and 
fair, 

To  bless  his  age,  and  bring  a worthy  heir; 
To  soothe  his  cares,  and,  free  from  noise 
and  strife, 

Conduct  him  gently  to  the  verge  of  life. 

Let  sinful  bachelors  their  woes  deplore, 
Full  well  they  merit  all  they  feel,  ani 
more  : ? 

Unaw’d  by  precepts,  human  or  divine, 

Like  birds  and  beasts,  promiscuously  thej 
join  ; 

Nor  know  to  make  the  present  blessing 
last, 

To  hope  the  future,  or  esteem  the  past; 

But  vainly  boast  the  joys  they  never  tried, 
And  find  divulged  the  secrets  they  would 
hide. 

The  married  man  may  bear  his  yoke  with 
ease, 

Secure  at  once  himself  and  Heav’n  to 
please  ; 

And  pass  his  inoffensive  hours  away, 

In  bliss  all  night,  and  innocence  all  day:  40 
Tho’  fortune  change,  his  constant  spouse 
remains, 

Augments  his  joys,  or  mitigates  his  pains. 

But  what  so  pure  which  envious  tongues 
will  spare  ? 

Some  Wicked  Wits  have  libell’d  all  the 
Fair. 

With  matchless  impudence  they  style  a 
wife 

The  dear-bought  curse  and  lawful  plague 
of  life, 

A bosom  serpent,  a domestic  evil, 

• A night-invasion,  and  a midday-devil. 


36 


PARAPHRASES  FROM  CHAUCER 


Let  not  the  wise  these  sland'rous  words  re- 
gard, 

But  curse  the  bones  of  ev’ry  lying  hard.  50 
All  other  goods  by  Fortune’s  hand  are 
gA’n, 

A wife  is  the  peculiar  gift  of  Heav’n. 

Vain  Fortune’s  favours,  never  at  a stay, 
Like  empty  shadows  pass  and  glide  away; 
One  solid  comfort,  our  eternal  wife, 
Abundantly  supplies  us  all  our  life: 

This  blessing  lasts  (if  those  who  try  say 
true) 

As  long  as  heart  can  wish  — and  longer 
too. 

Our  grandsire  Adam,  ere  of  Eve  pos- 
sess’d, 

Alone,  and  ev’n  in  Paradise  unbless’d,  60 
With  mournful  looks  the  blissful  scene 
survey’d, 

And  wander’d  in  the  solitary  shade. 

The  Maker  saw,  took  pity,  and  bestow’d 
Woman,  the  last,  the  best  reserv’d  of 
God. 

A Wife  ! ah  gentle  Deities  ! can  ho 
That, has  a wife  e’er  feel  adversity  ? 

Would  men  but  follow  what  the  sex  ad- 
vise, 

All  things  would  prosper,  all  the  world 
grow  wise. 

’T  was  by  Rebecca’s  aid  that  Jacob  won 
His  father’s  blessing  from  an  elder  son:  70 
Abusive  Nabal  ow’d  his  forfeit  life 
To  the  wise  conduct  of  a prudent  wife: 
Heroic  Judith,  as  old  Hebrews  show, 
Preserv’d  the  Jews,  and  slew  tli’  Assyrian 
foe: 

At  Hester’s  suit  the  persecuting  sword 
Was  sheath’d,  and  Israel  liv’d  to  bless  the 
Lord. 

These  weighty  motives  January  the  sage 
Maturely  ponder’d  in  his  riper  age  ; 

And  charm’d  with  virtuous  joys,  and  sober 
life, 

Would  try  that  Christian  comfort  call’d  a 
wife.  80 

His  friends  were  summon’d  on  a point  so 
nice 

To  pass  their  judgment,  and  to  give  ad- 
vice; 

But  fix’d  before,  and  well  resolv’d  was  he 
(As  men  that  ask  advice  are  wont  to  be). 

‘ My  friends,’  he  cried  (and  cast  a 
mournful  look 

Around  the  room,  and  sigh’d  before  he 
spoke), 


‘ Beneath  the  weight  of  threescore  years 
bend, 

And,  worn  with  cares,  am  hastening  to  m 
end. 

How  I have  liv’d,  alas  ! you  know  to 
well  — 

In  worldly  follies  which  I blush  to  tell;  4 
But  gracious  Heav’n  has  oped  my  eyes  a 
last, 

With  due  regret  I view  my  vices  past, 
And,  as  the  precept  of  the  church  decrees. 
Will  take  a wife,  and  live  in  holy  ease. 
But  since  by  counsel  all  things  should  b 
done, 

And  many  heads  are  wiser  still  than  one; 
Choose  you  for  me,  who  best  shall  be  cor 
tent 

When  my  desire  ’s  approv’d  by  your  con 
sent. 

‘ One  caution  yet  is  needful  to  be  told, 
To  guide  your  choice  ; this  wife  must  nc 
be  old  : k 

There  goes  a saying,  and ’t  was  shrewdl 
said, 

Old  fish  at  table,  but  young  flesh  in  bed. 
My  soul  abhors  the  tasteless  dry  embrace 
Of  a stale  virgin  with  a winter  face  : 

In  that  cold  season  Love  but  treats  h 
guest 

With  bean-straw,  and  tough  forage  at  tli 
best. 

No  crafty  widows  shall  approach  my  bed; 
Those  are  too  wise  for  bachelors  to  wed. 
As  subtle  clerks  by  many  schools  are  mad* 
Twice  married  dames  are  mistresses  o’  t{ 
trade:  1 

But  young  and  tender  virgins,  ruled  wit 
ease, 

We  form  like  wax,  and  mould  them  as  \v 
please. 

‘ Conceive  me,  Sirs,  nor  take  my  sens 
amiss; 

’T  is  what  concerns  my  soul’s  eternal  bliss 
Since  if  I found  no  pleasure  in  my  spousej 
As  flesh  is  frail,  and  who  (God  help  me 
knows  ? 

Then  should  I live  in  lewd  adultery, 

And  sink  downright  to  Satan  when  I die: 
Or  were  I curs’d  with  an  unfruitful  bed, 
The  righteous  end  were  lost  for  which 
wed;  1 

To  raise  up  seed  to  bless  the  Powers  abov 
And  not  for  pleasure  only,  or  for  love. 
Think  not  I dote  ; ’t  is  time  to  take  a wifi 
When  vig’rous  blood  forbids  a chaster  lift 


JANUARY  AND  MAY 


37 


lose  that  are  blest  with  store  of  grace 
divine, 

ay  live  like  saints  by  Heav’n’s  consent 
and  mine. 

) 4 And  since  I speak  of  wedlock,  let  me 
say, 

is,  thank  my  stars,  in  modest  truth  I 
may) 

y limbs  are  active,  still  I ’m  sound  at 
heart, 

nd  a new  vigour  springs  in  ev’ry  part.  130 
hink  not  my  virtue  lost,  tho’  time  has 
( shed 

hese  rev’ rend  honours  on  my  hoary  head: 
,hus  trees  are  crown’d  with  blossoms 
i white  as  snow, 

he  vital  sap  then  rising  from  below, 
ild  as  I am,  my  lusty  limbs  appear 
ike  winter-greens,  that  flourish  all  the 
1 year. 

now,  Sirs,  you  know  to  what  I stand  in- 


1 din’d, 

let  ev’ry  friend  with  freedom  speak  his 
mind.’ 

He  said;  the  rest  in  diff’rent  parts  di- 
3 vide ; 

he  knotty  point  was  urged  on  either 
side:  . 14° 

Carriage,  the  theme  on  which  they  all 
[|  declaim’d, 

ome  prais’d  with  wit,  and  some  with  rea- 
[ son  blamed. 

ill,  what  with  proofs,  objections,  and  re- 
I;  plies, 

1 ach  wondrous  positive  and  wondrous  wise, 

; here  fell  between  his  brothers  a debate: 
ilacebo  this  was  call’d,  and  Justin  that. 

First  to  the  knight  Placebo  thus  begun, 
i Mild  were  his  looks,  and  pleasing  was  his 
tone) 

tnSuch  prudence,  Sir,  in  all  your  words  ap- 
pears, 

.s  plainly  proves  Experience  dwells  with 
pi  years ! 150 

[ret  you  pursue  sage  Solomon’s  advice, 

'o  work  by  counsel  when  affairs  are  nice  : 
>ut,  with  the  wise  man’s  leave,  I must) 

1 protest,  l 

,0  may  my  soul  arrive  at  ease  and  rest,  J 
[as  still  I hold  your  own  advice  the  best.  J 

I 4 Sir,  I have  liv’d  a courtier  all  my  days, 
aid  studied  men,  their  manners,  and  their 
ways  ; 

aid  have  observ’d  this  useful  maxim  still, 
'o  let  my  betters  always  have  their  will. 


‘ Nay,  if  tny  lord  affirm’d  that  black  was 
white,  _ 160 

My  word  was  this,  44  Your  Honour’s  in  the 
right.” 

Tli’  assuming  Wit,  who  deems  himself  so 
wise 

As  his  mistaken  patron  to  advise, 

Let  him  not  dare  to  vent  his  dangerous 
thought  ; 

A noble  fool  was  never  in  a fault. 

This,  Sir,  affects  not  you,  whose  ev’ry  word 
Is  weigh’d  with  judgment,  and  befits  a 
Lord  : 

Your  will  is  mine  ; and  is  (I  will  maintain) 
Pleasing  to  God,  and  should  be  so  to  Man  ; 
At  least  your  courage  all  the  world  must 
praise,  170 

Who  dare  to  wed  in  your  declining  days. 
Indulge  the  vigour  of  your  mounting 
blood, 

And  let  gray  fools  be  indolently  good, 

Who,  past  all  pleasure,  damn  the  joys  cf 
sense, 

With  rev’rend  Hulness  and  grave  Impo- 
tence.’ ^ , 

Justiu,  who  silent  sate,  and  heard  the 
man, 

Thus  with  a philosophic  frown  began  : 

4 A heathen  author,  of  the  first  degree, 
(Who,  tho’  not  Faith,  had  Sense  as  well  a9 
we)  179 

Bids  us  be  certain  our  concerns  to  trust 
To  those  of  gen’rous  principles  and  just. 
The  venture ’s  greater,  I ’ll  presume  to 
say,  , 

To  give  your  person,  than  your  goods 
away  : 

And  therefore,  Sir,  as  you  regard  your 
rest, 

First  learn  your  lady’s  qualities  at  least  : 
Whether  she ’s  chaste  or  rampant,  proud  or 
civil, 

Meek  as  a saint,  or  haughty  as  the  devil ; 
Whether  an  easy,  fond,  familiar  Fool, 

Or  such  a Wit  as  no  man  e’er  can  rule. 

’T  is  true,  perfection  none  must  hope  to 
find  190 

In  all  this  world,  much  less  in  woman- 
kind ; 

But  if  her  virtue  prove  the  larger  share, 
Bless  the  kind  Fates  and  think  your  fortune 
rare. 

Ah,  gentle  Sir,  take  warning  of  a friend, 
Who  knows  too  well  the  state  you  thus 
commend  j 


38 


PARAPHRASES  FROM  CHAUCER 


And  spite  of  all  liis  praises  must  declare, 

All  he  can  find  is  bondage,  cost,  and  care. 
Heav’n  knows  I shed  full  many  a private 
tear, 

And  sigh  in  silence  lest  the  world  should 
hear  ; 

While  all  my  friends  applaud  my  blissful 
life,  200 

And  swear  no  mortal ’s  happier  in  a wife  : 
Demure  and  chaste  as  any  vestal  nun, 

The  meekest  creature  that  beholds  the 
sun  ! 

But  by  th’  immortal  Powers  I feel  the  pain, 
And  he  that  smarts  has  reason  to  complain. 
Do  what  you  list,  for  me  ; you  must  be 
sage, 

And  cautious  sure  ; for  wisdom  is  in  age  : 
But  at  these  years  to  venture  on  the  Fair  ! 
By  him  who  made  the  ocean,  earth,  and 
air,  209 

To  please  a wife,  when  her  occasions  call, 
Would  busy  the  most  vig’rous  of  us  all. 

And  trust  me,  sir,  the  chastest  you  can 
choose, 

Will  ask  observance,  and  exact  her  dues. 

If  what  I speak  my  noble  lord  offend, 

My  tedious  sermon  here  is  at  an  end.’ 

‘’Tis  well,  ’t  is  wondrous  well,’  the 
Knight  replies, 

‘ Most  worthy  kinsman,  faith,  you  ’re 
mighty  wise  ! 

We,  Sirs,  are  fools  ; and  must  resign  the 
cause 

To  heath’nish  authors,  proverbs,  and  old 
saws.’ 

He  spoke  with  scorn,  and  turn’d  another 
way  : 220 

' What  does  my  friend,  my  dear  Placebo, 
say  ? ’ 

4 1 say,’  quoth  he,  ‘ by  Heav’n  the  man ’s 
to  blame, 

To  slander  wives,  and  wedlock’s  holy 
name.’ 

At  this  the  council  rose  without  delay; 
Each,  in  his  own  opinion,  went  his  way; 
With  full  consent,  that,  all  disputes  ap- 
peas’d, 

The  Knight  should  marry  when  and  where 
he  pleas’d. 

Who  now  but  January  exults  with  joy  ? 
The  charms  of  wedlock  all  his  soul  employ  : 
Each  nymph  by  turns  his  wavering  mind 
possess’d,  230 

And  reign’d  the  short-lived  tyrant  of  his 
breast ; 


4 

Whilst  fancy  pictured  ev’ry  lively  part, 
And  each  bright  image  wander’d  o’er  his 
heart. 

Thus,  in  some  public  forum  fix’d  on  high, 
A mirror  shows  the  figures  moving  by; 
Still  one  by  one,  in  swift  succession,  pass 
The  gliding  shadows  o’er  the  polish’d 
’ glass. 

This  lady’s  charms  the  nicest  could  notj 
blame, 

But  vile  suspicions  had  aspers’d  her  fame;l 
That  was  with  Sense,  but  not  with  Virtue 
blest  ; 24a 

And  one  had  Grace  that  wanted  all  th^ 
rest. 

Thus  doubting  long  what  nymph  he  should 
obey, 

He  fix’d  at  last  upon  the  youthful  May. 
Her  faults  he  knew  not  (Love  is  always 
blind), 

But  every  charm  revolv’d  within  his  mind 
Her  tender  age,  her  form  divinely  fair, 
Her  easy  motion,  her  attractive  air, 

Her  sweet  behaviour,  her  enchanting  face, 
Her  moving  softness,  and  majestic  grace. 

Much  in  his  prudence  did  our  Knight  re 
joice,  25 

And  thought  no  mortal  could  dispute  hi 
choice  : 

Once  more  in  haste  he  summon’d  ev’r; 
friend, 

And  told  them  all  their  pains  were  at  a 
end. 

‘ Heav’n,  that  (said  he)  inspired  me  first  t 
wed, 

Provides  a consort  worthy  of  my  bed: 

Let  none  oppose  th’  election,  since  o 
this 

Depends  my  quiet  and  my  future  bliss. 

‘A  dame  there  is,  the  darling  of  mj 
eyes, 

Young,  beauteous,  artless,  innocent,  an 
wise  ; 1 

Chaste,  tho’  not  rich  ; and,  tho’  not  nobl 
born,  2< 

Of  honest  parents,  and  may  serve  my  tur 
Her  will  I wed,  if  gracious  Heav’n  e 
please, 

To  pass  my  age  in  sanctity  and  ease  ; 

And  thank  the  Powers,  I may  posse: 
alone 

The  lovely  prize,  and  share  my  bliss  wii 
none  ! 

If  you,  my  friends,  this  virgin  can  procur 
My  joys  are  full,  my  happiness  is  sure. 


JANUARY  AND  MAY 


39 


: One  only  doubt  remains  : full  oft,  I ’ve 
heard, 

J-  casuists  grave  and  deep  divines  averr’d, 
iat ’t  is  too  much  for  human  race  to  know 
;e  bliss  of  lieav’n  above  and  earth  be- 
low : 271 

>w  should  the  nuptial  pleasures  prove  so 
great, 

> match  the  blessings  of  the  future  state, 
lose  endless  joys  were  ill  exchanged  for 
these  : 

icn  clear  this  doubt,  and  set  my  mind  at 
ease.’ 

This  Justin  heard,  nor  could  his  spleen 
control, 

touch’d  to  the  quick,  and  tickled  at  the 
soul. 

ir  Knight,’  he  cried,  ‘ if  this  be  all  you 
dread, 

■pav’n  put  it  past  a doubt  whene’er  you 
wed; 

id  to  my  fervent  prayers  so  far  consent, 
lat,  ere  the  rites  are  o’er,  you  may  re- 
pent ! 281 

>od  Heav’n,  no  doubt,  the  nuptial  state 
approves, 

nee  it  chastises  still  what  best  it  loves. 
‘Then  be  not,  Sir,  abandon’d  to  de-'| 
spair; 

ek,  and  perhaps  you  ’ll  find  among  the  > 
Fair 

ie  that  may  do  your  business  to  a hair  ; J 
at  ev’n  in  wish  your  happiness  delay, 
it  prove  the  scourge  to  lash  you  on  your 
way: 

len  to  the  skies  your  mounting  soul  shall 

.go, 

vift  as  an  arrow  soaring  from  the  bow  ! 
•ovided  still,  you  moderate  your  joy,  291 
or  in  your  pleasures  all  your  might  em- 
ploy : 

it  Reason’s  rule  your  strong  desires  abate, 
or  please  too  lavishly  your  gentle  mate. 
Id  wives  there  are,  of  judgment  most 
j acute, 

rho  solve  these  questions  beyond  all  dis- 
pute ; 

insult  with  those,  and  be  of  better  cheer  ; 
arry,  do  penance,  and  dismiss  your  fear.’ 
So  said,  they  rose,  nor  more  the  work 
delay’d  : 

he  match  was  offer’d,  the  proposals  made, 
he  parents,  you  may  think,  would  soon 
comply  ; 301 

he  old  have  int’rest  ev|r  in  their  eye. 


Nor  was  it  hard  to  move  the  lady’s  mind  ; 
When  Fortune  favours,  still  the  Fair  are 
kind. 

I pass  each  previous  settlement  and 
deed, 

Too  long  for  me  to  write,  or  you  to  read  ; 
Nor  will  with  quaint  impertinence  display 
The  pomp,  the  pageantry,  the  proud  array. 
The  time  approach’d  ; to  church  the  par- 
ties went, 

At  once  with  carnal  and  devout  intent : 
Forth  came  the  priest,  and  bade  th’  obedi- 
ent wife  311 

Like  Sarah  or  Rebecca  lead  her  life  ; 

Then  pray’d  the  Powers  the  fruitful  bed  to 
bless, 

And  make  all  sure  enough  with  holiness. 

And  now  the  palace  gates  are  open’d  'j 
wide, 

The  guests  appear  in  order,  side  by  side,  > 
And,  placed  in  state,  the  bridegroom  and 
the  bride.  J 

The  breathing  flute’s  soft  notes  are  heard 
around, 

And  the  shrill  trumpets  mix  their  silver 
sound  ; 

The  vaulted  roofs  with  echoing  music  ring, 
These  touch  the  vocal  stops,  and  those  the 
trembling  string.  321 

Not  thus  Amphion  tuned  the  warbling  lyre, 
Nor  Joab  the  sounding  clarion  could  in- 
spire, 

Nor  fierce  Theodamas,  whose  sprightly 
strain 

Could  swell  the  soul  to  rage,  and  fire  the 
martial  train. 

Bacchus  himself,  the  nuptial  feast  to 
grace, 

(So  poets  sing)  was  present  on  the  place  : 
And  lovely  Venus,  Goddess  of  Delight,  ) 
Shook  high  her  flaming  torch  in  open 

sight,  > 

And  danced  around,  and  smiled  on  ev’ry 
Knight:  330  J 

Pleas’d  her  best  servant  would  his  courage 

try, 

No  less  in  wedlock  than  in  liberty. 

Full  many  an  age  old  Hymen  had  not 
spied 

So  kind  a bridegroom,  or  so  bright  a bride. 
Ye  Bards  ! renown’d  among  the  tuneful 
throng 

For  gentle  lays,  and  joyous  nuptial  song, 
Think  not  your  softest  numbers  can  display 
The  matchless  glories  of  this  blissful  day  ; 


P' 

l 

ilC 

B* 

fc 


40 


PARAPHRASES  FROM  CHAUCER 


The  joys  are  such  as  far  transcend  your 
rage, 

When  tender  youth  has  wedded  stooping 
age.  . 340 

The  beauteous  dame  sat  smiling  at  the 
board, 

And  darted  am’rous  glances  at  her  lord. 

Not  Hester’s  self,  whose  charms  the  He- 
brews sing, 

E’er  look’d  so  lovely  on  her  Persian  King  : 
Bright  as  the  rising  sun  in  summer’s  day, 
And  fresh  and  blooming  as  the  month  of 

May! 

The  joyful  knight  survey’d  her  by  his  side, 
Nor  envied  Paris  with  his  Spartan  brides 
Still  as  his  mind  revolv’d  with  vast  delight 
Th’  entrancing  raptures  of  th’  approaching 
night,  350 

Restless  he  sat,  invoking  every  Power 
To  speed  his  bliss,  and  haste  the  happy 
hour. 

Meantime  the  vig’rous  dancers  beat  the 
ground, 

And  songs  were  sung,  and  flowing  bowls 
went  round. 

With  od’rous  spices  they  perfumed  the 
place, 

And  mirth  and  pleasure  shone  in  ev’rv  face. 

Damian  alone,  of  all  the  menial  train, 

Sad  in  the  midst  of  triumphs,  sigh’d  for 
pain, 

Damian  alone,  the  Knight’s  obsequious 
Squire,  359 

Consumed  at  heart,  and  fed  a secret  fire. 
His  lovely  mistress  all  his  soul  possess’d ; 
He  look’d,  he  languish’d,  and  could  take  no 
rest: 

His  task  perform’d,  he  sadly  went  his  way, 
Fell  on  his  bed,  and  loath’d  the  light  of  day: 
There  let  him  lie;  till  his  relenting  dame 
Weep  in  her  turn,  and  waste  in  equal 
flame. 

The  weary  sun,  as  learned  poets  write, 
Forsook  th’  horizon,  and  roll’d  down  the 
light; 

While  glitt’ring  stars  his  absent  beams 
supply, 

And  night’s  dark  mantle  overspread  the 
sky.  370 

Then  rose  the  guests,  and  as  the  time  re* 
quired, 

Each  paid  his  thanks,  and  decently  retired. 

The  foe  once  gone,  oui*  Knight  prepared 
t ’undress, 

Bo  keen  he  was,  and  eager  to  possess: 


But  first  thought  fit  th’  assistance  to  receiv 
Which  grave  physicians  scruple  not  to  givj 
Satyrion  near,  with  hot  eringoes  stood, 
Cantharides,  to  fire  the  lazy  blood, 

Whose  use  old  Bards  describe  in  luscio 
rhymes, 

And  Critics  learn’d  explain  to  mode 
times. 

By  this  the  sheets  were  spread,  the  bri« 
undress’d, 

The  room  was  sprinkled,  and  the  bed  w 
bless’d. 

What  next  ensued  beseems  not  me  to  sav 
’T  is  sung,  he  labour’d  till  the  dawning  da 
Then  briskly  sprung  from  bed,  with  heart, 
so  light, 

As  all  were  nothing  he  had  done  by  night, 
And  sipp’d  his  cordial  as  he  sat  upright. 
He  kiss’d  his  balmy  spouse  with  want 

play, 

And  feebly  sung  a lusty  roundelay: 

Then  on  the  couch  his  weary  limbs  he  ca: 
For  ev’ry  labour  must  have  rest  at  last. 

But  anxious  cares  the  pensive  Squire  c 
prest, 

Sleep  fled  his  eyes,  and  Peace  forsook  1 
breast; 

The  raging  flames  that  in  his  bosom  dwej 
He  wanted  art  to  hide,  and  means  to  tell) 
Yet  hoping  time  th’  occasion  might  betr: 
Composed  a sonnet  to  the  lovely  May; 
Which,  writ  and  folded  with  the  nicest  a( 
He  wrapt  in  silk,  and  laid  upon  his  heart 

When  now  the  fourth  revolving  day  vt 
run, 

(’T  was  June,  and  Cancer  had  receiv’d  1 
sun) 

Forth  from  her  chamber  came  the  beau 
ous  bride; 

The  good  old  Knight  mov’d  slowly  by  1 
side. 

High  mass  was  sung;  they  feasted  in  1 
hall; 

The  servants  round  stood  ready  at  th 
call. 

The  Squire  alone  tvas  absent  from 
board, 

And  much  his  sickness  griev’d  his  wor 
lord, 

Who  pray’d  his  spouse,  attended  with 
train, 

To  Visit  Damian,  and  divert  his  pain. 
Th’  obliging  dames  obey’d  with  one  c 
sent: 

They  left  the  hall,  and  to  his  lodging  we 


JANUARY  AND  MAY 


4i 


} female  tribe  surround  him  as  he  lay, 
l close  beside  him  sat  the  gentle  May: 
ere,  as  she  tried  his  pulse,  he  softly 
drew 

eaving  sigh,  and  cast  a mournful  view! 
ui  gave  his  bill,  and  bribed  the  Powers 
divine, 

ph  secret  vows  to  favour  his  design. 

Yho  studies  now  but  discontented  May? 
her  soft  couch  uneasily  she  lay: 

5 lumpish  husband  snored  away  the 
night,  420 

' coughs  awaked  him  near  the  morning 
light. 

'at  then  he  did,  I ’ll  not  presume  to  tell, 

• if  she  thought  herself  in  Heav’11  or  Hell: 
'aest  and  dull  in  nuptial  bed  they  lay, 
i the  bell  toll’d,  and  all  arose  to  pray. 
'Vere  it  by  forceful  Destiny  decreed, 
did  from  Chance,  or  Nature’s  power 
proceed ; 

that  some  star,  with  aspect  kind  to  love, 
d its  selectest  influence  from  above;  429 
atever  was  the  cause,  the  tender  dame 
t the  first  motions  of  an  infant  flame; 
;eiv’d  th’  impressions  of  the  lovesick 
Squire, 

|1  wasted  in  the  soft  infectious  fire. 

[re  Fair,  draw  near,  let  May’s  example 
move 

ir  gentle  minds  to  pity  those  who  love! 
i some  fierce  tyrant  in  her  stead  been 
found, 

i poor  adorer  sure  had  hang’d  or 
drown’d: 

; she,  your  sex’s  mirror,  free  from  pride, 
s much  too  meek  to  prove  a homicide. 
l*ut  to  my  tale:  — Some  sages  have  de- 
fin’d 440 

asure  the  sov’reign  bliss  of  humankind: 

.’  Knight  (who  studied  much,  we  may 
| suppose) 

•ived  his  high  philosophy  from  those; 

\ like  a prince,  he  bore  the  vast  expense 
lavish  pomp,  and  proud  magnificence: 
house  was  stately,  his  retinue  gay. 
ge  was  his  train,  and  gorgeous  his  array, 
spacious  garden,  made  to  yield  to  none, 
s compass’d  round  with  walls  of  solid 
' stone ; 

ipus  could  not  half  describe  the  grace 
10’  God  of  gardens)  of  this  charming 
place:  451 

lace  to  tire  the  rambling  wits  of  France 
ong  descriptions,  and  exceed  Romance: 


Enough  to  shame  the  gentlest  bard  that 
sings 

Of  painted  meadows,  and  of  purling 
springs. 

Full  in  the  centre  of  the  flowery  ground 
A crystal  fountain  spread  its  streams 

around,  > 

The  fruitful  banks  with  verdant  laurels 
crown’d : J 

About  this  spring  (if  ancient  Fame  say 
true) 

The  dapper  Elves  their  moonlight  sports 
pursue:  460 

Their  pygmy  King,  and  little  fairy  Queen, 
In  circling  dances  gambol’d  on  the  green, 
While  tuneful  sprites  a merry  concert 
made, 

And  airy  music  warbled  thro’  the  shade. 

Hither  the  noble  Knight  would  oft  repair 
(His  scene  of  pleasure,  and  peculiar  care) ; 
For  this  he  held  it  dear,  and  always  bore 
The  silver  key  that  lock’d  the  garden  door. 
To  this  sweet  place  in  summer’s  sultry  heat 
He  used  from  noise  and  bus’ ness  to  re- 
treat ; 470 

And  here  in  dalliance  spend  the  livelong 
day, 

Solus  cum  sola,  with  his  sprightly  May: 

For  whate’er  work  was  undischarg’d  abed, 
The  duteous  Knight  in  this  fair  garden  sped. 

But  ah!  what  mortal  lives  of  bliss  se- 
cure? 

How  short  a space  our  worldly  joys  endure! 
O Fortune,  fair,  like  all  thy  treach’rous 
kind, 

But  faithless  still,  and  wav’ring  as  the 
wind ! 

O painted  monster,  form’d  mankind  to 
cheat,  479 

With  pleasing  poison,  and  with  soft  deceit ! 
This  rich,  this  am’rous,  venerable  Knight, 
Amidst  his  ease,  his  solace,  and  delight, 
Struck  blind  by  thee,  resigns  his  days  to 
grief, 

And  calls  on  death,  the  wretch’s  last  relief. 

The  rage  of  jealousy  then  seiz’d  his 
mind, 

For  much  he  fear’d  the  faith  of  woman- 
kind. 

His  wife,  not  suffer’d  from  his  side  to' 
stray, 

Was  captive  kept;  he  watch’d  her  night  I 
and  day,  j 

Abridg’d  her  pleasures,  and  confin’d  her 
sway,  489  J 


42 


PARAPHRASES  FROM  CHAUCER 


Full  oft  in  tears  did  hapless  May  complain, 
And  sigh’d  full  oft;  but  sigh’d  and  wept  in 
vain; 

She  look’d  on  Damian  with  a lover’s  eye; 
For  oh,  ’t  was  fix’d;  she  must  possess  or 
die! 

Nor  less  impatience  vex’d  her  am’rous 
Squire, 

Wild  with  delay,  and  burning  with  desire. 
Watch’d  as  she  was,  yet  could  he  not  re- 
frain 

By  secret  writing  to  disclose  his  pain: 

The  dame  by  signs  reveal’d  her  kind  in- 
tent, 

Till  both  were  conscious  what  each  other 
meant, 

Ah!  gentle  Knight,  what  would  thy  eyes 
avail,  5°o 

Tho’  they  could  see  as  far  as  ships  can 
sail  ? 

’T  is  better,  sure,  when  blind,  deceiv’d  to 
be, 

Than  be  deluded  when  a man  can  see! 

Argus  himself,  so  cautious  and  so  wise, 
Was  overwatch’d,  for  all  his  hundred  eyes: 
So  many  an  honest  husband  may,  ’t  is 
known, 

Who,  wisely,  never  thinks  the  case  his  own. 

The  dame  at  last,  by  diligence  and  care, 
Procured  the  key  her  Knight  was  wont  to 
bear ; 5°9 

She  took  the  wards  in  wax  before  the  fire, 
And  gave  th’  impression  to  the  trusty 
Squire. 

By  means  of  this  some  wonder  shall  appear, 
Which,  in  due  place  and  season,  you  may 
hear. 

Well  sung  sweet  Ovid,  in  the  days  of 
yore, 

What  sleight  is  that  which  love  will  not 
explore! 

And  Py  ramus  and  Thisbe  plainly  show 
The  feats  true  lovers,  when  they  list,  can 
do: 

Tho’  watch’d  and  captive,  yet  in  spite  of 
all, 

They  found  the  art  of  kissing  thro’  a wall. 

But  now  no  longer  from  our  tale  to-! 
stray,  52° 

It  happ’d,  that  once  upon  a summer’s  day  > 
Our  rev’rend  Knight  was  urged  to  am’- 
rous play:  J 

He  rais’d  his  spouse  ere  matin-bell  was 
rung, 

And  thus  his  morning  canticle  he  sung: 


‘ Awake,  my  love,  disclose  thy  radia 
eyes; 

Arise,  my  wife,  my  beauteous  lady,  rise! 
Hear  how  the  doves  with  pensive  not 
complain, 

And  in  soft  murmurs  tell  the  trees  the 


pain : 


The  winter’s  past  ; the  clouds  and  tempes 

fly; 


the  sky. 

Fair  without  spot,  whose  ev’ry  charmii 
part 

My  bosom  wounds,  and  captivates 
heart! 

Come,  and  in  mutual  pleasures  let ’s  e 


gage,  , I 

Joy  of  my  life,  and  comfort  of  my  age. 
This  heard,  to  Damian  straight  a si1 
she  made 

To  haste  before  ; the  gentle  Squire  obey' 
Secret  and  undescried  he  took  his  way,  ( 
And  ambush’d  close  behind  an  arbour  la1 
It  was  not  long  ere  January  came, 
And  hand  in  hand  with  him  his  love 
dame; 

Blind  as  he  was,  not  doubting  all  v 


sure, 

He  turn’d  the  key,  and  made  the  gate 
cure. 

‘Here  let  us  walk,’  he  said,  ‘ obser’ 
by  none, 

Conscious  of  pleasures  to  the  world  1 
known: 

So  may  my  soul  have  joy,  as  thou,  3 
wife, 

Art  far  the  dearest  solace  of  my  life  ; 

And  rather  would  I choose,  by  Hea 
above, 

To  die  this  instant,  than  to  lose  thy  love 

Reflect  what  truth  was  in  my  passior' 
shown, 

When,  unendow’d,  I took  thee  for  mi 
own,  55' 

And  sought  no  treasure  but  thy  hear 
alone. 

Old  as  I am,  and  now  deprived  of  sight, 

Whilst  thou  art  faithful  to  thy  own  trui 
Knight, 

Nor  age,  nor  blindness,  robs  me  of  de 
light. 

Each  other  loss  with  patience  I can  bea: 

The  loss  of  thee  is  what  I only  fear. 

‘ Consider  then,  my  lady  and  my  wife 

The  solid  comforts  of  a virtuous  life. 


JANUARY  AND  MAY 


43 


first,  the  love  of  Christ  himself  you 
gain;  S59 

xt,  your  own  honour  undefiled  maintain; 
d,  lastly,  that  which  sure  your  mind 
must  move, 

whole  estate  shall  gratify  your  love: 
ke  your  own  terms,  and  ere  to-morrow’s 
sun 

-plays  his  light,  by  Heav’n  it  shall  be  done 
;al  the  contract  with  a holy  kiss, 
id  will  perform  — by  this,  my  dear,  and 
this. 

ve  comfort,  Spouse,  nor  think  thy  lord 
unkind  ; 

s love,  not  jealousy,  that  fires  my  mind: 
: when  thy  charms  my  sober  thoughts 
• < engage,  569 

d join’d  to  them  my  own  unequal  age, 
in  thy  dear  side  I have  no  power  to 
part, 

h secret  transports  warm  my  melting 
heart. 

who  that  once  possess’d  those  heav’nly 
charms, 

ild  live  one  moment  absent  from  thy 
arms  ? ’ 

le  ceas’d,  and  May  with  modest  grace 
replied 

eak  was  her  voice,  as  while  she  spoke 
she  cried): 

(2av’n  knows  (with  that  a tender  sigh 
she  drew) 

we  a soul  to  save  as  well  as  you; 

I,  what  110  less  you  to  my  charge  com- 
mend, 579 

dearest  honour,  will  to  death  defend, 
you  in  holy  church  I gave  my  hand, 

1 join’d  my  heart  in  wedlock’s  sacred 
band: 

j.  after  this,  if  you  distrust  my  care, 

,511  hear,  my  lord,  and  witness  what  I 
swear: 

f irst  may  the  yawning  earth  her  bosom 
rend, 

l let  me  hence  to  Hell  alive  descend; 
die  the  death  I dread  no  less  than  Hell, 
lr’d  in  a sack,  and  plunged  into  a well; 

I my  fame  by  one  lewd  act  disgrace, 
once  renounce  the  honour  of  my  race, 
know,  Sir  Knight,  of  gentle  blood  I 
came;  591 

pathe  a whore,  and  startle  at  the  name. 

jealous  men  on  their  own  crimes  reflect, 
d learn  from  thence  their  ladies  to  sus- 
pect : 


Else  why  these  needless  cautions,  Sir,  to  me  ? 
These  doubts  and  fears  of  female  con- 
stancy ? 

This  chime  still  rings  in  every  lady’s  ear, 
The  only  strain  a wife  must  hope  to  hear.’ 

Thus  while  she  spoke  a sidelong  glance 
she  cast, 

Where  Damain  kneeling  worship’d  as  she 
past.  600 

She  saw  him  watch  the  motions  of  her  eye, 
And  singled  out  a pear  tree  planted  nigh: 
’T  was  charged  with  fruit  that  made  a 
goodly  show, 

And  hung  with  dangling  pears  was  every 
bough. 

Thither  th’  obsequious  Squire  address’d  his 
pace, 

And  climbing,  in  the  summit  took  his 
place ; 

The  Knight  and  Lady  walk’d  beneath  in 
view, 

Where  let  us  leave  them,  and  our  tale 
pursue. 

’T  was  now  the  season  when  the  glorious 
sun 

His  heav’nly  progress  through  the  Twins 
had  run;  610 

And  Jove,  exalted,  his  mild  influence 
yields, 

To  glad  the  glebe,  and  paint  the  flowery 
fields: 

Clear  was  the  day,  and  Phcebus,  rising 
bright, 

Had  streak’d  the  azure  firmament  with 
. %ht»  . . ‘ 

He  pierc’d  the  glitt’ring  clouds  with  golden 
streams, 

And  warm’d  the  womb  of  earth  with  genial 
beams. 

It  so  befell,  in  that  fair  morning  tide 
The  fairies  sported  on  the  garden  side, 

And  in  the  midst  their  monarch  and  his 
bride. 

So  featly  tripp’d  the  light-foot  Ladies' 
round,  620 

The  Knights  so  nimbly  o’er  the  green- 
sward bound,  [ 

That  scarce  they  bent  the  flowers,  or 
touch’d  the  ground. 

The  dances  ended,  all  the  fairy  train 
For  pinks  and  daisies  search’d  the  flowery 
plain, 

While  on  a bank  reclin’d  of  rising  green, 
Thus,  with  a frown,  the  King  bespoke  his 
Queen. 


f » 

t - 
* . 

V. 


ev: 

fr 


1. . 

e 


}v 

r. 

a 

at 


[ 


44 


PARAPHRASES  FROM  CHAUCER 


< ’T  is  too  apparent,  argue  what  you  can, 
The  treachery  you  women  use  to  man  : 

A thousand  authors  have  this  truth  made 
out, 

And  sad  experience  leaves  no  room  for 
doubt.  63° 

* Heav’n  rest  thy  spirit,  noble  Solomon, 

A wiser  Monarch  never  saw  the  sun: 

All  wealth,  all  honours,  the  supreme  de- 
gree 

Of  earthly  bliss,  was  well  bestow’d  on  thee  ! 
For  sagely  hast  thou  said,  “ Of  all  mankind, 
One  only  just,  and  righteous,  hope  to  find  : 
But  shouldst  thou  search  the  spacious 
world  around, 

Yet  one  good  woman  is  not  to  be  found.” 

‘ Thus  says  the  King  who  knew  your 
wickedness  ; 

The  son  of  Sirach  testifies  no  less.  640 

So  may  some  wildfire  on  your  bodies  fall, 

Or  some  devouring  plague  consume  you 
ail; 

As  well  you  view  the  lecher  in  the  tree, 

And  well  this  honourable  Knight  you  see : 
But  since  he ’s  blind  and  old  (a  helpless 
case), 

His  Squire  shall  cuckold  him  before  your 
face. 

‘ Now  by  my  own  dread  Majesty  I swear, 
And  by  this  awful  sceptre  which  I bear,  ^ 
No  impious  wretch  shall  ’scape  unpunish  d 
long,  649 

That  in  my  presence  offers  such  a wrong. 

I will  this  instant  undeceive  the  Knight, 
And  in  the  very  act  restore  his  sight: 

And  set  the  strumpet  here  in  open  view,  'j 
A warning  to  the  ladies,  and  to  you,  I 

And  all  the  faithless  sex,  for  ever  to  be  f 
true.”  J 

* And  will  you  so,’  replied  the  Queen,  ^ 

4 indeed  ? . I 

Now,  by  my  mother’s  soul,  it  is  decreed,  j 
She  shall  not  want  an  answer  at  her  need.  J 
For  her,  and  for  her  daughters,  I ’ll  en- 
gage, 

And  all  the  sex  in  each  succeeding  age;  660 
Art  shall  be  theirs  to  varnish  an  offence, 
And  fortify  their  crimes  with  confidence. 
Nay,  were  they  taken  in  a strict  embrace, 
Seen  with  both  eyes,  and  pinion’d  on  the 
place ; 

All  they  shall  need  is  to  protest  and 
swear, 

Breathe  a soft  sigh,  and  drop  a tender 
tear; 


'hill  their  wise  husbands,  gull’d  by  arts  lil 
these, 

Grow  gentle,  tractable,  and  tame  as  geest 
‘ What  tho’  this  sland’rous  Jew,  tl 
Solomon, 

Call’d  women  fools,  and  knew  full  many 
one  ? 1 

The  wiser  Wits  of  later  times  declare 
How  constant,  chaste,  and  virtuous  worn 
are: 

Witness  the  Martyrs,  who  resign’d  thi 
breath, 

Serene  in  torments,  unconcern’d  in  death 
And  witness  next  what  Roman  authors  tc 
How  Arria,  Portia,  and  Lucretia  fell. 
‘But  since  the  sacred  leaves  to  all  : 
free, 

And  men  interpret  texts,  why  should  1 
we  ? 

By  this  no  more  was  meant  than  to  havi 
shown 

That  sov’reign  goodness  dwells  in  hin 
alone,  68 

Who  only  Is,  and  is  but  only  One. 

But  grant  the  worst  ; shall  women  then 
weigh’d 

By  every  word  that  Solomon  hath  said 
What  tho’  this  king  (as  ancient  story  boa; 
Built  a fair  temple  to  the  Lord  of  Host 
He  ceas’d  at  last  his  Maker  to  adore, 
And  did  as  much  for  idol  Gods,  or  more 
Beware  what  lavish  praises  you  confer 
O11  a rank  lecher  and  idolater; 

Whose  reign  indulgent  God,  says  11 
Writ, 

Did  but  for  David’s  righteous  sake  peri 
David,  the  monarch  after  Heav’n’s  < 
mind, 

Who  lov’d  our  sex,  and  honour’d  all 
kind. 

‘ Well,  I ’m  a woman,  and  as  such  r 
speak ; 

Silence  would  swell  me,  and  my  heart  w< 
break. 

Know,  then,  I scorn  your  dull  authority 
Your  idle  Wits,  and  all  their  learned  li 
By  Heav’n,  those  authors  are  our  sex’s 
Whom,  in  our  right,  I must  and  will 
pose.’ 

‘ Nay  (quoth  the  King)  dear  madan 
not  wroth: 

I yield  it  up;  but  since  I gave  my  oatl 
That  this  much  injur’d  Knight  again  sli 
see, 

It  must  be  done  — I am  a King,’  said 


JANUARY  AND  MAY 


45 


ud  one  whose  faith  has  ever  sacred 
been  — ’ 

And  so  has  mine  (she  said)  — I am  a 
Queen : 

r answer  she  shall  have,  I undertake; 
d tli  us  an  end  of  all  dispute  I make. 
f when  you  list;  and  you  shall  find,  my 
lord, 

■jis  not  in  our  sex  to  break  our  word.’  709 
Ye  leave  them  here  in  this  heroic  strain, 
Id  to  the  Knight  our  story  turns  again; 

10  in  the  garden,  with  his  lovely  May, 
lg  merrier  than  the  cuckoo  or  the  jay: 

is  was  his  song,  ‘O  kind  and  constant 
be, 

istant  and  kind  I ’ll  ever  prove  to  thee.’ 
Thus  singing  as  he  went,  at  last  he  drew 
ieasv  steps  to  where  the  pear-tree  grew: 
e longing  dame  look’d  up,  and  spied  her 
love 

11  fairly  perch’d  among  the  boughs 
1 above. 

3 stopp’d,  and  sighing,  ‘O  good  Gods!’ 

she  cried,  720 

fhat  pangs,  what  sudden  shoots  distend 
my  side  ? 

for  that  tempting  fruit,  so  fresh,  so 
green! 

Ip,  for  the  love  of  Heav’n’s  immortal 
Queen! 

dp,  dearest  lord,  and  save  at  once  the  life 
thy  poor  infant,  and  thy  longing  wife!  ’ 
sore  sigh’d  the  Knight  to  hear  his  lady’s 
1 cry, 

t could  not  climb,  and  had  no  servant 
1 nigh: 

I as  he  was,  and  void  of  eyesight  too, 
hat  could,  alas!  a helpless  husband  do  ? 
nd  must  I languish  then  (she  said),  and 

die,  730 

I I view  the  lovely  fruit  before  my  eye  ? 
least,  kind  Sir,  for  charity’s  sweet  sake, 
uchsafe  the  trunk  between  your  arms  to 

take, 

en  from  your  back  I might  ascend  the 
I tree ; 

■ you  but  stoop,  and  leave  the  rest  to 
me.’ 

With  all  my  soul,’  he  thus  replied 
p again, 

’d  spend  my  dearest  blood  to  ease  thy 
Pi  pain.’ 

pith  that  his  back  against  the  trunk  he 
[ bent; 

e seiz’d  a twig,  and  up  the  tree  she  went. 


Now  prove  your  patience,  gentle  ladies 
all ! 740 

Nor  let  on  me  your  heavy  anger  fall: 

’Tis  truth  I tell,  tho’  not  in  phrase  re- 
fin’d; 

Tho’  blunt  my  tale,  yet  honest  is  my 
mind. 

What  feats  the  lady  in  the  tree  might  do, 

I pass,  as  gambols  never  known  to  you; 

But  sure  it  was  a merrier  fit,  she  swore, 
Than  in  her  life  she  ever  felt  before. 

In  that  nice  moment,  lo!  the  wond’ring 
Knight 

Look’d  out,  and  stood  restor’d  to  sudden 
sight.  _ 749 

Straight  on  the  tree  his  eager  eyes  he  bent, 
As  one  whose  thoughts  were  on  his  spouse 
intent: 

But  when  he  saw  his  bosom-wife  so  dress’d, 
His  rage  was  such  as  cannot  be  express’d. 
Not  frantic  mothers  when  their  infants  die 
With  louder  clamours  rend  the  vaulted  sky: 
He  cried,  he  roar’d,  he  storm’d,  he  tore  his 
hair; 

‘Death!  Hell!  and  Furies!  what  dost  thou 
do  there  ? ’ 

‘ What  ails  my  lord  ? ’ the  trembling 
dame  replied, 

‘ I thought  your  patience  had  been  better 
tried : 759 

Is  this  your  love,  ungrateful  and  unkind, 
This  my  reward  for  having  cured  the  blind  ? 
Why  was  I taught  to  make  my  husband 
see, 

By  struggling  with  a man  upon  a tree  ? 

Did  I for  this  the  power  of  magic  prove  ? 
Unhappy  wife,  whose  crime  was  too  much 
love!  ’ 

‘ If  this  be  struggling,  by  this  holy  light, 
’Tis  struggling  with  a vengeance  (quoth 
the  Knight): 

So  Heav’n  preserve  the  sight  it  has  re- 
stored, 

As  with  these  eyes  I plainly  saw  thee 
whored; 

Whored  by  my  slave — perfidious  wretch! 

may  Hell  770 

As  surely  seize  thee,  as  I saw  too  well.’ 

‘Guard  me,  good  Angels!’  cried  the 
gentle  May, 

‘ Pray  Heav’n  this  magic  work  the  proper 
way! 

Alas,  my  love!  ’t  is  certain,  could  you  see, 
You  ne’er  had  used  these  killing  words  to 
me: 


46 


PARAPHRASES  FROM  CHAUCER 


So  help  me,  Fates!  as ’t  is  no  perfect  sight, 
But  some  faint  glimm’ring  of  a doubtful 
light.’ 

‘ What  I have  said  (quoth  he)  I must 
maintain, 

For  by  th’  immortal  Powers  it  seem'd  too 
plain  — ’ 

‘ By  all  those  Powers,  some  frenzy ' 
seiz’d  your  mind  780 

(Replied  the  dame) : are  these  the  thanks 
I find  ? 

Wretch  that  I am,  that  e’er  I was  so 
kind ! ’ 

She  said;  a rising  sigh  express’d  her  woe, 
The  ready  tears  apace  began  to  flow, 

And  as  they  fell  she  wiped  from  either  eye 
The  drops  (for  women,  when  they  list,  can 
cry). 

The  Knight  was  touch’d;  and  in  his  looks 
appear’d 

Signs  of  remorse,  while  thus  his  spouse  he 
cheer’d; 

* Madam,  ’t  is  past,  and  my  short  anger 
o’er! 

Come  down,  and  vex  your  tender  heart  no 
more.  790 

Excuse  me,  dear,  if  aught  amiss  was  said, 
For,  on  my  soul,  amends  shall  soon  be 
made: 

Let  my  repentance  your  forgiveness  draw; 
By  Heav’n,  I swore  but  what  I thought  I 
saw.’ 

‘Ah,  my  lov’d  lord!  ’t  was  much  unkind 
(she  cried) 

On  bare  suspicion  thus  to  treat  your  bride. 
But  till  your  sight ’s  establish’d,  for  a while 
Imperfect  objects  may  your  sense  beguile. 
Thus,  when  from  sleep  we  first  our  eyes' 
display, 

The  balls  are  wounded  with  the  piercing  1 
ray,  800 

And  dusky  vapours  rise,  and  intercept  the 
day ; 

So  just  recov’ring  from  the  shades  of' 
night 

Your  swimming  eyes  are  drunk  with  sud- 
den light, 

Strange  phantoms  dance  around,  and 
skim  before  your  sight. 

Then,  Sir,  be  cautious,  nor  too  rashly  deem; 
Heav’n  knows  how  seldom  things  are  what 
they  seem! 

Consult  your  reason,  and  you  soon  shall  find 
’T  was  you  were  jealous,  not  your  wife  un- 
kind: 


Jove  ne’er  spoke  oracle  more  true  tl 
this, 

None  judge  so  wrong  as  those  who  thi 
amiss.’ 

With  that  she  leap’d  into  her  lord’s  e 
brace, 

. With  well  dissembled  virtue  in  her  face. 

He  hugg’d  her  close,  and  kiss’d  her  o 
and  o’er, 

Disturb’d  with  doubts  and  jealousies 
more: 

Both  pleas’d  and  bless’d,  renew’d  tli 
mutual  vows: 

A fruitful  wife,  and  a believing  spouse. 

Thus  ends  our  tale;  whose  moral  next 
make, 

Let  all  wise  husbands  hence  example  tal 

And  pray,  to  crown  the  pleasure  of  tl 
lives, 

To  be  so  well  deluded  by  their  wives. 


"THE  WIFE  OF  BATH 

HER  PROLOGUE 

Not  published  until  1714,  but  natur: 
classified  with  January  and  May,  and  not 
probably  the  product  of  the  same  period. 

Behold  the  woes  of  matrimonial  life, 
And  hear  with  rev’rence  an  experien 
wife; 

To  dear-bought  wisdom  give  the  credit  d 
And  think  for  once  a woman  tells  you  tr 
In  all  these  trials  I have  borne  a part: 

I was  myself  the  scourge  that  caus’d 
smart; 

For  since  fifteen  in  triumph  have  I led 
Five  captive  husbands  from  the  churcl 
bed. 

Christ  saw  a wedding  once,  the  Scripl 
says, 

And  saw"  but  one,  ’twas  thought,  in  all 
days; 

Whence  some  infer,  whose  conscience  is 
nice, 

No  pious  Christian  ought  to  marry  twi< 
But  let  them  read,  and  solve  me  if  t 
can, 

The  words  address’d  to  the  Samaritan: 
Five  times  in  lawful  wedlock  she 
join’d, 

And  sure  the  certain  stint  was  ne’er 
fin’d. 


THE  WIFE  OF  BATH 


47 


/Increase  and  multiply’  was  Heav’n’s 
command, 

id  that ’s  a text  I clearly  understand: 
lis  too,  ‘ Let  men  their  sires  and  mothers 
leave,  19 

id  to  their  dearer  wives  for  ever  cleave.’ 
ore  wives  than  one  by  Solomon  were 
tried, 

• else  the  wisest  of  mankind ’s  belied. 

;ve  had  myself  full  many  a merry  fit, 

id  trust  in  Heav’11  I may  have  many  yet; 
•r  when  my  transitory  spouse,  unkind, 
all  die  and  leave  his  woful  wife  behind,  I 
,11  take  the  next  good  Christian  I can  f 

find.  J 

Paul,  knowing  one  could  never  serve  our 
1 turn, 

f'clared ’t  was  better  far  to  wed  than  burn, 
tere ’s  danger  in  assembling  fire  and  tow; 
^rant  ’em  that;  and  what  it  means  you 
know.  31 

le  same  apostle,  too,  has  elsewhere 
own’d 

i precept  for  virginity  he  found: 
is  but  a counsel  — and  we  women  still 
,ke  which  we  like,  the  counsel  or  our  will. 

I envy  not  their  bliss,  if  he  or  she 
ink  fit  to  live  in  perfect  chastity: 

re  let  them  be,  and  free  from  taint  or 
vice; 

or  a few  slight  spots  am  not  so  nice, 
isav’n  calls  us  different  ways;  on  these 
bestows  40 

le  proper  gift,  another  grants  to  those ; 

!>t  every  man’s  obliged  to  sell  his  store, 
id  give  up  all  his  substance  to  the  poor: 
fell  as  are  perfect  may,  I can’t  deny; 
t by  your  leaves,  Divines!  so  am  not  I. 
|Full  many  a saint,  since  first  the  world 

* began, 

v’d  an  unspotted  maid  in  spite  of  man: 

I I such  (a  God’s  name)  with  fine  wheat 

be  fed, 

!|id  let  us  honest  wives  eat  barley  bread, 
r me,  I ’ll  keep  the  post  assign’d  by 
Heav’n,  50 

id  use  the  copious  talent  it  has  giv’n: 
t my  good  spouse  pay  tribute,  do  me 
right, 

id  keep  an  equal  reck’ning  every  night; 

: s proper  body  is  not  his,  but  mine; 
r so  said  Paul,  and  Paul ’s  a sound  divine. 
iow  then,  of  those  five  husbands  I have 
[1  had, 

iree  were  just  tolerable,  two  were  bad, 


The  three  were  old,  but  rich  and  fond  be* 
side, 

And  toil’d  most  piteously  to  please  their 
bride ; 

But  since  their  wealth  (the  best  they  had) 
was  mine,  60 

The  rest  without  much  loss  I could  resign*. 
Sure  to  be  lov’d,  I took  no  pains  to  please, 
Yet  had  more  pleasure  far  than  they  had 
ease. 

Presents  flow’d  in  apace:  with  showers  of 
gold 

They  made  their  court,  like  Jupiter  of  old: 
If  I but  smiled,  a sudden  youth  they  found, 
And  a new  palsy  seiz’d  them  when  I 
frown’d. 

Ye  sov’reign  Wives!  give  ear.  and  under- 
stand : 

Thus  shall  ye  speak,  and  exercise  command; 
For  never  was  it  giv’n  to  mortal  man  70 
To  lie  so  boldly  as  we  women  can: 
Forswear  the  fact,  tho’  seen  with  both  his 
eyes, 

And  call  your  maids  to  witness  how  he  lies. 

Hark,  old  Sir  Paul!  (’t  was  thus  I used 
to  say) 

Whence  is  our  neighbour’s  wife  so  rich  and 
gay? 

Treated,  caress’d,  where’er  she ’s  pleas’d  to 
roam  — 

I sit  in  tatters,  and  immured  at  home. 

Why  to  her  house  dost  thou  so  oft  repair  ? 
Art  thou  so  am’rous  ? and  is  she  so  fair  ? 

If  I but  see  a cousin  or  a friend,  80 

Lord!  how  you  swell  and  rage  like  any 
fiend! 

But  you  reel  home,  a drunken  beastly  bear, 
Then  preach  till  midnight  in  your  easy 
chair; 

Cry,  wives  are  false,  and  every  woman  evil, 
And  give  up  all  that ’s  female  to  the  devil. 

If  poor  (you  say),  she  drains  her  hus- 
band’s purse; 

If  rich,  she  keeps  her  priest,  or  something 
worse; 

Ifrhighly  born,  intolerably  vain, 

Vapours  and  pride  by  turns  possess  her 
brain ; 

Now  gaily  mad,  now  sourly  splenetic,  90 
Freakish  when  well,  and  fretful  when  she ’s 
sick. 

If  fair,  then  chaste  she*cannot  long  abide, 
By  pressing  youth  attack’d  on  every  side; 
If  foul,  her  wealth  the  lusty  lover  lures, 

Or  else  her  wit  some  fool-gallant  procures, 


48 


PARAPHRASES  FROM  CHAUCER 


Or  else  she  dances  with  becoming  grace, 

Or  shape  excuses  the  defects  of  face. 

There  swims  no  goose  so  gray,  but  soon  or 
late 

She  finds  some  honest  gander  for  her  mate. 

Horses  (thou  say’st)  and  asses  men  may 
try,  ioo 

And  ring  suspected  vessels  ere  they  buy; 

But  wives,  a random  choice,  untried  they 
take, 

They  dream  in  courtship,  but  in  wedlock 
wake; 

Then,  not  till  then,  the  veil ’s  remov’d  away, 
And  all  the  woman  glares  in  open  day. 

You  tell  me,  to  preserve  your  wife’s  good 
grace, 

Your  eyes  must  always  languish  on  my 
face, 

Your  tongue  with  constant  flatt’ries  feed 
my  ear, 

And  tag  each  sentence  with  ‘My  life!  my 
dear!  ’ 

If  by  strange  chance  a modest  blush  be 
rais’d,  . no 

Be  sure  my  fine  complexion  must  be  prais’d. 
My  garments  always  must  be  new  and  gay, 
And  feasts  still  kept  upon  my  wedding  day. 
Then  must  my  nurse  be  pleas’d,  and  fa- 
v’rite  maid; 

And  endless  treats  and  endless  visits  paid 
To  a long  train  of  kindred,  friends,  allies: 
All  this  thou  say’st,  and  all  thou  say’st  are 
lies. 

On  Jenkin,  too,  you  cast  a squinting  eye: 
What!  can  your  ’prentice  raise  your  jeal- 
ousy ? 

Fresh  are  his  ruddy  cheeks,  his  forehead 
fair,  120 

And  like  the  burnish’d  gold  his  curling  hair. 
But  clear  thy  wrinkled  brow,  and  quit  thy 
sorrow; 

I ’d  scorn  your  ’prentice  should  you  die  to- 
morrow. 

Why  are  thy  chests  all  lock’d  ? on  what 
design  ? 

Are  not  thy  worldly  goods  and  treasure 
mine  ? 

Sir,  I ’m  no  fool;  nor  shall  you,  by  St.  John, 
Have  goods  and  body  to  yourself  alone. 

One  you  shall  quit,  in  spite  of  both  your 
eyes  — 

I heed  not,  I,  the  bolts,  the  locks,  the  spies. 
If  you  had  wit,  you ’d  say,  ‘ Go  where  you 
will,  J3o 

Dear  spouse!  I credit  not  the  tales  they  tell: 


Take  all  the  freedoms  of  a married  life; 

I know  thee  for  a virtuous,  faithful  wife.1 

Lord!  when  you  have  enough,  what  ne< 
you  care 

How  merrily  soever  others  fare  ? 

Tho’  all  the  day  I give  and  take  delight, 
Doubt  not  sufficient  will  be  left  at  night. 
’Tis  but  a just  and  rational  desire 
To  light  a taper  at  a neighbour’s  fire. 
There ’s  danger  too,  you  think,  in  rich  f 
ray, 

And  none  can  long  be  modest  that  are  g:i 
The  cat,  if  you  but  singe  her  tabby  skin, 
The  chimney  keeps,  and  sits  content  with: 
But  once  grown  sleek,  will  from  her  corn 
run, 

Sport  with  her  tail,  and  wanton  in  the  sv 
She  licks  her  fair  round  face,  and  frig 
abroad 

To  show  her  fur,  and  to  be  catterwaw’d. 

Lo  thus,  my  friends,  I wrought  to  my  ( 
sires 

These  three  right  ancient  venerable  sires 
I told  them,  Thus  you  say,  and  thus  y 
do; 

And  told  them  false,  but  Jenkin  sw* 
’t  was  true. 

I,  like  a dog,  could  bite  as  well  as  whim 
And  first  complain’d  whene’er  the  guilt  v 
mine. 

I tax’d  them  oft  with  wenching  and  amoi 
When  their  weak  legs  scarce  dragg’d  th 
out  of  doors; 

And  swore  the  rambles  that  I took  by  nij 
Were  all  to  spy  what  damsels  they  bedig 
That  colour  brought  me  many  hours 
mirth ; 

For  all  this  wit  is  giv’n  us  from  our  birt 
Heav’n  gave  to  woman  the  peculiar  grac 
To  spin,  to  weep,  and  cully  human  race. 
By  this  nice  conduct  and  this  prud 
course, 

By  murm’ring,  wheedling,  stratagem,  s 
force, 

I still  prevail’d,  and  would  be  in  the  rigj 
Or  curtain  lectures  made  a restless  niglj 
If  once  my  husband’s  arm  was  o’er  my  si 
‘ What  ! so  familiar  with  your  spouse  ? 
cried: 

I levied  first  a tax  upon  his  need ; 

Then  let  him  — ’t  was  a nicety  indeed! 
Let  all  mankind  this  certain  maxim  hoi 
Marry  who  will,  our  sex  is  to  be  sold. 
With  empty  hands  no  tassels  you  can  li 
But  fulsome  love  for  gain  we  can  endui 


TIIE  WIFE  OF  BATH 


49 


r gold  we  love  the  impotent  and  old, 
d heave,  and  pant,  and  kiss,  and  cling, 

1 for  gold. 

t with  embraces  curses  oft  I mixt, 
en  kiss’d  again,  and  chid,  and  rail’d  be- 
< twixt. 

ell,  I may  make  my  will  in  peace,  and 
die, 

r not  one  word  in  man’s  arrears  am  I. 
drop  a dear  dispute  I was  unable,  180 
’n  though  the  Pope  himself  had  sat  at 
\ table ; 

;t  when  my  point  was  gain’d,  then  thus  I 
spoke : 

■illy,  my  dear,  how  sheepishly  you  look  ! 
Iproach,  my  spouse,  and  let  me  kiss  thy 
I cheek ; 

ou  should st  be  always  thus  resign’d  and 
meek! 

Job’s  great  patience  since  so  oft  you 
preach, 

ill  should  you  practise  who  so  well  can 
:i  teach. 

is  difficult  to  do,  I must  allow, 
t I,  my  dearest  ! will  instruct  you  how. 
reat  is  the  blessing  of  a prudent  wife,  190 
10  puts  a period  to  domestic  strife, 
e of  us  two  must  rule,  and  one  obey;  'l 
d since  in  man  right  Reason  bears  the 
sway,  > 

cfc  that  frail  thing,  weak  woman,  have 
1 her  way.  J 

e wives  of  all  my  family  have  ruled 
;eir  tender  husbands,  and  their  passions 
I cool’d. 

! ! ’t  is  unmanly  thus  to  sigh  and  groan: 
iiat  ! would  you  have  me  to  yourself 
1 alone  ? 

%y,  take  me,  love  ! take  all  and  every 
part ! 

]1sre  ’s  your  revenge  ! you  love  it  at  your 
heart. 

Duld  I vouchsafe  to  sell  what  Nature 
gave, 

§u  little  think  what  custom  I could  have. 
A see  ! I ’m  all  your  own  — nay  hold  — 
\ for  shame ! 

; hat  means  my  dear  ? — indeed  — you 
are  to  blame.’ 

rims  with  my  first  three  lords  I pass’d 
my  life, 


‘very  woman  and  a very  wife. 

i-jsiims  from  these  old^spouses  I could 
raise 

ocur’d  young  husbands  in  my  riper  days. 


Tho’  past  my  bloom,  not  yet  decay’d 
was  I,  209 

Wanton  and  wild,  and  chatter’d  like  a pie. 
In  country  dances  still  I bore  the  bell, 

And  sung  as  sweet  as  ev’ning  Philomel. 

To  clear  iny  quail-pipe,  and  refresh  my 
soul, 

Full  oft  I drain’d  the  spicy  nut-brown 
bowl; 

Rich  luscious  wines,  that  youthful  blood 
improve, 

And  warm  the  swelling  veins  to  feats  of 
love: 

For ’t  is  as  sure  as  cold  engenders  hail, 

A liquorish  mouth  must  have  a lech’rous 
tail  : 

Wine  lets  no  lover  unrewarded  go,  219 
As  all  true  gamesters  by  experience  know. 

But  0I1,  good  Gods  ! whene’er  a thought 
I cast 

On  all  the  joys  of  youth  and  beauty  past, 
To  find  in  pleasures  I have  had  my  part 
Still  warms  me  to  the  bottom  of  my  heart. 
This  wicked  world  was  once  my  dear  de- 
light ; 

Now  all  my  conquests,  all  my  charms, 
good  night  ! 

The  flour  consumed,  the  best  that  now  I 
can 

Is  ev’n  to  make  my  market  of  the  bran. 

My  fourth  dear  spouse  was  not  exceed- 
ing true  ; 

He  kept,  ’t  was  thought,  a private  miss  or 
two  ; 230 

But  all  that  score  I paid  — As  how  ? 
you  ’ll  say  : 

Not  with  my  body,  in  a filthy  way; 

But  I so  dress’d,  and  danc’d,  and  drank, 
and  din’d 

And  view’d  a friend  with  eyes  so  very  kind, 
As  stung  his  heart,  and  made  his  marrow 
fry, 

With  burning  rage  and  frantic  jealousy. 
His  soul,  I hope,  enjoys  eternal  glory, 

For  here  on  earth  I was  his  purgatory. 

Oft,  when  his  shoe  the  most  severely 
wrung,  239 

He  put  on  careless  airs,  and  sat  and  sung. 
How  sore  I gall’d  him  only  Heav’n  could 
know, 

And  he  that  felt,  and  I that  caus’d  the  woe. 
He  died  when  last  from  pilgrimage  I came, 
With  other  gossips,  from  Jerusalem; 

And  now  lies  buried  underneath  a rood, 
Fair  to  be  seen,  and  rear’d  of  honest  wood: 


PARAPHRASES  FROM  CHAUCER 


S° 


A tomb,  indeed,  with  fewer  sculptures 
graced 

Than  that  Mausolus’  pious  widow  placed, 
Or  where  enshrin’d  the  great  Darius  lay; 
But  cost  on  graves  is  merely  thrown  away. 
The  pit  fill’d  up,  with  turf  we  cover’d  o’er; 
So  bless  the  good  man’s  soull  I say  no 


Now  for  my  fifth  lov’d  lord,  the  last  and 
best; 

(Kind  Heav’n  afford  him  everlasting  rest!) 
Full  hearty  was  his  love,  and  I can  show 
The  tokens  on  my  ribs  in  black  and  blue; 
Yet  with  a knack  my  heart  he  could  have 


While  yet  the  smart  was  shooting  in  the 
bone. 

How  quaint  an  appetite  in  women  reigns  ! 
Free  gifts  we  scorn,  and  love  what  costs  us 
pains.  260 

Let  men  avoid  us,  and  on  them  we  leap; 

A glutted  market  makes  provision  cheap. 

In  pure  good  will  I took  this  jovial 
spark, 

Of  Oxford  he,  a most  egregious  clerk. 

He  boarded  with  a widow  in  the  town, 

A trusty  gossip,  one  dame  Alison; 

Full  well  the  secrets  of  my  soul  she  knew, 
Better  than  e’er  our  parish  priest  could 
do. 

To  her  I told  whatever  could  befall : 269 

Had  but  my  husband  piss’d  against  a wall, 
Or  done  a thing  that  might  have  cost  his 
life, 

She  — and  my  niece  — and  one  more 
worthy  wife, 

Had  known  it  all  : what  most  he  would 
conceal, 

To  these  I made  no  scruple  to  reveal. 

Oft  has  he  blush’d  from  ear  to  ear  for 
shame 

That  e’er  he  told  a secret  to  his  dame. 

It  so  befell,  in  holy  time  of  Lent, 

That  oft  a day  I to  this  gossip  went ; 

(My  husband,  thank  my  stars,  was  out  of 
town) 

From  house  to  house  we  rambled  up  and 
down,  t 280 

This  clerk,  myself,  and  my  good  neighbour 
Alse, 

To  see,  be  seen,  to  tell,  and  gather  tales. 
Visits  to  every  church  we  daily  paid, 

And  march’d  in  every  holy  masquerade} 
The  stations  duly  and  the  vigils  kept; 

Not  much  we  fasted,  but  scarce  ever  slept. 


At  sermons,  too,  I shone  in  scarlet  gay: 
The  wasting  moth  ne’er  spoil’d  my  best 
array ; 

The  cause  was  this,  I wore  it  every  day. 
’Twas  when  fresh  May  her  early  blossom' 
yields,  29 

This  clerk  and  I were  walking  in  the  fieldi 
We  grew  so  intimate,  I can’t  tell  how, 

I pawn’d  my  honour,  and  engaged  my  vov 
If  e’er  I laid  my  husband  in  his  urn, 

That  he,  and  only  he,  should  serve  my  turi 
We  straight  struck  hands,  the  bargain  we 
agreed ; i 

I still  have  shifts  against  a time  of  need. 
The  mouse  that  always  trusts  to  one  pot 
hole 

Can  never  be  a mouse  of  any  soul. 

I vow’d  I scarce  could  sleep  since  first 
knew  him,  3 

And  durst  be  sworn  he  had  bewitch’d  n 
to  him ; 

If  e’er  I slept  I dream’d  of  him  alone, 
And  dreams  foretell,  as  learned  men  have 
shown. 

All  this  I said ; but  dreams,  Sirs,  I had 
none : 

I follow’d  but  my  crafty  crony’s  lore, 
Who  bid  me  tell  this  lie  — and  twenty  moi 
Thus  day  by  day,  and  month  by  mon 
we  past; 

It  pleas’d  the  Lord  to  take  my  spouse 
last. 

I tore  my  gown,  I soil’d  my  locks  with  dtt 
And  beat  my  breasts,  as  wretched  wido 
— must. 

Before  my  face  my  handkerchief  I spree 
To  hide  the  flood  of  tears  1 — did  not  sin 
The  good  man’s  coffin  to  the  church  v 
borne ; 

Around  the  neighbours  and  my  clerk 
mourn. 

But  as  he  march’d,  good  Gods!  he  show’1 


pair 

Of  legs  and  feet  so  clean,  so  strong,  so  fr 
Of  twenty  winters’  age  he  seem’d  to  be; 
I (to  say  truth)  was  twenty  more  than  1 
But  vigorous  still,  a lively  buxom  dame, 
And  had  a wondrous  gift  to  quench  a flai 
A conjurer  once,  that  deeply  could  divirj 
Assur’d  me  Mars  in  Taurus  was  my  sigi 
As  the  stars  order’d,  such  my  life  has  be 
Alas,  alas!  that  ever  love  was  sin! 

Fair  Venus  gave  me  fire  and  sprigl 


grace, 

And  Mars  assurance  and  a dauntless  fa 


THE  WIFE  OF  BATH 


irtue  of  this  powerful  constellation, 
low’d  always  my  own  inclination, 
it  to  my  tale  2 — A month  scarce  pass’d 
away, 

l dance  and  song  we  kept  the  nuptial 
day.  33o 

L possess’d  I gave  to  his  command, 
goods  and  chattels,  money,  house,  and 
land; 

‘oft  repented,  and  repent  it  still; 

/•rov’d  a rebel  to  my  sov’reign  will; 
once,  by  Heav’nl  he  struck  me  on  the 
face: 

• but  the  fact,  and  judge  yourselves 
the  case. 

ibborn  as  any  lioness  was  I, 
knew  full  well  to  raise  my  voice  on 
high ; 

Mie  a rambler  as  I was  before, 
would  be  so  in  spite  of  all  he  swore.  340 
gainst  this  right  sagely  would  advise, 
old  examples  set  before  my  eyes; 
how  the  Roman  matrons  led  their  life, 
racchus’  mother,  and  Duilius’  wife; 
:close  the  sermon,  as  beseem’d  his  wit, 
some  grave  sentence  out  of  Holy  Writ, 
would  he  say,  ‘ Who  builds  his  house 
on  sands, 

:8  bis  blind  horse  across  the  fallow 
lands, 

ts  his  wife  abroad  with  pilgrims  roam, 
eves  a fool’s  - cap  and  long  ears  at 
home.’  jjg 

iis  avail’d  not,  for  whoe’er  he  be 
tells  my  faults,  I hate  him  mortally! 

30  do  numbers  more,  I ’ll  boldly  say, 

I women,  clergy,  regular  and  lay. 

’ spouse  (who  was,  you  know,  to  learn- 
ing  bred) 

tain  treatise  oft  at  evening  read, 

•e  divers  authors  (whom  the  devil  con- 
. found 

rll  their  lies)  were  in  one  volume 
j bound : 

ins  whole,  and  of  St.  Jerome  part; 
lippus  and  Tertullian,  Ovid’s  Art,  360 
ion’s  Proverbs,  Eloisa’s  loves, 

[many  more  than  sure  the  church  ap- 
proves. 

legends  were  there  here  of  wicked 

• wives 

good  in  all  the  Bible  and  saints’  lives. 
s drew  the  lion  vanquish’d?  ’T  was  a 
; man  2 

{paid  we  women  write  as  scholars  can, 


Men  should  stand  mark’d  with  far  more 
wickedness 

Than  all  the  sons  of  Adam  could  redress. 
Love  seldom  haunts  the  breast  where  learn- 
ing lies, 

And  Venus  sets  ere  Mercury  can  rise.  370 
Those  play  the  scholars  who  can’t  play  the 
men, 

And  use  that  weapon  which  they  have,  their 
pen; 

When  old,  and  past  the  relish  of  delight, 
Then  down  they  sit,  and  in  their  dotage 
write 

That  not  one  woman  keeps  her  marriage- 
vow. 

(This  by  the  way,  but  to  my  purpose  now.) 

It  chanc’d  my  husband,  on  a winter’s 
night, 

Read  in  this  book  aloud  with  strange  de- 

light, 

How  the  first  female  (as  the  Scriptures 
show) 

Brought  her  own  spouse  and  all  his  race  to 
woe;  38o 

How  Samson  fell;  and  he  whom  Dejanire 
Wrapp’d  in  th’  envenom’d  shirt,  and  set  on 
fire; 

How  curs’d  Eriphyle  her  lord  betray’d, 

And  the  dire  ambush  Clytemnestra  laid; 
But  what  most  pleas’d  him  was  the  Cretan 
dame 

And  husband-bull  — Oh,  monstrous!  fie,  for 
shame! 

He  had  by  heart  the  whole  detail  of  woe 
Xantippe  made  her  good  man  undergo; 

How  oft  she  scolded  in  a day  he  knew,  3gg 
How  many  pisspots  on  the  sage  she  threw  — 
Who  took  it  patiently,  and  wiped  his  head: 

‘ Rain  follows  thunder,’  that  was  all  lie  said. 

He  read  how  Arius  to  his  friend  com- 
plain’d 

A fatal  tree  was  growing  in  his  land, 

On  which  three  wives  successively  had 
twin’d 

A sliding  noose,  and  waver’d  in  the  wind. 
‘Where  grows  this  plant,’  replied  the 
friend,  ‘ oh  where  ? 

For  better  fruit  did  never  orchard  bear  : 
Give  me  some  slip  of  this  most  blissful 
tree, 

And  in  my  garden  planted  it  shall  be.’  400 

Then  how  two  wives  their  lords’  destruc- 
tion prove, 

Thro’  hatred  one,  and  one  thro’  too  much 
love 


t; 

<* 


i 

m 


UNIVERSITY  OF  ILLINOIS 


IL  tSF 


52 


PARAPHRASES  FROM  CHAUCER 


That  for  her  husband  mix’d  a pois’nous 
draught, 

And  this  for  lust  an  am’rous  philtre 
bought  ; 

The  nimble  juice  soon  seiz’d  his  giddy 
head, 

Frantic  at  night,  and  in  the  morning  dead. 
How  some  with  swords  their  sleeping 
lords  have  slain, 

And  some  have  hammer’d  nails  into  their 
brain, 

And  some  have  drench’d  them  with  a 
deadly  potion  : 

All  this  he  read,  and  read  with  great  de- 
votion. 4xo 

Long  time  I heard,  and  swell’d,  and 
blush’d,  and  frown’d  ; 

But  when  no  end  of  these  vile  tales  I 
found, 

When  still  he  read,  and  laugh’d,  and  read 
again, 

And  half  the  night  was  thus  consumed  in 
vain, 

Provoked  to  vengeance,  three  large  leaves 
I tore, 

And  with  one  buffet  fell’d  him  on  the  floor. 
With  that  my  husband  in  a fury  rose, 

And  down  he  settled  me  with  hearty 
blows. 

I groan’d,  and  lay  extended  on  my  side  ^ 

‘ Oh  ! thou  hast  slain  me  for  my  wealth,’  I 
cried  ! 42° 

‘Yet  I forgive  thee  — take  my  last  em- 
brace ’ — 

He  wept,  kind  soul ! and  stoop’d  to  kiss 
my  face  : 

I took  him  such  a box  as  turn’d  him  blue, 
Then  sigh’d  and  cried,  ‘ Adieu,  my  dear, 
adieu  ! ’ 

But  after  many  a hearty  struggle  past, 

I condescended  to  be  pleas’d  at  last. 

Soon  as  he  said,  ‘My  mistress  and  my 
wife! 

Do  what  you  list  the  term  of  all  your  life  ; 

I took  to  heart  the  merits  of  the  cause, 

And  stood  content  to  rule  by  wholesome 
laws  ; 43° 

Deceiv’d  the  reins  of  absolute  command,! 
With  all  the  government  of  house  and  I 
land,  . r 

And  empire  o’er  his  tongue  and  o’er  his 
hand.  J 

As  for  the  volume  that  revil’d  the  dames, 
’T  was  torn  to  fragments,  and  condemn’d  to 
flames. 


Now  Heav’n  on  all  my  husbands  go] 
bestow 

Pleasures  above  for  tortures  felt  below  : 

That  rest  they  wish’d  for  grant  them 
the  grave, 

And  bless  those  souls  my  conduct  help 
to  save  ! 

THE  TEMPLE  OF  FAME 


Pope  asserted  that  this  poem  was  composed 
1711.  Its  date  of  publication  is  indicated  b; 
letter  from  Pope  to  Martha  Blount,  written 
1714,  in  which  he  speaks  of  it  as  ‘ just  01 
Eventually  it  was  classed  by  the  poet  aa 
‘ juvenile  poem  ’ among  the  earlier  trans 
tions  and  imitations.  This  Advertisement 
prefixed:  — 


The  hint  of  the  following  piece  was  tal 
from  Chaucer’s  House  of  Fame.  The  desigi 
in  a manner  entirely  altered  ; the  descripti* 
and  most  of  the  particular  thoughts  my  ou 
yet  I could  not  suffer  it  to  be  printed  with 
this  acknowledgment.  The  reader  who  wo 
compare  this  with  Chaucer,  may  begin  vi 
his  third  Book  of  Fame,  there  being  noth 
in  the  two  first  books  that  answers  to  tl 
title. 


In  that  soft  season,  when  descend 
showers 

Call  forth  the  greens,  and  wake  the  ris 
flowers, 

When  opening  buds  salute  the  welcc 
day, 

And  earth  relenting  feels  the  genial  raj 

As  balmy  sleep  had  charm’d  my  caret 
rest, 

And  love  itself  was  banish’d  from 
breast, 

(What  time  the  morn  mysterious  vis: 
brings, 

While  purer  slumbers  spread  their  gol 
wings) 

A train  of  phantoms  in  wild  order  rose,’ 

And  join’d,  this  intellectual  scene  comp 
I stood,  methought,  betwixt  earth,  J 
and  skies, 

The  whole  Creation  open  to  my  eyes  ; 

In  air  self-balanced  hung  the  globe  bel 

Where  mountains  rise  and  circling  oc 
flow  ; 

Here  naked  rocks  and  empty  wastes 
seen, 

There  towery  cities,  and  the  forests  gr 


THE  TEMPLE  OF  FAME 


53 


•e  sailing  ships  delight  the  wand’ring 
eyes, 

sre  trees  and  intermingled  temples  rise  : 

,v  a clear  sun  the  shining  scene  displays, 
j transient  landscape  now  in  clouds 
decays.  20 

)’er  the  wide  prospect  as  I gazed  around, 
klen  I heard  a wild  promiscuous  sound, 
e broken  thunders  that  at  distance  roar, 
billows  murin’ ring  on  the  hollow  shore: 
fen  gazing  up,  a glorious  Pile  beheld, 
lose  tow’ring  summit  ambient  clouds 
i conceal’d; 

;h  on  a rock  of  ice  the  structure  lay, 
ep  its  ascent,  and  slipp’ry  was  the  way; 

; wondrous  rock  like  Parian  marble 
1 shone,  29 

d seem’d,  to  distant  sight,  of  solid  stone, 
criptions  here  of  various  names  I view’d, 
(e  greater  part  by  hostile  time  subdued; 
t wide  was  spread  their  fame  in  ages  past, 
d poets  once  had  promis’d  they  should 
last. 

ne  fresh  engraved  appear’d  of  wits  re- 
nown’d  ; 

look’d  again,  nor  could  their  trace  be 
found. 

tics  I saw,  that  other  names  deface, 
d fix  their  own  with  labour,  in  their 
place: 

eir  own,  like  others,  soon  their  place 
j resign’d, 

disappear’d  and  left  the  first  behind.  4o 
>r  was  the  work  impair’d  by  storms  alone, 
t felt  th’  approaches  of  too  warm  a sun ; 
(r  Fame,  impatient  of  extremes,  decays 
jit  more  by  envy  than  excess  of  praise, 
t part  no  injuries  of  Heav’11  could  feel, 
ce  crystal  faithful  to  the  graving  steel: 
e rock’s  high  summit,  in  the  temple’s 
,j  shade, 

>r  heat  could  melt,  nor  beating  storm 
| invade. 

eir  names  inscribed  unnumber’d  ages  past 
som  Time’s  first  birth,  with  Time  itself 
shall  last:  50 

?tese  ever  new,  nor  subject  to  decays, 
read,  and  grow  brighter  with  the  length 
of  days. 

So  Zembla’s  rocks  (the  beauteous  work 
„ of  frost) 

se  white  in  air,  and  glitter  o’er  the  coast; 
,le  suns,  unfelt,  at  distance  roll  away, 
id  on  th’  impassive  ice  the  lightnings 

play; 


Eternal  snows  the  growing  mass  supply, 

Till  the  bright  mountains  prop  th’  incum- 
bent sky: 

As  Atlas  fix’d,  each  hoary  pile  appears,  59 
The  gather’d  winter  of  a thousand  years. 

On  this  foundation  Fame’s  high  temple 
stands; 

Stupendous  pile ! not  rear’d  by  mortal  hands. 
Whate’er  proud  Rome  or  artful  Greece 
beheld, 

Or  elder  Babylon,  its  frame  excell’d. 

Four  faces  had  the  dome,  and  ev’ry  face 
Of  various  structure,  but  of  equal  grace: 
Four  brazen  gates,  on  columns  lifted  high, 
Salute  the  diff’rent  quarters  of  the  sky. 
Here  fabled  Chiefs  in  darker  ages  born, 

Or  Worthies  old  whom  Arms  or  Arts 
adorn,  70 

Who  cities  raised  or  tamed  a monstrous 
race, 

The  walls  in  venerable  order  grace: 

Heroes  in  animated  marble  frown, 

And  Legislators  seem  to  think  in  stone. 

Westward,  a sumptuous  frontispiece 
appear’d, 

On  Doric  pillars  of  white  marble  rear’d, 
Crown’d  with  an  architrave  of  antique 
mould, 

And  sculpture  rising  on  the  roughen’d  gold. 
In  shaggy  spoils  here  Theseus  was  beheld, 
And  Perseus  dreadful  with  Minerva’s 
shield : 80 

There  great  Alcides,  stooping  with  his  toil, 
Rests  on  his  club,  and  holds  th’  Hesperian 
spoil : 

Here  Orpheus  sings;  trees  moving  to  the 
sound 

Start  from  their  roots,  and  form  a shade 
around: 

Amphion  there  the  loud  creating  lyre 
Strikes,  and  beholds  a sudden  Thebes  as- 
pire; 

Cithseron’s  echoes  answer  to  his  call, 

And  half  the  mountain  rolls  into  a wall: 
There  might  you  see  the  length’ning  spires 
ascend, 

The  domes  swell  up,  and  widening  arches 
bend,  90 

The  growing  towers,  like  exhalations,  rise, 
And  the  huge  columns  heave  into  the  skies. 

The  eastern  front  was  glorious  to  behold, 
With  diamond  flaming,  and  barbaric  gold. 
There  Ninus  shone,  who  spread  th’  Assyrian 
fame, 

And  the  great  founder  of  the  Persian  name; 


54 


PARAPHRASES  FROM  CHAUCER 


There  in  long  robes  the  royal  Magi  stand, 
Grave  Zoroaster  waves  the  circling  wand; 
The  sage  Chaldeans  robed  in  white  ap- 
pear’d, 

And  Brahmans,  deep  in  desert  woods 
revered.  ioo 

These  stopp’d  the  moon,  and  call’  th’  un- 
bodied shades 

To  midnight  banquets  in  the  glimm’ring 
glades; 

Made  visionary  fabrics  round  them  rise, 
And  airy  spectres  skim  before  their  eyes; 
Of  talismans  and  sigils  knew  the  power, 
And  careful  watch’d  the  planetary  hour. 
Superior,  and  alone,  Confucius  stood, 

Who  taught  that  useful  science,  — to  be 
good. 

But  on  the  south,  a long  majestic  race  109 
Of  Egypt’s  priests  the  gilded  niches  grace, 
Who  measured  earth,  described  the  starry 
spheres, 

And  traced  the  long  records  of  Lunar 
Years. 

High  on  his  car  Sesostris  struck  my  view, 
Whom  sceptred  slaves  in  golden  harness 
drew: 

His  hands  a bow  and  pointed  jav’lin  hold  ; 
His  giant  limhs  are  arm’d  in  scales  of  gold. 
Between  the  statues  obelisks  were  placed, 
And  the  learn’d  walls  with  hieroglyphics 
graced. 

Of  Gothic  structure  was  the  northern 
side, 

O’erwrought  with  ornaments  of  barb’rous 
pride.  120 

There  huge  Colosses  rose,  with  trophies 
crown’d, 

And  Runic  characters  were  graved  around  ; 
There  sat  Zamolxis  with  erected  eyes, 

And  Odin  here  in  mimic  trances  dies'. 
There  011  rude  iron  columns,  smear’d  with 
blood, 

The  horrid  forms  of  Scythian  Heroes  stood, 
Druids  and  Bards  (their  once  loud  harps 
unstrung) 

And  youths  that  died  to  he  by  poets  sung. 
These  and  a thousand  more  of  doubtful 
fame, 

To  whom  old  fables  gave  alasting  name,  130 
In  ranks  adorn’d  the  temple’s  outward  face; 
The  wall  in  lustre  and  effect  like  glass, 
Which  o’er  each  object  casting  various  dyes, 
Enlarges  some,  and  others  multiplies  ; 

Nor  void  of  emblem  was  the  mystic  wall, 
For  thus  romantic  Fame  increases  all. 


The  temple  shakes,  the  sounding  ga 
unfold, 

Wide  vaults  appear,  and  roofs  of  frett 
gold, 

Rais’d  on  a thousand  pillars,  wreatl 
around 

With  laurel  foliage,  and  with  eag 
crown’d. 

Of  bright  transparent  beryl  were  the  wal 
The  friezes  gold,  and  gold  the  capitals; 
As  Heav’n  with  stars,  the  roof  with  jewi 
glows, 

And  ever-living  lamps  depend  in  rows. 
Full  in  the  passage  of  each  spacious  gate 
The  sage  Historians  in  white  garmei 
wait; 

Graved  o’er  their  seats  the  form  of  Tii 
was  found, 

His  scythe  revers’d,  and  both  his  pinic 
bound. 

Within  stood  Heroes,  who  thro’ loud  alar 
In  bloody  fields  pursued  renown  in  arms 
High  on  a throne,  with  trophies  charged 
view’d 

The  youth  that  all  things  but  himself  si 
dued; 

His  feet  on  sceptres  and  tiaras  trod, 

And  his  horn’d  head  belied  the  Lib\ 
God, 

There  Csesar,  graced  with  both  Minerv 
shone; 

Csesar,  the  world’s  great  master,  and 
own; 

Unmov’d,  superior  still  in  ev’ry  state, 
And  scarce  detested  in  his  country’s  fate 
But  chief  were  those  who  not  for  emp 
fought, 

But  with  their  toils  their  people’s  safi 
bought: 

High  o’er  the  rest  Epaminondas  stood ; 
Timoleon,  glorious  in  his  brother’s  blood 
Bold  Scipio,  saviour  of  the  Roman  state, 
Great  in  his  triumphs,  in  retirement  gre 
And  wise  Aurelius,  in  whose  well-taugh 
mind 

With  boundless  power  unbounded  virtui 
join’d, 

His  own  strict  judge,  and  patron  of  man 
kind. 

Mueh-suff’ring  heroes  next  their  h 
ours  claim. 

Those  of  less  noisy,  and  less  guilty  fame 
Fair  Virtue’s  silent  train:  supreme 
these 

I Here  ever  shines  the  godlike  Socrates1 


THE  TEMPLE  OF  FAME 


55 


i whom  ungrateful  Athens  could  expel, 

, all  times  just,  but  when  he  sign’d  the 
shell : 

;re  his  abode  the  martyr’d  Phocion 
claims, 

ith  Agis,  not  the  last  of  Spartan  names: 
iconquer’d  Cato  shows  the  wound  he 
tore, 

id  Brutus  his  ill  genius  meets  no  more. 
But  in  the  centre  of  the  hallow’d  choir 
c pompous  columns  o’er  the  rest  aspire: 
•ound  the  shrine  itself  of  Fame  they 
stand,  180 

bid  the  chief  honours  and  the  fame  com- 
mand. 

gh  on  the  first  the  mighty  Homer 
shone ; 

ernal  adamant  composed  his  throne; 

,ther  of  verse  ! in  holy  fillets  drest, 

,s  silver  beard  waved  gently  o’er  his 
breast ; 

io’  blind,  a boldness  in  his  looks  ap- 
pears ; 

years  he  seem’d,  but  not  impair’d  by 
years. 

ae  wars  of  Troy  were  round  the  pillar 
seen; 

ere  fierce  Tydides  wounds  the  Cyprian 
Queen ; 189 

ere  Hector,  glorious  from  Patroclus’  fall, 
ere,  dragg’d  in  triumph  round  the  Tro- 
jan wall. 

otion  and  life  did  ev’ry  part  inspire, 
nld  was  the  work,  and  prov’d  the  mas- 
ter’s fire: 

strong  expression  most  he  seem’d  t’ 
affect, 

nd  here  and  there  disclosed  a brave  neg- 
lect. 

A golden  column  next  in  rank  appear’d, 
'll  which  a shrine  of  purest  gold  was 
rear’d; 

i nish’d  the  whole,  and  labour’d  ev’ry 
1 part, 

rith  patient  touches  of  unwearied  art.  199 
the  Mantuan  there  in  sober  triumph  sate, 
imposed  his  posture,  and  his  look  se- 
date ; 

n Homer  still  he  fix’d  a rev’rend  eye, 

Teat  without  pride,  in  modest  majesty, 
t living  sculpture  on  the  sides  were 
r spread 

he  Latian  wars,  and  haughty  Turnus  dead; 
liza  stretch’d  upon  the  funeral  pyre; 

Ineas  bending  with  his  aged  sire: 


Troy  flamed  in  burning  gold,  and  o’er  the 
throne 

‘ Arms  and  the  man’  in  golden  ciphers 
shone. 

Four  swans  sustain  a car  of  silver 
bright,  210 

With  heads  advanced,  and  pinions  stretch’d 
for  flight: 

Here,  like  some  furious  prophet,  Pindar 
rode, 

And  seem’d  to  labour  with  th’  inspiring 
God. 

Across  the  harp  a careless  hand  he  flings, 
And  boldly  sinks  into  the  sounding  strings. 
The  figured  games  of  Greece  the  column 
grace: 

Neptune  and  Jove  survey  the  rapid  race; 
The  youths  hang  o’er  the  chariots  as  they 
run ; 

The  fiery  steeds  seem  starting  from  the 
stone ; 

The  champions  in  distorted  postures 
threat;  220 

And  all  appear’d  irregularly  great. 

Here  happy  Horace  tuned  th’  Ausonian 
lyre 

To  sweeter  sounds,  and  temper’d  Pindar’s 
fire: 

Pleas’d  with  Alceeus’  manly  rage  t’  infuse 
The  softer  spirit  of  the  Sapphic  Muse. 

The  polish’d  pillar  diff’rent  sculptures 
grace ; 

A work  outlasting  monumental  brass. 

Here  smiling  loves  and  bacchanals  appear, 
The  Julian  star,  and  great  Augustus  here; 
The  doves,  that  round  the  infant  poet 
spread  230 

Myrtles  and  bays,  hung  hov’ring  o’er  his 
head. 

Here,  in  a shrine  that  cast  a dazzling 
light, 

Sate  fix’d  in  thought  the  mighty  Stagy- 
rite; 

His  sacred  head  a radiant  Zodiac  crown’d, 
And  various  animals  his  sides  surround: 
His  piercing  eyes,  erect,  appear  to  view 
Superior  worlds,  and  look  all  Nature 
thro’. 

With  equal  rays  immortal  Tully  shone; 
The  Roman  rostra  deck’d  the  consul’s 
throne ; 

Gatli’ring  his  flowing  robe,  he  seem’d  to 
stand  240 

In  act  to  speakv  and  graceful  stretch’d  his 
hand ; 


5* 


PARAPHRASES  FROM  CHAUCER 


Behind,  Rome’s  Genius  waits  with  civic 
crowns, 

And  the  great  father  of  his  country  owns. 

These  massy  columns  in  a circle  rise, 
O’er  which  a pompous  dome  invades  the 
skies; 

Scarce  to  the  top  I stretch’d  my  aching 
sight, 

So  large  it  spread,  and  swell’d  to  such  a 
height. 

Full  in  the  midst  proud  Fame’s  imperial 
seat 

With  jewels  blazed,  magnificently  great; 
The  vivid  em’ralds  there  revive  the  eye,  250 
The  flaming  rubies  show  their  sanguine  dye, 
Bright  azure  rays  from  lively  sapphires 
stream, 

And  lucid  amber  casts  a golden  gleam. 
With  various-colour’d  light  the  pavement 
shone, 

And  all  on  fire  appear’d  the  glowing  throne ; 
The  dome’s  high  arch  reflects  the  mingled 
blaze, 

And  forms  a rainbow  of  alternate  rays. 
When  on  the  Goddess  first  I cast  my  sight, 
Scarce  seem’d  her  stature  of  a cubit’s 
height;  259 

But  swell’d  to  larger  size,  the  more  I gazed, 
Till  to  the  roof  her  tow’ring  front  she 
rais’d. 

With  her,  the  temple  ev’ry  moment  grew, 
And  ampler  vistas  open’d  to  my  view  : 
Upward  the  columns  shoot,  the  roofs  as- 
cend, 

And  arches  widen,  and  long  aisles  extend. 
Such  was  her  form,  as  ancient  bards  have 
told ; 

Wings  raise  her  arms,  and  wings  her  feet 
infold ; 

A thousand  busy  tongues  the  Goddess 
bears, 

A thousand  open  eyes,  and  thousand  lis- 
t’ning  ears.  269 

Beneath,  in  order  ranged,  the  tuneful  Nine 
(Her  virgin  handmaids)  still  attend  the 
shrine  ; 

With  eyes  on  Fame  for  ever  fix’d,  they  sing; 
For  Fame  they  raise  the  voice,  and  tune 
the  string; 

With  Time’s  first  birth  began  the  heav’nly 
lays, 

And  last,  eternal,  thro’  the  length  of  days. 

Around  these  wonders  as  I cast  a look, 
The  trumpet  sounded,  and  the  temple 
shook, 


And  all  the  nations  summon’d  at  the  call, 
From  diff’rent  quarters  fill  the  crowded 
hall. 

Of  various  tongues  the  mingled  sounds 
were  heard ; 280 

In  various  garbs  promiscuous  throngs  ap- 
pear’d : 

Thick  as  the  bees,  that  with  the  spring  re- 
new 

Their  flowery  toils,  and  sip  the  fragrant 
dew, 

When  the  wing’d  colonies  first  tempt  the 
sky, 

O’er  dusky  fields  and  shaded  waters  fly, 

Or,  settling,  seize  the  sweets  the  blossoms 
yield, 

And  a low  murmur  runs  along  the  field. 
Millions  of  suppliant  crowds  the  shrine  at- 
tend, 28$ 

And  all  degrees  before  the  Goddess  bend; 
The  poor,  the  rich,  the  valiant,  and  the  sage 
And  boasting  youth,  and  narrative  old  age 
Their  pleas  were  diff’rent,  their  request 
the  same  ; 

For  good  and  bad  alike  are  fond  of  Fame. 
Some  she  disgraced  and  some  with  honours 
crown’d  ; 

Unlike  successes  equal  merits  found. 

Thus  her  blind  sister,  fickle  Fortune,  reigns 
And,  undiscerning,  scatters  crowns  anc 
chains. 

First  at  the  shrine  the  learned  worlc 
appear, 

And  to  the  Goddess  thus  prefer  theii 
prayer  : 

‘ Long  have  we  sought  t’  instruct  and  pleas* 
mankind,  3o< 

With  studies  pale,  with  midnight  - vigils 
blind  ; 

But  thank’d  by  few,  rewarded  yet  by  none 
We  here  appeal  to  thy  superior  throne  : 

On  Wit  and  Learning  the  just  prize  bestow 
For  Fame  is  all  we  must  expect  below.’  j 
The  Goddess  heard,  and  bade  the  Muses 
raise 

The  golden  trumpet  of  eternal  praise  : 
From  pole  to  pole  the  winds  diffuse  the 
sound, 

That  fills  the  circuit  of  the  world  around  ; 
Not  all  at  once,  as  thunder  breaks  the 
cloud,  3i< 

The  notes  at  first  were  rather  sweet  thai 
loud  ; 

By  just  degrees  they  every  moment  rise,  n 
Fill  the  wide  earth,  and  gain  upon  the  skies 


THE  TEMPLE  OF  FAME 


57 


t every  breath  were  balmy  odours  shed, 
Yhich  still  grew  sweeter  as  they  wider 
spread  ; 

ess  fragrant  scents  th’  unfolding  rose  ex- 
hales, 

r spices  breathing  in  Arabian  gales. 

Next  these  the  good  and  just,  an  awful 
train, 

bus  on  their  knees  address  the  sacred 
fane : 319 

Since  living  virtue  is  with  envy  curs’d, 
nd  the  best  men  are  treated  like  the 
worst, 

>0  thou,  just  Goddess,  call  our  merits 
forth, 

nd  give  each  deed  th’  exact  intrinsic 
worth.’ 

Not  with  bare  justice  shall  your  act  be 
crown’d 

Said  Fame),  but  high  above  desert  re- 
nown’d  : 

et  fuller  notes  th’  applauding  world  amaze, 
nd  the  loud  clarion  labour  in  your  praise.’ 
This  band  dismiss’d,  behold  another 
crowd 

referr’d  the  same  request,  and  lowly 
bow’d  ; 

he  constant  tenor  of  whose  well-spent 
days  330 

To  less  deserv’d  a just  return  of  praise, 
lut  straight  the  direful  trump  of  Slander 
sounds  ; 

'hro’  the  big  dome  the  doubling  thunder 
bounds  ; 

loud  as  the  burst  of  cannon  rends  the 
skies, 

he  dire  report  thro’  every  region  flies, 
n every  ear  incessant  rumours  rung, 
aid  gath’ring  scandals  grew  on  every 
1 tongue. 

rom  the  black  trumpet’s  rusty  concave 
broke 

ulphureous  flames,  and  clouds  of  rolling 
! smoke  : 

Tie  pois’nous  vapour  blots  the  purple 
skies,  340 

ind  withers  all  before  it  as  it  flies. 

A troop  came  next,  who  crowns  and 
armour  wore, 

md  proud  defiance  in  their  looks  they 
1 bore  : 

Tor  thee  (they  cried)  amidst  alarms  and 
strife, 

Ve  sail’d  in  tempests  down  the  stream  of 
1 life; 


For  thee  whole  nations  fill’d  with  flames 
and  blood, 

And  swam  to  Empire  thro’  the  purple 
flood  : 

Those  ills  we  dared,  thy  inspiration  own  ; 
What  virtue  seem’d,  was  done  for  thee 
alone.’ 

‘Ambitious  fools!’  (the  Queen  replied, 
and  frown’d)  350 

‘Be  all  your  acts  in  dark  oblivion  drown’d; 
There  sleep  forgot,  with  mighty  tyrants 
gone, 

Your  statues  moulder’d,  and  your  names 
unknown!  ’ 

A sudden  cloud  straight  snatch’d  them 
from  my  sight, 

And  each  majestic  phantom  sunk  in  night. 

Then  came  the  smallest  tribe  I yet  had 
seen; 

Plain  was  their  dress,  and  modest  was  their 
mien: 

‘ Great  Idol  of  mankind  ! we  neither  claim 
The  praise  of  Merit,  nor  aspire  to  Fame  ! 
But  safe  in  deserts  from  th’  applause  of 
men,  360 

Would  die  unheard  of,  as  we  liv’d  unseen ; 
’T  is  all  we  beg  thee,  to  conceal  from  sight 
Those  acts  of  goodness  which  themselves 
requite. 

O let  us  still  the  secret  joy  partake, 

To  follow  Virtue  ev’n  for  Virtue’s  sake.’ 

‘And  live  there  men  who  slight  im- 
mortal fame  ? 

Who  then  with  incense  shall  adore  our 
name  ? 

But,  mortals  ! know,  ’t  is  still  our  greatest 
pride 

To  blaze  those  virtues  which  the  good 
would  hide. 

Rise!  Muses,  rise  ! add  all  your  tuneful 
breath ; 370 

These  must  not  sleep  in  darkness  and  in 
death.’ 

She  said:  in  air  the  trembling  music  floats, 
And  on  the  winds  triumphant  swell  the 
notes; 

So  soft,  tho’  high,  so  loud,  and  yet  so  clear, 
Ev’n  list’ning  angels  lean’d  from  Heav’n  to 
hear: 

To  farthest  shores  th’  ambrosial  spirit  flies, 
Sweet  to  the  world,  and  grateful  to  the  skies. 

Next  these  a youthful  train  their  vows 
express’d, 

With  feathers  crown’d,  with  gay  embroid’ry 
dress’d: 


PARAPHRASES  FROM  CHAUCER 


58 


‘ Hither  ’ they  cried  ‘ direct  your  eyes,  and 
see  380 

The  men  of  pleasure,  dress,  and  gallan- 
try. 

Ours  is  the  place  at  banquets,  balls,  and 
plays, 

Sprightly  our  nights,  polite  are  all  our  days ; 
Courts  we  frequent,  where ’t  is  our  pleasing 
care 

To  pay  due  visits,  and  address  the  Fair; 

I11  fact,  ’t  is  true,  no  nymph  we  could  per- 
suade, 

But  still  in  fancy  vanquish’d  ev’ry  maid; 

Of  unknown  Duchesses  lewd  tales  we  tell, 
Yet,  would  the  world  believe  us,  all  were 
well;  389 

The  joy  let  others  have,  and  we  the  name, 
And  what  we  want  in  pleasure,  grant  in 
fame.’ 

The  Queen  assents:  the  trumpet  rends 
the  skies, 

And  at  each  blast  a lady’s  honour  dies. 

Pleas’d  with  the  strange  success,  vast 
numbers  prest 

Around  the  shrine,  and  made  the  same  re- 
quest: 

* What  you  ’ she  cried,  ‘ unlearn’d  in  arts 
to  please, 

Slaves  to  yourselves,  and  ev’n  fatigued  with 
ease, 

Who  lose  a length  of  undeserving  days, 
Would  you  usurp  the  lover’s  dear-bought 
praise  ? 

To  just  contempt,  ye  vain  pretenders,  fall, 
The  people’s  fable,  and  the  scorn  of  all.’  401 
Straight  the  black  clarion  sends  a horrid 
sound, 

Loud  laughs  burst  out,  and  bitter  scoffs  fly 
round ; 

Whispers  are  heard,  with  taunts  reviling 
loud, 

And  scornful  hisses  run  thro’  all  the  crowd. 

Last,  those  who  boast  of  mighty  mis- 
chiefs done, 

Enslave  their  country,  or  usurp  a throne; 
Or  who  their  glory’s  dire  foundation  laid 
On  sov’reigns  ruin’d,  or  on  friends  be- 
tray’d; 

Calm,  thinking  villains,  whom  no  faith  could 
fix,  410 

Of  crooked  counsels  and  dark  politics; 

Of  these  a gloomy  tribe  surround  the 
throne, 

And  beg  to  make  th’  immortal  treasons 
known. 


The  trumpet  roars,  long  flaky  flames  expin 
With  sparks  that  seem’d  to  set  the  worL 
on  fire. 

At  the  dread  sound  pale  mortals  stoo' 
aghast, 

And  startled  Nature  trembled  with  th 
blast. 

This  having  heard  and  seen,  some  Powe 
unknown 

Straight  changed  the  scene,  and  snatch’ 
me  from  the  throne. 

Before  my  view  appear’d  a structur 
fair,  4; 

Its  site  uncertain,  if  in  earth  or  air; 

With  rapid  motion  turn’d  the  mansio 
round; 

With  ceaseless  noise  the  ringing  walls  rt 
sound: 

Not  less  in  number  were  the  spacious  dooi 
Than  leaves  on  trees,  or  sands  upon  th 
shores; 

Which  still  unfolded  stand,  by  night,  b 
day, 

Pervious  to  winds,  and  open  every  way. 
As  flames  by  nature  to  the  skies  ascend,  ! 
As  weighty  bodies  to  the  centre  tend, 

As  to  the  sea  returning  rivers  roll,  4; 
And  the  touch’d  needle  trembles  to  th 
pole, 

Hither,  as  to  their  proper  place,  arise 
All  various  sounds  from  earth,  and  sea 
and  skies, 

Or  spoke  aloud,  or  whisper’d  in  the  ear; 
Nor  ever  silence,  rest,  or  peace  is  here. 

As  on  the  smooth  expanse  of  crystal  lakes 
The  sinking  stone  at  first  a circle  makes; 
The  trembling  surface  by  the  motio 
stirr’d,. 

Spreads  in  a second  circle,  then  a third; 
Wide,  and  more  wide,  the  floating  ring 
advance,  4, 

Fill  all  the  wat’ry  plain,  and  to  the  margi 
dance : 

Thus  every  voice  and  sound,  when  first  the 
break, 

On  neigh  b’ring  air  a soft  impressio 
make ; 

Another  ambient  circle  then  they  move; 
That  in  its  turn,  impels  the  next  above; 
Thro’  undulating  air  the  sounds  are  sent, 
And  spread  o’er  all  the  fluid  element. 

There  various  news  I heard  of  love  an 
strife, 

Of  peace  and  war,  health,  sickness,  deatl 
and  life;  4 


THE  TEMPLE  OF  FAME 


59 


Around,  a thousand  winged  wonders  fly, 
Borne  by  the  trumpet’s  blast,  and  scatter’d 
thro’  the  sky. 

There,  at  one  passage,  oft  you  might 
survey 

A lie  and  truth  contending  for  the  way  ; 490 
And  long  ’t  was  doubtful,  both  so  closely 
pent, 

Which  first  should  issue  thro’  the  narrow 
vent: 

At  last  agreed,  together  out  they  fly, 
Inseparable  now  the  truth  and  lie; 

The  strict  companions  are  for  ever  join’d, 
And  this  or  that  unmix’d,  no  mortal  e’er 
shall  find, 

While  thus  I stood,  intent  to  see  and 
hear, 

One  came,  methought,  and  whisper’d  in  my 
ear: 

« What  could  thus  high  thy  rash  ambition 
raise  ? 

Art  thou,  fond  youth,  a candidate  for 
praise  ? ’ 500 

« ’T  is  true,’  said  I,  * not  void  of  hopes 
I came, 

For  who  so  fond  as  youthful  bards  of 
Fame  ? 

But  few,  alas!  the  casual  blessing  boast, 

So  hard  to  gain,  so  easy  to  be  lost. 

How  vain  that  second  life  in  others’  breath, 
Th’  estate  which  wits  inherit  after  death! 
Ease,  health,  and  life  for  this  they  must 
resign, 

(Unsure  the  tenure,  but  how  vast  the  fine!) 
The  great  man’s  curse,  without  the  gains, 
endure, 

Be  envied,  wretched;  and  be  flatter’d,  poor; 
All  luckless  wits  their  enemies  protest,  511 
And  all  successful,  jealous  friends  at  best. 
Nor  Fame  I slight,  nor  for  her  favours  call ; 
She  comes  unlook’d  for,  if  she  comes  at  all. 
But  if  the  purchase  costs  so  dear  a price 
As  soothing  Folly,  or  exalting  Vice; 

Oh!  if  the  Muse  must  flatter  lawless  sway, 
And  follow  still  where  Fortune  leads  the 


f loss  and  gain,  of  fapiine,  and  of  store, 
f storms  at  sea,  and  travels  on  the  shore, 
f prodigies,  and  portents  seen  in  air, 
f fires  and  plagues,  and  stars  with  blazing 
hair, 

f turns  of  fortune,  changes  in  the  state, 
he  fall  of  fav’ rites,  projects  of  the  great, 
f old  mismanagements,  taxations  new; 

11  neither  wholly  false,  nor  wholly  true. 
Above,  below,  without,  within,  around, 
onfused,  unnumber’d  multitudes  are 
found, 

Vho  pass,  repass,  advance,  and  glide 
away,  460 

losts  rais’d  by  fear,  and  phantoms  of  a day  : 
.strologers,  that  future  fates  foreshew, 
rojectors,  quacks,  and  lawyers  not  a few; 
.ud  priests,  and  party  zealots,  numerous 
bands, 

Vith  home-born  lies  or  tales  from  foreign 
lands ; 

lach  talk’d  aloud,  or  in  some  secret  place, 
md  wild  impatience  stared  in  ev’ry  face, 
’he  flying  rumours  gather’d  as  they  roll’d, 
earce  any  tale  was  sooner  heard  than  told; 
aid  all  who  told  it  added  something  new, ) 
Lnd  all  who  heard  it  made  enlargements  I 
too;  471  r 

11  ev’ry  ear  it  spread,  on  ev’ry  tongue  it 
grew.  J 

?hus  flying  east  and  west,  and  north  and 
south, 

lews  travel’d  with  increase  from  mouth  to 
mouth. 

io  from  a spark  that,  kindled  first  by 
chance, 

Vith  gath’ring  force  the  quick’ning  flames 
advance ; 

Till  to  the  clouds  their  curling  heads  as- 
pire, 

Lid  towers  and  temples  sink  in  floods  of 
fire. 

When  thus  ripe  lies  are  to  perfection 
sprung, 

Full  grown,  and  fit  to  grace  a mortal 
i tongue,  480 

Thro’  thousand  vents,  impatient,  forth  they 
flow, 

Mid  rush  in  millions  on  the  world  below. 
Fame  sits  aloft,  and  points  them  out  their 
course, 

Their  date  determines,  and  prescribes  their 
force ; 

Some  to  remain,  and  some  to  perish  soon, 
Or  wane  and  wax  alternate  like  the  moon. 


way; 

Or  if  no  basis  bear  my  rising  name, 

But  the  fall’11  ruins  of  another’s  fame;  520 

Then  teach  me,  Heav’n!  to  scorn  the  guilty 
bays; 

Drive  from  my  breast  that  wretched  lust 
of  praise; 

Unblemish’d  let  me  live  or  die  unknown; 

Oh,  grant  an  honest  fame,  or  grant  me 
none ! ’ 


6o 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  OVID 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  OVID 


SAPPHO  TO  PHAON 

FROM  THE  FIFTEENTH  OF  OVID’S 
EPISTLES 

Written,  according  to  Pope,  in  1707.  First 
published  in  Tonson’s  Ovid , 1712. 

Say,  lovely  Youth,  that  dost  my  heart  com- 
mand, 

Can  Phaon’s  eyes  forget  his  Sappho’s  hand  ? 
Must  then  her  name  the  wretched  writer 
prove, 

To  thy  remembrance  lost,  as  to  thy  love  ? 
Ask  not  the  cause  that  I new  numbers 
choose, 

The  lute  neglected  and  the  lyric  Muse  ; 
Love  taught  my  tears  in  sadder  notes  to 
flow, 

And  tuned  my  heart  to  elegies  of  woe. 

I burn,  I burn,  as  when  thro’  ripen’d  corn 
By  driving  winds  the  spreading  flames  are 
borne  ! 10 

Phaon  to  iEtna’s  scorching  fields  retires, 
While  I consume  with  more  than  iEtna’s 
fires  ! 

No  more  my  soul  a charm  in  music  finds  ; 
Music  has  charms  alone  for  peaceful  minds. 
Soft  scenes  of  solitude  no  more  can  please  ; 
Love  enters  there,  and  I ’m  my  own  dis- 
ease. 

No  more  the  Lesbian  dames  my  passion 
move, 

Once  the  dear  objects  of  my  guilty  love  ; 
All  other  loves  are  lost  in  only  thine, 

O youth,  ungrateful  to  a flame  like  mine  ! 
Whom  would  not  all  those  blooming  charms 
surprise,  21 

Those  heav’nly  looks,  and  dear  deluding 
eyes  ? 

The  harp  and  bow  would  you  like  Phoebus 
bear, 

A brighter  Phoebus  Phaon  might  appear  ; 
Would  you  with  ivy  wreathe  your  flowing 
hair, 

Not  Bacchus’  self  with  Phaon  could  com- 
pare : 

Yet  Phoebus  lov’d,  and  Bacchus  felt  the 
flame, 

One  Daphne  warm’d,  and  one  the  Cretan 
dame  ; 


Nymphs  that  in  verse  no  more  could  rival 
me, 

Than  ev’11  those  Gods  contend  in  charms 
with  thee.  3o 

The  Muses  teach  me  all  their  softest  lays, 
And  the  wide  world  resounds  with  Sappho’s 
praise. 

Tho’  great  Alcceus  more  sublimely  sings, 
And  strikes  with  bolder  rage  the  sounding 
strings, 

No  less  renown  attends  the  moving  lyre, 
Which  Venus  tunes,  and  all  her  loves  in- 
spire ; 

To  me  what  Nature  has  in  charms  denied, 
Is  well  by  Wit’s  more  lasting  flames  sup-, 
plied. 

Tho’  short  my  stature,  yet  my  name  ex-j 
tends 

To  Heav’n  itself,  and  earth’s  remotest 
ends.  40 

Brown  as  I am,  an  Ethiopian  dame 
Inspired  young  Perseus  with  a gen’rous 
flame  ; 

Turtles  and  doves  of  different  hues  unite, 
And  glossy  jet  is  pair’d  with  shining  white. 
If  to  no  charms  thou  wilt  thy  heart  resign, 
But  such  as  merit,  such  as  equal  thine, 

By  none,  alas  ! by  none  thou  canst  be 
mov’d, 

Phaon  alone  by  Phaon  must  be  lov’d  ! 

Yet  once  thy  Sappho  could  thy  cares  em- 

Ploy, 

Once  in  her  arms  you  centred  all  your  joy  : 
No  time  the  dear  remembrance  can  re- 
move, 51 

For  oh  ! how  vast  a memory  has  Love  ! 

My  music,  then,  you  could  for  ever  hear, 
And  all  my  words  were  music  to  your 
ear. 

You  stopp’d  with  kisses  my  enchanting 
tongue, 

And  found  my  kisses  sweeter  than  my 
song. 

In  all  I pleas’d,  but  most  in  what  was 
best; 

And  the  last  joy  was  dearer  than  the  rest. 
Then  with  each  word,  each  glance,  each 
motion  fired, 

You  still  enjoy’d,  and  yet  you  still  desired, 
Till,  all  dissolving,  in  the  trance  we  lay,  6< 
And  in  tumultuous  raptures  died  away. 


SAPPHO  TO  PHAON 


61 


The  fair  Sicilians  now  thy  soul  inflame ; 
tVhy  was  I bom,  ye  Gods,  a Lesbian 
dame  ? 

3ut  ah,  beware,  Sicilian  nymphs  ! nor 
boast 

That  wand’ring  heart  which  I so  lately 
lost; 

Sot  be  with  all  those  tempting  words 
abused, 

Those  tempting  words  were  all  to  Sappho 
used. 

And  you  that  rule  Sicilia’s  happy  plains, 
Have  pity,  Venus,  on  your  poet’s  pains  ! 70 
Shall  fortune  still  in  one  sad  tenor  run, 

And  still  increase  the  woes  so  soon  begun  ? 
[nured  to  sorrow  from  my  tender  years, 

My  parents’  ashes  drank  my  early  tears: 

My  brother  next,  neglecting  wealth  and 
fame, 

Ignobly  burn’d  in  a destructive  flame  : 

An  infant  daughter  late  my  griefs  in- 
creas’d, 

And  all  a mother’s  cares  distract  my 
breast. 

Alas  ! what  more  could  Fate  itself  impose, 
But  thee,  the  last,  and  greatest  of  my 
woes  ? 80 

No  more  my  robes  in  waving  purple  flow, 
Nor  on  my  hand  the  sparkling  diamonds 
glow  ; 

No  more  my  locks  in  ringlets  curl’d  diffuse 
The  costly  sweetness  of  Arabian  dews, 

Nor  braids  of  gold  the  varied  tresses  bind, 
That  fly  disorder’d  with  the  wanton  wind: 
For  whom  should  Sappho  use  such  arts  as 
these  ? 

He ’s  gone,  whom  only  she  desired  to 
please  ! 

Cupid’s  light  darts  my  tender  bosom  move; 
Still  is  there  cause  for  Sappho  still  to 
love  : 9° 

So  from  my  birth  the  sisters  fix’d  my 
doom, 

And  gave  to  Venus  all  my  life  to  come; 

Or,  while  my  Muse  in  melting  notes  com- 
plains, 

My  yielding  heart  keeps  measure  to  my 
strains. 

By  charms  like  thine  which  all  my  soul 
have  won, 

Who  might  not  — ah  ! who  would  not  be 
undone  ? 

For  those  Aurora  Cephalus  might  scorn, 
And  with  fresh  blushes  paint  the  conscious 
morn. 


For  those  might  Cynthia  lengthen  Phaon’s 
sleep,  99 

And  bid  Endymion  nightly  tend  his  sheep. 
Venus  for  those  had  rapt  thee  to  the  skies; 
But  Mars  on  thee  might  look  with  Venus’ 
eyes. 

O scarce  a youth,  yet  scarce  a tender  boy! 

O useful  time  for  lovers  to  employ! 

Pride  of  thy  age,  and  glory  of  thy  race, 
Come  to  these  arms,  and  melt  in  this  em- 
brace ! 

The  vows  you  never  will  return,  receive; 
And  take,  at  least,  the  love  you  will  not 
give. 

See,  while  I write,  my  words  are  lost  in 
tears! 

The  less  my  sense,  the  more  my  love  ap- 
pears. 110 

Sure ’t  was  not  much  to  bid  one  kind  adieu 
(At  least  to  feign  was  never  hard  to  you): 
‘Farewell,  my  Lesbian  love,’  you  might 
have  said  ; 

Or  coldly  thus,  ‘Farewell,  O Lesbian 
maid  ! ’ 

No  tear  did  you,  no  parting  kiss  receive, 
Nor  knew  I then  how  much  I was  to 
grieve. 

No  lover’s  gift  your  Sappho  could  confer, 
And  wrongs  and  woes  were  all  you  left 
with  her. 

No  charge  I gave  you,  and  no  charge  could 
give, 

But  this,  ‘ Be  mindful  of  our  loves,  and 
live.’  120 

Now  by  the  Nine,  those  powers  ador’d  by 
me, 

And  Love,  the  God  that  ever  waits  on 
thee, 

When  first  I heard  (from  whom  I hardly 
knew) 

That  you  were  fled,  and  all  my  joys  with 
you, 

Like  some  sad  statue,  speechless,  pale,  I 
stood, 

Grief  chill’d  my  breast,  and  stopt  my  freez- 
ing blood; 

No  sigh  to  rise,  no  tear  had  power  to  flow, 
Fix’d  in  a stupid  lethargy  of  woe : 

But  when  its  way  th’  impetuous  passion 
found, 

I rend  my  tresses,  and  my  breast  I wound; 
I rave,  then  weep;  I curse,  and  then  com- 
plain; . *3* 

Now  swell  to  rage,  now  melt  in  tears 
again. 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  OVID 


62 


Not  fiercer  pangs  distract  the  mournful 
dame, 

Whose  first-born  infant  feeds  the  funeral 
flame. 

My  scornful  brother  with  a smile  appears, 
Insults  my  woes,  and  triumphs  in  my  tears; 
His  hated  image  ever  haunts  my  eyes; 

‘ And  why  this  grief  ? thy  daughter  lives,’ 
he  cries, 

Stung  with  my  love,  and  furious  with  de- 
spair, 

All  torn  my  garments,  and  my  bosom  bare, 
My  woes,  thy  crimes,  I to  the  world  pro- 
claim, I4I 

Such  inconsistent  things  are  Love  and 
Shame! 

?T  is  thou  art  all  my  care  and  my  delight, 
My  daily  longing,  and  my  dream  by  night: 

0 night  more  pleasing  than  the  brightest 

day, 

When  fancy  gives  what  absence  takes 
away, 

And,  dress’d  in  all  its  visionary  charms, 
Restores  my  fair  deserter  to  my  arms! 
Then  round  your  neck  in  wanton  wreaths 
I twine; 

Then  you,  methinks,  as  fondly  circle  mine: 
A thousand  tender  words  I hear  and 
speak;  15I 

A thousand  melting  kisses  give  and  take: 
Then  fiercer  joys  — I blush  to  mention 
these, 

Yet,  while  I blush,  confess  how  much  they 
please. 

But  when,  with  day,  the  sweet  delusions 

And  all  things  wake  to  life  and  joy  but  I, 
As  if  once  more  forsaken,  I complain, 

And  close  my  eyes  to  dream  of  you  again: 
Then  frantic  rise,  and  like  some  fury  rove 
Thro’  lonely  plains,  and  thro’  the  silent 
grove;  160 

As  if  the  silent  grove,  and  lonely  plains, 
That  knew  my  pleasures,  could  relieve  my 
pains. 

1 view  the  grotto,  once  the  scene  of  love, 
The  rocks  around,  the  hanging  roofs  above, 
That  charm’d  me  more,  with  native  moss 

o’ergrown, 

Than  Phrygian  marble,  or  the  Parian 
stone: 

I find  the  shades  that  veil’d  our  joys  be- 
fore; 

But,  Phaon  gone,  those  shades  delight  no 
more. 


Here  the  press’d  herbs  with  bending  tops 
betray 

Where  oft  entwin’d  in  am’rous  folds  we 

lay;  _ 17c 

I kiss  that  earth  which  once  was  press’d  by 
you, 

And  all  with  tears  the  with’ring  herbs  be- 
dew. 

For  thee  the  fading  trees  appear  to  mourn, 
And  birds  defer  their  songs  till  thy  return: 
Night  shades  the  groves,  and  all  in  silence 
lie, 

All  but  the  mournful  Philomel  and  I: 

With  mournful  Philomel  I join  my  strain, 
Of  Tereus  she,  of  Phaon  I complain. 

A spring  there  is,  whose  silver  waters 
show, 

Clear  as  a glass,  the  shining  sands  below: 
A flowery  lotos  spreads  its  arms  above,  18 > 
Shades  all  the  banks,  and  seems  itself  a 
grove; 

Eternal  greens  the  mossy  margin  grace, 
Watch’d  by  the  sylvan  genius  of  the  place. 
Here  as  I lay,  and  swell’d  with  tears  the 
flood, 

Before  my  sight  a wat’ry  virgin  stood: 

She  stood  and  cried,  ‘ O you  that  love  in 
vain! 

Fly  hence,  and  seek  the  fair  Leucadian 
main. 

There  stands  a rock,  from  whose  impending 
steep 

Apollo’s  fane  surveys  the  rolling  deep;  i9c 
There  injur’d  lovers,  leaping  from  above, 
Their  flames  extinguish,  and  forget  to  love. 
Deucalion  once  with  hopeless  fury  burn’d; 
In  vain  he  lov’d,  relentless  Pyrrha  scorn’d: 
But  when  from  hence  he  plunged  into  the 
main, 

Deucalion  scorn’d,  and  Pyrrha  lov’d  in  vain. 
Haste,  Sappho,  haste,  from  high  Leucadia 
throw 

Thy  wretched  weight,  nor  dread  the  deepg 
below!  ’ 

She  spoke,  and  vanish’d  with  the  voice  — I 
rise, 

And  silent  tears  fall  trickling  from  my 
eyes.  2oc 

I g°>  ye  Nymphs!  those  rocks  and  seas  to 
prove ; 

How  much  I fear,  but  ah,  how  much  I 

love ! 

I g°>  ye  Nymphs!  where  furious  love  in- 
spires, 

Let  female  fears  submit  to  female  fires. 


THE  FABLE  OF  DRYOPE 


63 


> rocks  and  seas  I fly  from  Phaon  s hate, 
id  hope  from  seas  and  rocks  a milder 
fate. 

3 gentle  gales,  beneath  my  body  blow, 

;id  softly  lay  me  on  the  waves  below! 
ad  thou,  kind  Love,  my  sinking  limbs ' 
sustain, 

„read  thy  soft  wings,  and  waft  me  o er  ^ 
the  main,  2I° 

or  let  a lover’s  death  the  guiltless  flood 
profane ; 

n Phoebus’  shrine  my  harp  I’ll  then  be- 
stow, 

nd  this  inscription  shall  be  placed  below: 
iere  she  who  sung,  to  him  that  did  in- 
spire, 

ippho  to  Phoebus  consecrates  her  lyre: 
fhat  suits  with  Sappho,  Phoebus,  suits  with 
thee; 

he  Gift,  the  Giver,  and  the  God  agree. 

But  why,  alas ! relentless  youth,  ah  why 
o distant  seas  must  tender  Sappho  fly  ? 
hy  charms  than  those  may  far  more 
powerful  be,  220 

nd  Phoebus’  self  is  less  a God  to  me. 
ih!  canst  thou  doom  me  to  the  rocks  and 
sea, 

>h!  far  more  faithless  and  more  hard  than 


Gods!  can  no  prayers,  no  sighs,  no  numbers 


move 

One  savage  heart,  or  teach  it  how  to  love  ? 

The  winds  my  prayers,  my  sighs,  my  num- 
bers bear, 

The  flying  winds  have  lost  them  all  in  air! 

Oh  when,  alas!  shall  more  auspicious  gales 

To  these  fond  eyes  restore  thy  welcome 
sails! 

If  you  return  — ah,  why  these  long  delays  ? 

Poor  Sappho  dies  while  careless  Phaon 
stays. 

O launch  thy  bark,  nor  fear  the  wat  ry 
plain;  2 5° 

Yenus  for  thee  shall  smooth  her  native 
main. 

O launch  thy  bark,  secure  of  prosp’rous 


gales ; 

Cupid  for  thee  shall  spread  the  swelling 
sails. 

If  you  will  fly  — (yet  ah  ! what  cause  can  be, 
Too  cruel  youth,  that  you  should  fly  from 
me  ?) 

If  not  from  Phaon  I must  hope  for  ease, 

Ah  let  me  seek  it  from  the  raging  seas: 

To  raging  seas  unpitied  I ’ll  remove, 

And  either  cease  to  live  or  cease  to  love  ! 


,h ! canst  thou  rather  see  this  tender 
breast 

lash’d  on  these  rocks  than  to  thy  bosom 
press’d  ? 

'his  breast  which  once,  in  vain!  you  liked 
so  well 

Where  the  Loves  play’d,  and  where  the 
Muses  dwell. 

Gas!  the  Muses  now  no  more  inspire; 
Jntuned  my  lute,  and  silent  is  my  lyre.  229 
dy  languid"  numbers  have  forgot  to  flow, 
Lnd  fancy  sinks  beneath  a weight  of  woe. 
fe  Lesbian  virgins,  and  ye  Lesbian  dames, 
Themes  of  my  verse,  and  objects  of  my 
flames, 

sTo  more  your  groves  with  my  glad  songs 
shall  ring, 

*0  more  these  hands  shall  touch  the  trem- 
bling string: 

Vly  Phaon  ’s  fled,  and  I those  arts  resign ; 
Wretch  that  I am,  to  call  that  Phaon 
mine!) 

Return,  fair  youth,  return,  and  bring  along 
Joy  to  my  soul,  and  vigour  to  my  song:  239 
Absent  from  thee,  the  poet’s  flame  expires; 
But  ah!  how  fiercely  burn  the  lover’s  fires! 


THE  FABLE  OF  DRYOPE 

FROM  THE  NINTH  BOOK  OF  OVID’S 

metamorphoses 

She  said,  and  for  her  lost  Galanthis  sighs  ; 
When  the  fair  consort  of  her  son  replies  : 

‘ Since  you  a servant’s  ravish’d  form  be- 
moan, 

And  kindly  sigh  for  sorrows  not  your  own, 
Let  me  (if  tears  and  grief  permit)  relate 
A nearer  woe,  a sister’s  stranger  fate. 

No  nymph  of  all  (Echalia  could  compare 
For  beauteous  form  with  Dryope  the  fair, 
Her  tender  mother’s  only  hope  and  pride 
(Myself  the  offspring  of  a second  bride).  10 
This  nymph  compress’d  by  him  who  rules 
the  day, 

Whom  Delphi  and  the  Delian  isle  obey, 
Andrsemon  lov’d  ; and  bless’d  in  all  those 
charms 

That  pleas’d  a God,  succeeded  to  her  arms. 
‘ A lake  there  was  with  shelving  banks 
around, 

Whose  verdant  summit  fragrant  myrtles 
crown’d. 


64 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  OVID 


These  shades,  unknowing  of  the  fates,  she 
sought, 

And  to  the  Naiads  flowery  garlands 
brought  : 

Her  smiling  babe  (a  pleasing  charge)  she 
prest 

Within  her  arms,  and  nourish’d  at  her 
breast.  20 

Not  distant  far  a wat’ry  lotos  grows; 

The  spring  was  new,  and  all  the  verdant 
boughs 

Adorn’d  with  blossoms,  promis’d  fruits  that 
vie 

In  glowing  colours  with  the  Tyrian  dye. 

Of  these  she  cropp’d,  to  please  her  infant 
son, 

And  I myself  the  same  rash  act  had  done: 
But,  lo!  I saw  (as  near  her  side  I stood) 
The  violated  blossoms  drop  with  blood; 
Upon  the  tree  I cast  a frightful  look; 

The  trembling  tree  with  sudden  horror 
shook.  30 

Lotis  the  nymph  (if  rural  tales  be  true) 

As  from  Priapus’  lawless  lust  she  flew, 
Forsook  her  form,  and,  fixing  here,  became 
A flowery  plant,  which  still  preserves  her 
name. 

* This  change  unknown,  astonish’d  at  the 
sight, 

My  trembling  sister  strove  to  urge  her 
flight; 

And  first  the  pardon  of  the  Nymphs  im- 
plor’d, 

And  those  offended  sylvan  Powers  ador’d: 
But  when  she  backward  would  have  fled, 
she  found 

Her  stiff’ning  feet  were  rooted  in  the 
ground : 40 

In  vain  to  free  her  fasten’d  feet  she  strove, 
And  as  she  struggles  only  moves  above; 

She  feels  tli’  encroaching  bark  around  her 
grow 

By  quick  degrees,  and  cover  all  below: 
Surprised  at  this,  her  trembling  hand  she 
heaves 

To  rend  her  hair;  her  hand  is  fill’d  with 
leaves: 

Where  late  was  hair  the  shooting  leaves 
are  seen 

To  rise,  and  shade  her  with  a sudden  green. 
The  child  Ainphissus,  to  her  bosom  prest, 
Perceiv’d  a colder  and  a harder  breast,  50 
And  found  the  springs,  that  ne’er  till  then 
denied 

Their  milky  moisture,  on  a sudden  dried. 


I saw,  unhappy ! what  I now  relate, 

And  stood  the  helpless  witness  of  thy  fat* 
Embraced  thy  boughs,  thy  rising  bark  d* 
lay’d, 

There  wish’d  to  grow,  and  mingle  shad 
with  shade. 

‘ Behold  Andrsemon  and  th’  unliapp 
sire 

Appear,  and  for  their  Dryope  inquire: 

A springing  tree  for  Dryope  they  find, 
And  print  warm  kisses  on  the  panting  rim 
Prostrate,  with  tears,  their  kindred  plai 
bedew,  < 

And  close  embrace  as  to  the  roots  the 
grew. 

The  face  was  all  that  now  remain’d  c 
thee, 

No  more  a woman,  nor  yet  quite  a tree;  I 
Thy  branches  hung  with  humid  pearls  aj 
pear, 

From  ev’ry  leaf  distils  a trickling  tear; 
And  straight  a voice,  while  yet  a voice  rt 
mains, 

Thus  thro’  the  trembling  boughs  in  sigl 
complains. 

‘ If  to  the  wretched  any  faith  be  giv’n, 

I swear  by  all  th’  unpitying  powers  c 
Heav’n, 

No  wilful  crime  this  heavy  vengeance  brec 
In  mutual  innocence  our  lives  we  led : 

If  this  be  false,  let  these  new  greens  de- ' 
cay, 

Let  sounding  axes  lop  my  limbs  away, 

And  crackling  flames  on  all  my  honours 

prey-  _ 

But  from  my  branching  arms  this  infar 
bear; 

Let  some  kind  nurse  supply  a mother 
care; 

And  to  his  mother  let  him  oft  be  led, 
Sport  in  her  shades,  and  in  her  shades  b 
fed. 

Teach  him,  when  first  his  infant  voice  sha 
frame  { 

Imperfect  words,  and  lisp  his  mother 
name, 

To  hail  this  tree,  and  say  with  weepin 

eyes, 

“ Within  this  plant  my  hapless  parent  lies: 
And  when  in  youth  he  seeks  the  shad 
woods, 

Oh!  let  him  fly  the  crystal  lakes  and  flood: 
Nor  touch  the  fatal  flowers;  but,  warn’d  b 
me, 

Believe  a Goddess  shrined  in  every  tree. 


VERTUMNUS  AND  POMONA 


65 


ffy  sire,  my  sister,  and  my  spouse,  farewell  ! 
f in  your  breasts  or  love  or  pity  dwell, 
Protect  your  plant,  nor  let  my  branches 
feel  90 

Hie  browsing  cattle  or  the  piercing  steel, 
farewell ! and  since  I cannot  bend  to  join 
Vly  lips  to  yours,  advance  at  least  to  mine, 
fcly  son,  thy  mother’s  parting  kiss  receive, 
<Vhile  yet  thy  mother  has  a kiss  to  give. 

1 can  no  more;  the  creeping  rind  invades 
vly  closing  lips,  and  hides  my  head  in 
shades: 

lemove  your  hands;  the  bark  shall  soon 
suffice 

(Vithout  their  aid  to  seal  these  dying  eyes.’ 

* She  ceas’d  at  once  to  speak  and  ceas’d 
to  be,  100 

Vnd  all  the  Nymph  was  lost  within  the 
tree ; 

fet  latent  life  thro’  her  new  branches  reign’d 
Vnd  long  the  plant  a human  heat  retain’d.’ 

VERTUMNUS  AND  POMONA 

''ROM  THE  FOURTEENTH  BOOK  OF  OVID’S 
METAMORPHOSES 

Che  fair  Pomona  flourish’d  in  his  reign; 

)f  all  the  virgins  of  the  sylvan  train 
^one  taught  the  trees  a nobler  race  to 
bear, 

)r  more  improv’d  the  vegetable  care. 

To  her  the  shady  grove,  the  flowery  field, 
The  streams  and  fountains  no  delights 
could  yield; 

T was  all  her  joy  the  ripening  fruits  to 
tend, 

Vnd  see  the  boughs  with  happy  burdens 
bend. 

The  hook  she  bore  instead  of  Cynthia’s 
spear. 

To  lop  the  growth  of  the  luxuriant  year,  ro 
To  decent  form  the  lawless  shoots  to  bring, 
Vnd  teach  th’  obedient  branches  where  to 
spring. 

NTow  the  cleft  rind  inserted  grafts  receives, 
Vnd  yields  an  offspring  more  than  Nature 
gives  ; 

tfow  sliding  streams  the  thirsty  plants  re- 
1 new, 

And  feed  their  fibres  with  reviving  dew. 

These  cares  alone  her  virgin  breast  em- 

* ploy’ 

Vverse  from  Venus  and  the  nuptial  joy. 


Her  private  orchards,  wall’d  on  every  side, 
To  lawless  sylvans  all  access  denied.  20 
How  oft  the  Satyrs  and  the  wanton  Fauns, 
Who  haunt  the  forests  or  frequent  the 
lawns, 

The  God  whose  ensign  scares  the  birds  of 
prey, 

And  old  Silenus,  youthful  in  decay, 
Employ’d  their  wiles  and  unavailing  care 
To  pass  the  fences,  and  surprise  the  Fair  ? 
Like  these  Vertumnus  own’d  his  faithful 
flame, 

Like  these  rejected  by  the  scornful  dame. 
To  gain  her  sight  a thousand  forms  he 
wears ; 

And  first  a reaper  from  the  field  appears:  30 
Sweating  he  walks,  while  loads  of  golden 
grain 

O’ercharge  the  shoulders  of  the  seeming 
swain: 

Oft  o’er  his  back  a crooked  scythe  is  laid, 
And  wreaths  of  hay  his  sunburnt  temples 
shade: 

Oft  in  his  harden’d  hand  a goad  he  bears, 
Like  one  who  late  unyoked  the  sweating 
steers: 

Sometimes  his  pruning-hook  corrects  the 
vines, 

And  the  loose  stragglers  to  their  ranks 
confines: 

Now  gath’ring  what  the  bounteous  year 
allows, 

He  pulls  ripe  apples  from  the  bending 
boughs : 40 

A soldier  now,  he  with  his  sword  appears; 
A fisher  next,  his  trembling  angle  bears: 
Each  shape  he  varies,  and  each  art  he 
tries, 

On  her  bright  charms  to  feast  his  longing 
eyes. 

A female  form  at  last  V ertumnus  wears,  "j 
With  all  the  marks  of  rev’rend  age  ap-  I 
pears,  j 

His  temples  thinly  spread  with  silverhairs:  J 
Propp’d  on  his  staff,  and  stooping  as  he 
goes, 

A painted  mitre  shades  his  furrow’d  brows. 
The  God  in  this  decrepit  form  array’d,  50  "| 
The  gardens  enter’d,  and  the  fruit  sur- 
vey’d; > 

And,  ‘ Happy  you  ! ’ he  thus  address’d  the 
maid,  j 

‘ Whose  charms  as  far  all  other  nymphs 
outshine, 

As  other  gardens  are  excelFd  by  thine  l ’ 


66 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  OVID 


Then  kiss’d  the  Fair;  (his  kisses  warmer 
grow 

Than  such  as  women  on  their  sex  bestow) 
Then  placed  beside  her  on  the  flowery 
ground, 

Beheld  the  trees  with  autumn’s  bounty 
crown’d. 

An  elm  was  near,  to  whose  embraces  led, 
The  curling  vine  her  swelling  clusters 
spread:  60 

He  view’d  her  twining  branches  with  de- 
light, 

And  prais’d  the  beauty  of  the  pleasing  sight. 

‘ Yet  this  tall  elm,  but  for  this  vine,’  he 
said, 

“ Had  stood  neglected,  and  a barren  shade; 
And  this  fair  vine,  but  that  her  arms  sur- 
round 

Her  married  elm,  had  crept  along  the 
ground. 

Ah!  beauteous  maid!  let  this  example  move 
Your  mind,  averse  from  all  the  joys  of 
love. 

Deign  to  be  lov’d,  and  every  heart  subdue! 
What  Nymph  could  e’er  attract  such  crowds 
as  you  ? 70 

Not  she  whose  beauty  urged  the  Centaur’s 
arms, 

Ulysses’  queen,  nor  Helen’s  fatal  charms. 
Ev’11  now,  when  silent  scorn  is  all  they 
gain, 

A thousand  court  you,  tho’  they  court  in 
vain, 

A thousand  Sylvans,  Demigods,  and  Gods, 
That  haunt  our  mountains  and  our  Alban 
woods. 

But  if  you  ’ll  prosper,  mark  what  I advise, 
Whom  age  and  long  experience  render  wise, 
And  one  whose  tender  care  is  far  above 
All  that  these  lovers  ever  felt  of  love  80 
(Far  more  than  e’er  can  by  yourself  be 
guess’d) ; 

Fix  on  Vertumnus,  and  reject  the  rest: 

For  his  firm  faith  I dare  engage  my  own; 
Scarce  to  himself  himself  is  better  known. 
To  distant  lands  Vertumnus  never  roves; 
Like  you,  contented  with  his  native  groves; 
Nor  at  first  sight,  like  most,  admires  the 
Fair; 

For  you  he  lives;  and  you  alone  shall  share 
His  last  affection  as  his  early  care. 


Besides,  he ’s  lovely  far  above  the  rest,  9c 
With  youth  immortal,  and  with  beauty 
blest. 

Add,  that  he  varies  every  shape  with  ease, 
And  tries  all  forms  that  may  Pomom 
please. 

But  what  should  most  excite  a mutual  flame 
Your  rural  cares  and  pleasures  are  th( 
same. 

To  him  your  orchard’s  early  fruits  are  du< 
(A  pleasing  off’ring  when  ’t  is  made  b^ 
you) ; 

He  values  these;  but  yet,  alas!  complains 
That  still  the  best  and  dearest  gift  remains 
Not  the  fair  fruit  that  on  yon  branche 
glows  10 

With  that  ripe  red  th’  autumnal  sun  be 
stows; 

Nor  tasteful  herbs  that  in  these  garden 
rise, 

Which  the  kind  soil  with  milky  sap  sup 
plies ; 

You,  only  you,  can  move  the  God’s  desire. 
O crown  so  constant  and  so  pure  a fire! 
Let  soft  compassion  touch  your  gentl 
mind ; 

Think ’t  is  Vertumnus  begs  you  to  be  kind 
So  may  no  frost,  when  early  buds  appear, 1 
Destroy  the  promise  of  the  youthful  year; 
Nor  winds,  when  first  your  florid  orchar 
blows,  I. 

Shake  the  light  blossoms  from  their  blaste 
boughs ! ’ 

This,  when  the  various  God  had  urged  i 
vain, 

He  straight  assumed  his  native  form  agair 
Such,  and  so  bright  an  aspect  now  h 
bears, 

As  when  thro’  clouds  tli’  emerging  sun  aj 
pears, 

And  thence  exerting  his  refulgent  ray, 
Dispels  the  darkness,  and  reveals  the  day 
Force  he  prepared,  but  check’d  the  ras 
design; 

For  when,  appearing  in  a form  divine, 

The  Nymph  surveys  him,  and  beholds  tli 
grace  1 

Of  charming  features  and  a youthful  face 
In  her  soft  breast  consenting  passions  mov 
And  the  warm  maid  confess’d  a mutu; 
love. 


AN  ESSAY  ON  CRITICISM 


67 


AN  ESSAY  ON  CRITICISM 


This,  the  first  mature  original  work  of  the  author,  was  written  in  1709,  when  Pope  was  in  his 
ventieth  year.  It  was  not  published  till  1711. 


PART  I 

production.  That  it  is  as  great  a fault  to 
judge  ill  as  to  write  ill,  and  a more  danger- 
ous one  to  the  public.  That  a true  Taste  is 
as  rare  to  be  found  as  a true  Genius.  That 
most  men  are  born  with  some  Taste,  but 
spoiled  by  false  education.  The  multitude 
of  Critics,  and  causes  of  them.  That  we  are 
to  study  our  own  Taste,  and  know  the  limits 
of  it.  Nature  the  best  guide  of  judgment. 
Improved  by  Art  and  rules,  which  are  but 
methodized  Nature.  Rules  derived  from  the 
practice  of  the  ancient  poets.  That  therefore 
the  ancients  are  necessary  to  be  studied  by  a 
Critic,  particularly  Homer  and  Virgil.  Of 
licenses,  and  the  use  of  them  by  the  ancients. 
Reverence  due  to  the  ancients,  and  praise  of 
them. 

T is  hard  to  say  if  greater  want  of  skill 
Appear  in  writing  or  in  judging  ill; 
lut  of  the  two  less  dangerous  is  th’  of- 
fence 

?o  tire  our  patience  than  mislead  our  sense  : 
iome  few  in  that,  but  numbers  err  in  this; 
ien  censure  wrong  for  one  who  writes 
amiss  ; 

fool  might  once  himself  alone  expose;  | 
'fow  one  in  verse  makes  many  more  inf 
prose. 

’Tis  with  <?ur  judgments  as  our  watches,! 
none 

lo  just  alike,  yet  each  believes  his  own.  10 1 
n Poets  as  true  Genius  is  but  rare, 

True  Taste  as  seldom  is  the  Critic’s  share; 
3oth  must  alike  from  Heav’n  derive  their 
light, 

These  born  to  judge,  as  well  as  those  to 
write. 

L<et  such  teach  othefrs  who  themselves  ex- 
cel, 

Amd  censure  freely  who  have  written  well  ; 
Authors  are  partial  to  their  wit,  ’tis  true, 
But  are  not  Critics  to  their  judgment 
too  ? 

Yet  if  we  look  more  closely,  we  shall 
find 

Most  have  the  seeds  of  judgment  in  their 
* mind:  20 


Nature  affords  at  least  a glimm’ring  light; 
The  lines,  tho’  touch’d  but  faintly,  are  drawn 
right: 

But  as  the  slightest  sketch,  if  justly  traced, 7 
Is  by  ill  col’ring  but  the  more  disgraced,  V 
So  by  false  learning  is  good  sense  defaced : j 
Some  are  bewilder’d  in  the  maze  of 
schools, 

And  some  made  coxcombs  Nature  meant 
but  fools: 

In  search  of  wit  these  lose  their  common 
sense, 

Each  burns  alike,  who  can  or  cannot  write, 
Or  with  a rival’s  or  an  eunuch’s  spite.  31 
All  fools  have  still  an  itching  to  deride, 
And  fain  would  be  upon  the  laughing  side. 
If  Msevius  scribble  in  Apollo’s  spite, 

There  are  who  judge  still  worse  than  he 


can  write. 

Some  have  at  first  for  Wits,  then  Poets 
pass’d; 

Turn’d  Critics  next,  and  prov’d  plain  Fools 
at  last. 

Some  neither  can  for  Wits  nor  Critics  pass, 

As  heavy  mules  are  neither  horse  nor  ass. 

Those  half-learn’d  witlings,  numerous  in 
our  isle,  4° 

As  half-form’d  insects  on  the  banks  of 
Nile  ; 

Unfinisli’d  things,  one  knows  not  what  to 
call, 

Their  generation ’s  so  equivocal; 

To  tell  them  would  a hundred  tongues  re- 
quire, 

Or  one  vain  Wit’s,  that  might  a hundred 


tire. 

But  you  who  seek  to  give  and  merit 
fame, 

And  justly  bear  a Critic’s  noble  name, 

Be  sure  yourself  and  your  own  reach  to 
know, 

How  far  your  Genius,  Taste,  and  Learning 


go, 

Launch  not  beyond  your  depth,  but  be  dis-' 
creet,  5° 

And  mark  that  point  where  Sense  and  Duh 
ness  meet. 


68 


AN  ESSAY  ON  CRITICISM 


Nature  to  all  things  fix’d  the  limits  fit, 
And  wisely  curb’d  proud  man’s  pretending 
wit. 

As  on  the  land  while  here  the  ocean 
gains, 

In  other  parts  it  leaves  wide  sandy  plains; 
Thus  in  the  soul  while  Memory  prevails, 
The  solid  power  of  Understanding  fails; 
Where  beams  of  warm  Imagination  play, 
The  Memory’s  soft  figures  melt  away. 

One  Science  only  will  one  genius  fit;  60 
So  vast  is  Art,  so  narrow  human  wit: 

Not  only  bounded  to  peculiar  arts, 

But  oft  in  those  confin’d  to  single  parts. 
Like  Kings  we  lose  the  conquests  gain’d 
before, 

By  vain  ambition  still  to  make  them  more  : 
Each  might  his  sev’ral  province  well  com- 
mand, 

Would  all  but  stoop  to  what  they  under- 
stand. 

First  follow  Nature,  and  your  judgment 
frame 

3By  her  just  standard,  which  is  still  the 
same  ; 

Unerring  Nature,  still  divinely  bright,  70 
ne  clear,  unchanged,  and  universal  light, 
3Life,  force,  and  beauty  must  to  all  impart, 
At  once  the  source,  and  end,  and  test  of 
Art. 

Art  from  that  fund  each  just  supply  pro- 
vides, 

Works  without  show,  and  without  pomp 
presides. 

In  some  fair  body  thus  th’  informing  soul 
With  spirits  feeds,  with  vigour  fills  the 
whole; 

(Each  motion  guides,  and  every  nerve  sus- 
tains, 

Itself  unseen,  hut  in  th’  effects  remains, 
fcioine,  to  whom  Heav’n  in  wit  has  been  pro- 
fuse, 80 

Want  as  much  more  to  turn  it  to  its  use ; 
Eor  Wit  and  Judgment  often  are  at  strife, 
Tho’  meant  each  other’s  aid,  like  man  and 
wife. 

’T  is  more  to  guide  than  spur  the  Muse’s 
steed, 

Restrain  his  fury  than  provoke  his  speed: 
The  winged  courser,  like  a gen’rous  horse, 
Shows  most  true  mettle  when  you  check 
his  course. 

Those  rules  of  old,  discover’d,  not  de- 
vised, 

Are  Nature  still,  but  Nature  methodized; 


Nature,  like  Liberty,  is  but  restrain’d  90 
By  the  same  laws  which  first  herself  or- 
dain’d. 

Hear  how  learn’d  Greece  her  useful  rules  ^ 
indites 

When  to  repress  and  when  indulge  our 
flights: 

High  on  Parnassus’  top  her  sons  she 
show’d, 

And  pointed  out  those  arduous  paths  they 
trod; 

Held  from  afar,  aloft,  th’  immortal  prize, 
And  urged  the  rest  by  equal  steps  to  rise. 
Just  precepts  thus  from  great  examples 
giv’n,  ^ c p ! 

She  drew  from  them  what  they  derived 
from  Heav’n. 

The  gen’rous  Critic  fann’d  the  poet’s  fire, 
And  taught  the  world  with  reason  to  ad- 
mire. IOI 

Then  Criticism  the  Muse’s  handmaid 
prov’d, 

To  dress  her  charms,  and  make  her  more 
belov’d: 

But  following  Wits  from  that  intention 
stray’d : 

Who  could  not  win  the  mistress  woo’d  the 
maid; 

(Against  the  Poets  their  own  arms  they 
turn’d, 

(Sure  to  hate  most  the  men  from  whom 
they  learn’d. 

So  modern  ’pothecaries,  taught  the  art 
By  doctors’  bills  to  play  the  doctor’s  part, 
Bold  in  the  practice  of  mistaken  rules,  no 
Prescribe,  apply,  and  call  their  masters 
fools. 

Some  on  the  leaves  of  ancient  authors  prey; 
Nor  time  nor  moths  e’er  spoil’d  so  much  as 
they; 

Some  drily  plain,  without  invention’s  aid, 
Write  dull  receipts  how  poems  may  be 
made; 

These  leave  the  sense  their  learning  to 
display, 

And  those  explain  the  meaning  quite  away. 

You  then  whose  judgment  the  right  course 
would  steer, 

Know  well  each  ancient’s  proper  character; 
His  fable,  subject,  scope  in  every  page;  120 
Religion,  country,  genius  of  his  age: 
Without  all  these  at  once  before  your  eyes, 
Cavil  you  may,  but  never  criticise. 

Be  Homer’s  works  your  study  and  delight, 
Read  them  by  day,  and  meditate  by  night; 


AN  ESSAY  ON  CRITICISM 


69 


hence  form  your  judgment,  thence  your 
maxims  bring, 

nd  trace  the  Muses  upward  to  their  spring, 
till  with  itself  compared,  his  text  peruse; 
nd  let  your  comment  be  the  Mantuan 
, Muse. 

When  first  young  Maro  in  his  boundless 
mind  130 

work  t’  outlast  immortal  Rome  design’d, 
erhaps  he  seem’d  above  the  critic’s  law, 
nd  but  from  Nature’s  fountains  scorn’d  to 
draw; 

ut  when  t’  examine  ev’ry  part  be  came, 
ature  and  Homer  were,  he  found,  the 
same. 

bnvinced,  amazed,  he  checks  the  bold  "1 
design, 

nd  rules  as  strict  his  labour’d  work  con-  > 
fine 

s if  the  Stagyrite  o’erlook’d  each  line.  J 
earn  hence  for  ancient  rules  a just  es- 
teem; 

0 copy  Nature  is  to  copy  them.  140 

Some  beauties  yet  no  precepts  can  de- 

1 clare, 

or  there ’s  a happiness  as  well  as  care, 
i usic  resembles  poetry;  in  each  ) 

re  nameless  graces  which  no  methods  I 
teach,  j 

nd  which  a master-hand  alone  can  reach.  J 
f,  where  the  rules  not  far  enough  extend, 
Since  rules  were  made  but  to  promote  their 
end) 

)me  lucky  license  answer  to  the  full 
h’  intent  proposed,  that  license  is  a rule, 
hus  Pegasus,  a nearer  way  to  take,  150 
ay  boldly  deviate  from  the  common  track, 
reat  Wits  sometimes  may  gloriously  of- 
fend, 

nd  rise  to  faults  true  Critics  dare  not 
mend; 

rom  vulgar  bounds  with  brave  disorder 
part, 

nd  snatch  a grace  beyond  the  reach  of  Art, 
rhich,  without  passing  thro’  the  judg- 
ment, gains 

lie  heart,  and  all  its  end  at  once  attains. 

1 prospects  thus  some  objects  please  our  ) 

\ . eyes,  I 

hieh  out  of  Nature’s  common  order  rise,  j 
‘be  shapeless  rock,  or  hanging  precipice.  J 
it  tho’  the  ancients  thus  their  rules  in- 
vade, 161 

ts  Kings  dispense  with  laws  themselves 
have  made) 


Moderns,  beware!  or  if  you  must  offend 
Against  the  precept,  ne’er  transgress  its  end ; 
Let  it  be  seldom,  and  compell’d  by  need ; 
And  have  at  least  their  precedent  to  plead; 
The  Critic  else  proceeds  without  remorse, 
Seizes  your  fame,  and  puts  his  laws  in 
force. 

I know  there  are  to  whose  presumptu- 
ous thoughts 

Those  freer  beauties,  ev’n  in  them,  seem 
faults.  170 

Some  figures  monstrous  and  misshaped  ap- 
pear, 

Consider’d  singly,  or  beheld  too  near, 
Which,  but  proportion’d  to  their  light  or 
place, 

Due  distance  reconciles  to  form  and  grace. 
A prudent  chief  not  always  must  display 
His  powers  in  equal  ranks  and  fair  array. 
But  with  th’  occasion  and  the  place  comply, 
Conceal  his  force,  nay,  seem  sometimes  to 

fly- 

Those  oft  are  stratagems  which  errors 
seem, 

Nor  is  it  Homer  nods,  but  we  that  dream. 

Still  green  with  bays  each  ancient  altar 
stands  18 1 

Above  the  reach  of  sacrilegious  hands, 
Secure  from  flames,  from  Envy’s  fiercer 
rage, 

Destructive  war,  and  all-involving  Age. 

See  from  each  clime  the  learn’d  their  incense 
bring! 

Hear  in  all  tongues  consenting  paeans  ring! 
In  praise  so  just  let  ev’ry  voice  be  join’d, 
And  fill  the  gen’ral  chorus  of  mankind. 
Hail,  Bards  triumphant!  born  in  happier 
days, 

Immortal  heirs  of  universal  praise!  190 
Whose  honours  with  increase  of  ages  grow, 
As  streams  roll  down,  enlarging  as  they 
flow; 

Nations  unborn  your  mighty  names  shall 
sound, 

And  worlds  applaud  that  must  not  yet  be 
found ! 

O may  some  spark  of  your  celestial  fire 
The  last,  the  meanest  of  your  sons  inspire, 
(That  on  weak  wings,  from  far,  pursues 
your  flights, 

Glows  while  he  reads,  but  trembles  as  he 
writes) 

To  teach  vain  Wits  a science  little  known, 
T’  admire  superior  sense,  and  doubt  their 
own.  200 


70 


AN  ESSAY  ON  CRITICISM 


//PART  II 

Causes  hindering  a true  judgment.  Pride. 
Imperfect  learning.  Judging  by  parts,  and 
not  by  the  whole.  Critics  in  wit,  language,  » 
versification  only.  Being  too  hard  to  please,  1 
or  too  apt  to  admire.  Partiality  — too  much  | 
love  to  a sect  — to  the  ancients  or  mod- 
erns. Prejudice  or  prevention.  Singularity. 
Inconstancy.  Party  spirit.  Envy.  Against 
envy,  and  in  praise  of  good-nature.  When 
severity  is  chiefly  to  be  used  by  critics. 

Of  all  the  causes  which  conspire  to  blind 
Man’s  erring  judgment,  and  misguide  the 

mind,  I 

What  the  weak  head  with  strongest  bias  I 
rules, 

Is  Pride,  the  never  failing  vice  of  fools.  I 
Whatever  Nature  has  in  worth  denied 
She  gives  in  large  recruits  of  needful  Pride: 
For  as  in  bodies,  thus  in  souls,  we  find 
What  wants  in  blood  and  spirits  swell’d  j 
with  wind: 

Pride,  where  Wit  fails,  steps  in  to  our  de- 
fence, 

And  fills  up  all  the  mighty  void  of  Sense:  io 
If  once  right  Reason  drives  that  cloud  away, 
Truth  breaks  upon  us  with  resistless  day. 
Trust  not  yourself;  but  your  defects  to 
know, 

Make  use  of  ev’ry  friend  — and  ev’ry  foe. 

1A  little  learning  is  a dangerous  thing; 
Drink  deep,  or  taste  not  the  Pierian  spring: 
There  shallow  draughts  intoxicate  the  brain, 
And  drinking  largely  sobers  us  again. 

Fired  at  first  sight  with  what  the  Muse 
imparts, 

In  fearless  youth  we  tempt  the  heights  of 
arts,  t 20 

While  from  the  bounded  level  of  our  mind 
Short  views  we  take,  nor  see  the  lengths 
behind : 

But  more  advanc’d,  behold  with  strange 
surprise 

New  distant  scenes  of  endless  science  rise! 

So  pleas’d  at  first  the  tow’ring  Alps  we 
try, 

Mount  o’er  the  vales,  and  seem  to  tread  the 
sky; 

Th’  eternal  snows  appear  already  past, 

And  the  first  clouds  and  mountains  seem  the 
last: 

But  those  attain’d,  we  tremble  to  survey 
The  growing  labours  of  the  lengthen’d 
way;  30 


Th’  increasing  prospect  tires  our  wand’rinc 
eyes, 

Hills  peep  o’er  hills,  and  Alps  on  Alp: 
arise ! 

A perfect  judge  will  read  each  work  o 
wit 

With  the  same  spirit  that  its  author  writ; 
Survey  the  whole,  nor  seek  slight  faults  b 
find 

Where  Nature  moves,  and  Rapture  warm 
the  mind: 

Nor  lose,  for  that  malignant  dull  delight, 
The  gen’rous  pleasure  to  be  charm’d  wit 
wit. 

But  iu  such  lays  as  neither  ebb  nor  flow, 
Correctly  cold,  and  regularly  low,  t 

That  shunning  faults  one  quiet  tenor  keep 
iWe  cannot  blame  indeed  — but  we  ma 
sleep. 

In  Wit,  as  Nature,  what  affects  our  hearts 
Is  not  th’  exactness  of  peculiar  parts; 

I’T  is  not  a lip  or  eye  we  beauty  call, 

But  the  joint  force  and  full  result  of  all. 
Thus  when  we  view  some  well  proportion 
dome, 

(The  world’s  just  wonder,  and  ev’n  thine, 
Rome!) 

No  single  parts  unequally  surprise, 

All  comes  united  to  th’  admiring  eyes;  i 
No  monstrous  height,  or  breadth,  orlengt 
appear; 

The  whole  at  once  is  bold  and  regular. 

Whoever  thinks  a faultless  piece  to  see 
Thinks  what  ne’er  was,  uor  is,  nor  e’er  slu 
be. 

In  every  work  regard  the  writer’s  end, 
Since  none  can  compass  more  than  they  i 
tend ; 

And  if  the  means  be  just,  the  conduct  tri 
Applause,  in  spite  of  trivial  faults,  is  due 
As  men  of  breeding,  sometimes  men 
wit, 

T’  avoid  great  errors  must  the  less  comm 
Neglect  the  rules  each  verbal  critic  lays, 
For  not  to  know  some  trifles  is  a praise. 
Most  critics,  fond  of  some  subservient  ar 
Still  make  the  whole  depend  upon  a part 
They  talk  of  Principles,  but  Notions  priz 
And  all  to  one  lov’d  folly  sacrifice. 

Once  on  a time  La  Mancha’s  Knig 
they  say, 

A certain  bard  encount’ring  on  the  way, 
Discours’d  in  terms  as  just,  with  looks 
sage, 

As  e’er  could  Dennis,  of  the  Grecian  Staj 


AN  ESSAY  ON  CRITICISM 


7i 


including  all  were  desperate  sots  and 
fools  71 

,rho  durst  depart  from  Aristotle’s  rules, 
ur  author,  happy  in  a judge  so  nice, 
poduced  his  play,  and  begg’d  the  knight’s 
advice; 

ade  him  observe  the  Subject  and  the  Plot, 
he  Manners,  Passions,  Unities;  what  not  ? 
11  which  exact  to  rule  were  brought  about, 
f ere  but  a combat  in  the  lists  left  out. 
What!  leave  the  combat  out?’  exclaims 
the  knight. 

ifes,  or  we  must  renounce  the  Stagyrite.’ 
^ot  so,  by  Heaven  ! (he  answers  in  a 
rage)  81 

nights,  squires,  and  steeds  must  enter  on 
i the  stage.’ 

50  vast  a throng  the  stage  can  ne’er  con- 
tain.’ 

Then  build  a new,  or  act  it  in  a plain.’ 

Thus  critics  of  less  judgment  than  ca- 
price, 

urious,  not  knowing,  not  exact,  but  nice, 
orm  short  ideas,  and  offend  in  Arts 
\s  most  in  Manners),  by  a love  to  parts. 
Some  to  Conceit  alone  their  taste  confine, 
nd  glitt’ring  thoughts  struck  out  at  every 
line;  90 

leas’d  with  a work  where  nothing ’s  just  or 
; fit, 

ne  glaring  chaos  and  wild  heap  of  wit. 
oets,  like  painters,  thus  unskill’d  to  trace 
he  naked  nature  and  the  living  grace, 

7ith  gold  and  jewels  cover  every  part, 
nd  hide  with  ornaments  their  want  of  Art. 
rue  Wit  is  Nature  to  advantage  dress’d, 
/"hat  oft  was  thought,  but  ne’er  so  well  ex- 
press’d ; 

ometliing  whose  truth  convinced  at  sight 
1 we  find, 

hat  gives  us  back  the  image  of  our  mind, 
s shades  more  sweetly  recommend  the 

f light,  xoi 

0 modest  plainness  sets  off  sprightly  wit: 
or  works  may  have  more  wit  than  does 

1 them  good, 

\s  bodies  perish  thro’  excess  of  blood. 
Others  for  language  all  their  care  express, 
md  value  books,  as  women  men,  for  dress: 
'heir  praise  is  still — the  Style  is  excel- 
lent; 

'he  Sense  they  humbly  take  upon  content* 
Tords  are  like  leaves;  and  where  they 
most  abound, 

luch  fruit  of  sense  beneath  is  rarely  found. 


False  eloquence,  like  the  prismatic  glass,  nr 
Its  gaudy  colours  spreads  on  every  place; 

The  face  of  Nature  we  no  more  survey, 

All  glares  alike,  without  distinction  gay; 

But  true  expression,  like  th’  unchanging  "I 
sun, 

Clears  and  improves  whate’er  it  shines  > 
upon; 

It  gilds  all  objects,  but  it  alters  none.  J 
Expression  is  the  dress  of  thought,  and  still  l 
Appears  more  decent  as  more  suitable.  * 
A vile  Conceit  in  pompous  words  express’d 
Is  like  a clown  in  regal  purple  dress’d:  121 
For  diff’rent  styles  with  diff’rent  subjects 
sort, 

As  sev’ral  garbs  with  country,  town,  and 
court. 

Some  by  old  words  to  fame  have  made 
pretence, 

Ancients  in  phrase,  mere  moderns  in  their 
sense ; 

Such  labour’d  nothings,  in  so  strange  a 
style, 

Amaze  th’  unlearn’d,  and  make  the  learned 
smile ; 

Unlucky  as  Fungoso  in  the  play, 

These  sparks  with  awkward  vanity  display 
What  the  fine  gentleman  wore  yesterday; 
And  but  so  mimic  ancient  wits  at  best,  13 1 
As  apes  our  grandsires  in  their  doublets 
drest. 

In  words  as  fashions  the  same  rule  will  hold, 
Alike  fautastic  if  too  new  or  old: 

Be  not  the  first  by  whom  the  new  are  tried, 
Nor  yet  the  last  to  lay  the  old  aside. 

But  most  by  Numbers  judge  a poet’s 
song, 

And  smooth  or  rough  with  them  is  right  or 
wrong. 

In  the  bright  Muse  thoJ  thousand  charms  1 
conspire,  139  1 

Her  voice  is  all  these  tuneful  fools  admire;  | 
Who  haunt  Parnassus  but  to  please  their  ) 
ear, 

Not  mend  their  minds;  as  some  to  church  > 
repair, 

Not  for  the  doctrine, but  the  music  there.  J 
These  equal  syllables  alone  require, 

Tho’  oft  the  ear  the  open  vowels  tire, 

While  expletives  their  feeble  aid  do  join,  \ 
And  ten  low  words  oft  creep  in  one  dullj 
line: 

While  they  ring  round  the  same  unvaried 
chimes, 

With  sure  returns  of  still  expected  rhymes; 


cf 

(:■ 

c. 


fcS 


« t 

er* 


If?,’ 


72 


AN  ESSAY  ON  CRITICISM 


Where’er  you  find  ‘ the  cooling  western 
breeze,’  15° 

In  the  next  line,  it  ‘ whispers  thro’  the 
trees; ’ 

If  crystal  streams  ‘ with  pleasing  murmurs 


creep, 


The  reader ’s  threaten’d  (not  in  vain)  with 
‘ sleep;’ 

Then,  at  the  last  and  only  couplet,  fraught 
With  some  unmeaning  thing  they  call  a 
thought, 

#A  needless  Alexandrine  ends  the  song, 

I That,  like  a wounded  snake,  drags  its  slow 
length  along. 

Leave  such  to  tune  their  own  dull  rhymes, 
and  know 

What’s  roundly  smooth,  or  languishingly 
slow  ; 

And  praise  the  easy  vigour  of  a line  160 
Where  Denham’s  strength  and  Waller’s 
sweetness  join. 

iTrue  ease  in  writing  comes  from  Art,  not 
I Chance, 

lAs  those  move  easiest  who  have  learn’d  to 
dance. 

’T  is  not  enough  no  harshness  gives  offence ; 
The  sound  must  seem  an  echo  to  the  sense. 
Soft  is  the  strain  when  zephyr  gently  blows, 
And  the  smooth  stream  in  smoother  num- 
bers flows  ; 

But  when  loud  surges  lash  the  sounding 
shore, 

The  hoarse  rough  verse  should  like  the  tor- 
rent roar. 

When  Ajax  strives  some  rock’s  vast  weight 
to  throw,  17° 

The  line,  too,  labours,  and  the  words  move 
slow: 

Not  so  when  swift  Camilla  scours  the  plain, 
Flies  o’er  th’  unbending  corn,  and  skims 
along  the  main. 

Hear  how  Timotheus’  varied  lays  surprise, 
And  bid  alternate  passions  fall  and  rise! 
While  at  each  change  the  son  of  Libyan 
Jove 

Now  burns  with  glory,  and  then  melts  with 
love; 

Now  his  fierce  eyes  with  sparkling  fury 
glow, 

Now  sighs  steal  out,  and  tears  begin  to 
flow: 

Persians  and  Greeks  like  turns  of  nature 
found,  180 

And  the  world’s  Victor  stood  subdued  by 
sound!  . 


The  power  of  music  all  our  hearts  allow, 
And  what  Timotheus  was  is  Dryden  now. 

Avoid  extremes,  and  shun  the  fault  of 
such 

Who  still  are  pleas’d  too  little  or  too  much. 
At  ev’ry  trifle  scorn  to  take  offence; 

That  always  shows  great  pride  or  little 
sense : 

Those  heads,  as  stomachs,  are  not  sure  the 
best 

Which  nauseate  all,  and  nothing  can  digest. 
Yet  let  not  each  gay  turn  thy  rapture 
move;  19° 

For  fools  admire,  but  men  of  sense  ap- 
prove: 

As  things  seem  large  which  we  thro’  mist 
descry, 

Dulness  is  ever  apt  to  magnify. 

Some  foreign  writers,  some  our  own  de- 
spise; 

The  ancients  only,  or  the  moderns  prize. 
Thus  Wit,  like  Faith,  by  each  man  is  ap- 
plied 

To  one  small  sect,  and  all  are  damn’d  be- 
side. 

Meanly  they  seek  the  blessing  to  confine, 
And  force  that  sun  but  on  a part  to  shine, 
Which  not  alone  the  southern  wit  sub- 
limes, # 200 

But  ripens  spirits  in  cold  northern  climes; 
Which  from  the  first  has  shone  on  ages 
past, 

Enlights  the  present,  and  shall  warm  the 
last; 

Tho’  each  may  feel  increases  and  decays, 
And  see  now  clearer  and  now  darker  days. 
[Regard  not  then  if  wit  be  old  or  new, 

IBut  blame  the  False  and  value  still  the 
True. 

Some  ne’er  advance  a judgment  of  their 


But  catch  the  spreading  notion  of  the  town; 
They  reason  and  conclude  by  precedent,  210 
And"  own  stale  nonsense  which  they  ne’er 
invent. 

Some  judge  of  authors’  names,  not  works, 
and  then 

Nor  praise  nor  blame  the  writings,  but  the 
men. 

Of  all  this  servile  herd,  the  worst  is  lie 
That  in  proud  dulness  joins  with  quality; 

A constant  critic  at  the  great  man’s  board, 
To  fetch  and  carry  nonsense  for  my  lord. 
What  woful  stuff  this  madrigal  would  be 
In  some  starv’d  hackney  sonneteer  or  me  I 


AN  ESSAY  ON  CRITICISM 


73 


But  let  a lord  once  own  the  happy  lines, 
How  the  Wit  brightens!  how  the  Style  re- 
fines! 221 

Before  his  sacred  name  flies  every  fault, 
And  each  exalted  stanza  teems  with 
thought! 

The  vulgar  thus  thro’  imitation  err, 

As  oft  the  1 earn’d  by  being  singular; 

'So  much  they  scorn  the  crowd,  that  if  the 
throng 

By  chance  go  right,  they  purposely  go 
wrong. 

So  schismatics  the  plain  believers  quit, 

And  are  but  damn’d  for  having  too  much 
wit. 

Some  praise  at  morning  what  they  blame 
at  night,  230 

But  always  think  the  last  opinion  right. 

A Muse  by  these  is  like  a mistress  used, 
This  hour  she ’s  idolized,  the  next  abused; 
While  their  weak  heads,  like  towns  unfor- 
tified, 

'Twixt  sense  and  nonsense  daily  change 
their  side. 

Ask  them  the  cause ; they  ’re  wiser  still 
they  say; 

And  still  to-morrow ’s  wiser  than  to-day. 
We  think  our  fathers  fools,  so  wise  we 
grow; 

Dur  wiser  sons  no  doubt  will  think  us  so. 
Once  school-divines  this  zealous  isle  o’er- 
spread;  240 

Who  knew  most  sentences  was  deepest 
read. 

Faith,  Gospel,  all  seem’d  made  to  be  dis- 
5 puted, 

And  none  had  sense  enough  to  be  confuted. 
Scotists  and  Thomists  now  ill  peace  re- 
. main 

Amidst  their  kindred  cobwebs  in  Duck- 
lane. 

[f  Faith  itself  has  diff’rent  dresses  worn, 
What  wonder  modes  in  Wit  should  take 
their  turn  ? 

Oft,  leaving  what  is  natural  and  fit, 

The  current  Folly  proves  the  ready  Wit; 
And  authors  think  their  reputation  safe,  250 
Which  lives  as  long  as  fools  are  pleas’d  to 
laugh. 

Some,  valuing  those  of  their  own  side  or 
mind, 

’till  make  themselves  the  measure  of  man- 
kind: 

f’ondly  we  think  we  honour  merit  then, 
Yhen  we  but  praise  ourselves  iu  other  men. 


Parties  in  wit  attend  on  those  of  state, 

And  public  faction  doubles  private  hate. 
Pride,  Malice,  Folly,  against  Dryden  rose, 
In  various  shapes  of  parsons,  critics,  beaux: 
But  sense  survived  when  merry  jests  were 
past;  260 

For  rising  merit  will  buoy  up  at  last. 

Might  he  return  and  bless  once  more  our 
eyes, 

New  Blackmores  and  new  Milbournes 
must  arise. 

Nay,  should  great  Homer  lift  his  awful 
head, 

Zoilus  again  would  start  up  from  the  dead. 
Envy  will  Merit  as  its  shade  pursue, 

But  like  a shadow  proves  the  substance 
true; 

For  envied  Wit,  like  Sol  eclips’d,  makes 
known 

Th’  opposing  body’s  grossness,  not  its  own. 
When  first  that  sun  too  powerful  beams 
displays,  270 

It  draws  up  vapours  which  obscure  its 
rays; 

But  ev’n  those  clouds  at  last  adorn  its  way, 
Reflect  new  glories,  and  augment  the  day. 

Be  thou  the  first  true  merit  to  befriend; 
His  praise  is  lost  who  stays  till  all  com- 
mend. 

Short  is  the  date,  alas  ! of  modern  rhymes, 
And ’t  is  but  just  to  let  them  live  betimes. 
No  longer  now  that  Golden  Age  appears, 
When  patriarch  wits  survived  a thousand 
years : 

Now  length  of  fame  (our  second  life)  is 
lost,  280 

And  bare  threescore  is  all  ev’n  that  can 
boast: 

Our  sons  their  fathers’  failing  language  see, 
And  such  as  Chaucer  is  shall  Dryden  be. 

So  when  the  faithful  pencil  has  design’d 
Some  bright  idea  of  the  master’s  mind, 
Where  a new  world  leaps  out  at  his  com- 
mand, 

And  ready  Nature  waits  upon  his  hand; 
When  the  ripe  colours  soften  and  unite, 
And  sweetly  melt  into  just  shade  and 
light; 

When  mellowing  years  their  full  perfection 
give,  29<J 

And  each  bold  figure  just  begins  to  live, 
The  treach’rous  colours  the  fair  art  be- 
tray, 

And  all  the  bright  creation  fades  away  ! 

Unhappy  Wit,  like  most  mistaken  things, 


74 


AN  ESSAY  ON  CRITICISM 


Atones  not  for  that  envy  which  it  brings: 

In  youth  alone  its  empty  praise  we  boast, 
But  soon  the  short-lived  vanity  is  lost; 

Like  some  fair  flower  the  early  Spring  sup- 
plies, 

That  gaily  blooms,  but  ev’n  in  blooming 
dies. 

What  is  this  Wit,  which  must  our  cares  em- 
ploy ? 300 

The  owner’s  wife  that  other  men  enjoy; 
Then  most  our  trouble  still  when  most  ad- 
mired, 

And  still  the  more  we  give,  the  more  re- 
quired ; 

Whose  fame  with  pains  we  guard,  but  lose 
with  ease, 

Sure  some  to  vex,  but  never  all  to  please, 
’Tis  what  the  vicious  fear,  the  virtuous 
shun ; 

By  fools  ’t  is  hated,  and  by  knaves  un- 
done ! 

If  Wit  so  much  from  Ignorance  un- 
dergo, 

Ah,  let  not  Learning  too  commence  its 
foe  ! 

Of  old  those  met  rewards  who  could  ex- 
cel, 310 

And  such  were  prais’d  who  but  endeavour’d 
well; 

Tho’  triumphs  were  to  gen’rals  only  due, 
Crowns  were  reserv’d  to  grace  the  soldiers 
too. 

Now  they  who  reach  Parnassus’  lofty 
crown 

Employ  their  pains  to  spurn  some  others 
down; 

And  while  self-love  each  jealous  writer 
rules, 

Contending  wits  become  the  sport  of  fools; 
But  still  the  worst  with  most  regret  com- 
mend, 

For  each  ill  author  is  as  bad  a friend. 

To  what  base  ends,  and  by  what  abject 
ways,  320 

Are  mortals  urged  thro’  sacred  lust  of 
praise  ! 

Ah,  ne’er  so  dire  a thirst  of  glory  boast, 
Nor  in  the  critic  let  the  man  be  lost ! 

I Good  nature  and  good  sense  must  ever 
join; 

To  err  is  human,  to  forgive  divine. 

Bui  if  in  noble  minds  some  dregs  re- 
main, 

Not  yet  purged  off,  of  spleen  and  sour  dis- 
dain. 


Discharge  that  rage  on  more  provoking 
crimes, 

Nor  fear  a dearth  in  these  flagitious  times. 
No  pardon  vile  obscenity  should  And,  330 
Tho’  Wit  and  Art  conspire  to  move  your 
mind  ; 

But  dulness  with  obscenity  must  prove 
As  shameful  sure  as  impotence  in  love. 

In  the  fat  age  of  pleasure,  wealth,  and 
ease 

Sprung  the  rank  weed,  and  thrived  with 
large  increase  : 

When  love  was  all  an  easy  monarch’s  care, 
Seldom  at  council,  never  in  a war; 

Jilts  ruled  the  state,  and  statesmen  farces 
writ  ; 

Nay  wits  had  pensions,  and  young  lords  had 
wit  ; 339 

The  Fair  sat  panting  at  a courtier’s  play, 
And  not  a mask  went  unimprov’d  away  ; 
The  modest  fan  was  lifted  up  no  more, 

And  virgins  smil’d  at  what  they  blush’d 
before. 

The  following  license  of  a foreign  reign 
Did  all  the  dregs  of  bold  Socinus  drain  ; 
Then  unbelieving  priests  reform’d  the  na- 
tion, 

And  taught  more  pleasant  methods  of  sal- 
vation ; 

Where  Heav’n’s  free  subjects  might  their 
rights  dispute, 

Lest  God  himself  should  seem  too  abso- 
lute ; 349 

Pulpits  their  sacred  satire  learn’d  to  spare, 
And  vice  admired  to  find  a flatt’rer  there  ! 
Encouraged  thus,  Wit’s  Titans  braved  the 
skies, 

And  the  press  groan’d  with  licens’d  blas- 
phemies. 

These  monsters,  Critics  ! with  your  darts 
engage, 

Here  point  your  thunder,  and  exhaust  youi 
rage  ! 

Yet  shun  their  fault,  who,  scandalously 
nice, 

Will  needs  mistake  an  author  into  vice  : 
All  seems  infected  that  th’  infected  spy, 
As  all  looks  yellow  to  the  jaundic’d  eye. 


PART  III 

Rules  for  the  conduct  and  manners  in  a Critic 
Candour.  Modesty.  Good  breeding.  Sii 
cerity  and  freedom  of  advice.  When  one 
counsel  is  to  be  restrained.  Character  of  a 


AN  ESSAY  ON  CRITICISM 


75 


incorrigible  poet.  And  of  an  impertinent 
critic.  Character  of  a good  critic.  The  his- 
■ tory  of  criticism,  and  characters  of  the  best 
critics ; Aristotle.  Horace.  Dionysius.  Pe- 
tronius.  Quintilian.  Longinus.  Of  the  decay 
of  Criticism,  and  its  revival.  Erasmus.  Vida. 
Boileau.  Lord  Boseommon,  &c.  Conclu- 
sion. 

earn  then  what  mQrals  Critics  ought  to 
show, 

or ’t  is  but  half  a judge’s  task  to  know, 
is  not  enough  Taste,  Judgment,  Learning 
join; 

I all  you  speak  let  Truth  and  Candour 

shine ; 

hat  not  alone  what  to  your  Sense  is  due 

II  may  allow,  but  seek  your  friendship 

too. 

Be  silent  always  when  you  doubt  your 
Sense, 

nd  speak,  tho’  sure,  with  seeming  diffi- 
dence. 

>me  positive  persisting  fops  we  know, 
rho  if  once  wrong  will  needs  be  always 
so;  1D 

at  you  with  pleasure  own  your  errors 
past, 

nd  make  each  day  a critique  on  the 
last. 

’T  is  not  enough  your  counsel  still  be 
true  ; 

unt  truths  more  mischief  than  nice  false- 
1 hoods  do. 

en  must  be  taught  as  if  you  taught  theml 
not,  I 

id  things  unknown  proposed  as  things  I 
forgot. 

‘ithout  good  breeding  truth  is  disap- 
prov’d ; 

at  only  makes  superior  Sense  belov’d. 

Be  niggards  of  advice  on  no  pretence, 
r the  worst  avarice  is  that  of  Sense.  20 
j ith  mean  complacence  ne’er  betray  your 
trust, 

r be  so  civil  as  to  prove  unjust, 
ar  not  the  anger  of  the  wise  to  raise  ; 
ose  best  can  bear  reproof  who  merit 
praise. 

T were  well  might  critics  still  this  free- 
dom take, 

t Appius  reddens  at  each  word  you  speak, 

,i  d stares  tremendous,  with  a threat’ning 
i eye, 

,te  some  fierce  tyrant  in  old  tapestry, 
sir  most  to  tax  an  honourable  fool,  I 


Whose  right  it  is,  uncensured  to  be  dull  : 30 
Such  without  Wit,  are  poets  when  they 
please, 

As  without  Learning  they  can  take  degrees. 
Leave  dangerous  truths  to  unsuccessful 
satires, 

And  flattery  to  fulsome  dedicators  ; 

Whom,  when  they  praise,  the  world  be- 
lieves no  more 

Than  when  they  promise  to  give  scribbling 
o’er. 

’T  is  best  sometimes  your  censure  to  re- 
strain, 

And  charitably  let  the  dull  be  vain  ; 

Your  silence  there  is  better  than  your  spite, 
For  who  can  rail  so  long  as  they  can 
write  ? 40 

Still  humming  on  their  drowsy  course  they 
keep, 

And  lash’d  so  long,  like  tops,  are  lash’d 
asleep. 

False  steps  but  help  them  to  renew  the 
race, 

As,  after  stumbling,  jades  will  mend  their 
pace. 

What  crowds  of  these,  impenitently  bold, 

In  sounds  and  jingling  syllables  grown 
old, 

Still  run  on  poets,  in  a raging  vein, 

Ev’n  to  the  dregs  and  squeezings  of  the 
brain, 

Strain  out  the  last  dull  droppings  of  their 
sense, 

And  rhyme  with  all  the  rage  of  impo- 
tence ! 5o 

Such  shameless  bards  we  have  ; and  yet 
’t  is  true 

There  are  as  mad  abandon’d  critics  too. 

The  bookful  blockhead  ignorantly  read, 
With  loads  of  learned  lumber  in  his  head, 
With  his  own  tongue  still  edifies  his  ears, 
And  always  list’ning  to  himself  appears. 

All  books  he  reads,  and  all  he  reads  as- 
sails, 

From  Dryden’s  Fables  down  to  Durfey’s 
Tales. 

With  him  most  authors  steal  their,  works, 
or  buy  ; 

Garth  did  not  write  his  own  Dispensary.  60 
Name  anew  play, and  he ’s  the  poet’s  friend ; 
Nay,  show’d  his  faults  — but  when  would 
poets  mend  ? 

No  place  so  sacred  from  such  fops  is  barr’d, 
Nor  is  Paul’s  church  more  safe  than  Paul’s 
churchyard  : 


76 


AN  ESSAY  ON  CRITICISM 


Nay,  fly  to  altars  ; there  they  ’ll  talk  you 
dead  ; 

For  fools  rush  in  where  angels  fear  to  tread. 
Distrustful  sense  with  modest  caution  "l 
speaks, 

It  still  looks  home,  and  short  excursions  > 
makes;  1 

But  rattling  nonsense  in  full  volleys  breaks  J 
And  never  shock’d,  and  never  turn’d 
aside,  , . 70 

Bursts  out,  resistless,  with  a thund’ring 
tide. 

But  where ’s  the  man  who  counsel  can 
bestow, 

Still  pleas’d  to  teach,  and  yet  not  proud  to 
know  ? 

Unbiass’d  or  by  favour  or  bv  spite; 

Not  dully  prepossess’d  nor  blindly  right; 
Tho’  learn’d,  well  bred,  and  tho’  well  bred 
sincere; 

Modestly  bold,  and  humanly  severe; 

Who  to  a friend  his  faults  can  freely  show, 
And  gladly  praise  the  merit  of  a foe; 
Bless’d  with  a taste  exact,  yet  unconfin’d, 

A knowledge  both  of  books  and  human- 
kind; 81 

Gen’rous  converse;  a soul  exempt  from 
pride ; 

And  love  to  praise,  with  reason  on  his 
side  ? 

Such  once  were  critics;  such  the  happy 
few 

Athens  and  Rome  in  better  ages  knew. 

The  mighty  Stagyrite  first  left  the  shore, 
Spread  all  his  sails,  and  durst  the  deeps 
explore ; 

He  steer’d  securely,  and  discover’d  far, 

Led  by  the  light  of  the  Mseonian  star. 
Poets,  a race  long  unconfin’d  and  free,  90 
Still  fond  and  proud  of  savage  liberty. 
Receiv’d  his  laws,  and  stood  convinc’d 
’t  was  fit  _ 

Who  conquer’d  Nature  should  preside  o’er 
Wit. 

Horace  still  charms  with  graceful  negli- 
gence, 

And  without  method  talks  us  into  sense ; 
Will,  like  a friend,  familiarly  convey 
The  truest  notions  in  the  easiest  way. 

He  who,  supreme  in  judgment  as  in  wit, 
Might  boldly  censure  as  he  boldly  writ, 
Yet  judg’d  with  coolness,  though  lie  sung 
with  fire;  .IO° 

His  precepts  teach  but  what  his  works  in- 
spire. 


Our  critics  take  a contrary  extreme, 

They  judge  with  fury,  but  they  write  with 
phlegm ; 

Nor  suffers  Horace  more  in  wrong  transla- 
tions 

By  Wits,  than  Critics  in  as  wrong  quota- 
tions. 

See  Dionysius  Homer’s  thoughts  refine, 
And  call  new  beauties  forth  from  ev’iy 
line  ! 

Fancy  and  art  in  gay  Petronius  please, 

The  Scholar’s  learning  with  the  courtier’s 
ease. 

I11  grave  Quintilian’s  copious  work  we 
find  * ™ 

The  justest  rules  and  clearest  method 
join’d. 

Thus  useful  arms  in  magazines  we  place, 
All  ranged  in  order,  and  disposed  with 
grace ; 

But  less  to  please  the  eye  than  arm  the 
hand, 

Still  fit  for  use,  and  ready  at  command. 

Thee,  bold  Longinus  ! all  the  Nine  in- 
spire, 

And  bless  their  critic  with  a poet’s  fire: 

An  ardent  judge,  who,  zealous  in  his  trust 
With  warmth  gives  sentence,  yet  is  always 
just; 

Whose  own  example  strengthens  all  his 
laws,  121 

And  is  himself  that  great  sublime  he  draws 

Thus  long  succeeding  critics  justb 
reign’d,  t ? 

License  repress’d,  and  useful  laws  ordain  d 
Learning  and  Rome  alike  in  empire  grew, 
And  arts  still  follow’d  where  her  eagle 
flew; 

From  the  same  foes  at  last  both  felt  thei 
doom, 

And  the  same  age  saw  learning  fall  am 
Rome. 

With  tyranny  then  superstition  join’d, 

As  that  the  body,  this  enslaved  the  mind; 
Much  was  believ’d,  but  little  understood, 
And  to  be  dull  was  construed  to  be  good; 
A second  deluge  learning  thus  o’errun,  >■ 
And  the  monks  finish’d  what  the  Gotli 
begun.  , 

At  length  Erasmus,  that  great  injur 
name, 

(The  glory  of  the  priesthood  and  tl: 

Stemm’d  the  wild  torrent  of  a barb’roi 
age, 


AN  ESSAY  ON  CRITICISM 


Lnd  drore  those  holy  Vandals  off  the 
stage. 

But  see ! each  Muse  in  Leo’s  golden 
days 

Starts  from  her  trance,  and  trims  her  with- 
er’d bays. 

tome’s  ancient  genius,  o’er  its  ruins 
spread,  i4o 

-hakes  off  the  dust,  and  rears  his  rev’rend 
head. 

’hen  sculpture  and  her  sister  arts  re- 
vive ; 

tones  leap’d  to  form,  and  rocks  began  to 
live; 

Vlth  sweeter  notes  each  rising  temple 
rung; 

- Raphael  painted  and  a Vida  sung: 
mmortal  Vida  ! on  whose  honour’d  brow 
‘he  poet’s  bays  and  critic’s  ivy  grow: 
remona  now  shall  ever  boast  thy  name, 
s next  in  place  to  Mantua,  next  in  fame  ! 

But  soon  by  impious  arms  from  Latium 
chased,  150 

heir  ancient  bounds  the  banish’d  Muses 
pass’d; 

hence  arts  o’er  all  the  northern  world  ad- 
vance, 

ut  critic  learning  flourish’d  most  in  France; 
he  rules  a nation  born  to  serve  obeys, 
nd  Boileau  still  in  right  of  Horace  sways, 
ut  we,  brave  Britons,  foreign  laws  de- 
spised, 

nd  kept  unconquer’d  and  uncivilized; 
ierce  for  the  liberties  of  wit,  and  bold, 
ire  still  defied  the  Romans,  as  of  old. 
et  some  there  were,  among  the  sounder 
few  l6o 

f those  who  less  presumed  and  better 
knew, 


77 


Wi  ho  durst  assert  the  juster  ancient  cause, 

And  here  restor’d  Wit’s  fundamental  laws. 

Such  was  the  Muse  whose  rules  and  prac- 
tice tell 

‘Nature’s  chief  masterpiece  is  writing 
well.’ 

Such  was  Roscommon,  not  more  learn’d 
than  good, 

With  manners  gen’rous  as  his  noble  blood; 

To  him  the  wit  of  Greece  and  Rome  was 
known, 

And  every  author’s  merit  but  his  own. 

Such  late  was  Walsli — the  Muse’s  judge 
and  friend,  I7Q 

Who  justly  knew  to  blame  or  to  com- 
mend ; 

To  failings  mild  but  zealous  for  desert, 

The  clearest  head,  and  the  sincerest  heart. 

This  humble  praise,  lamented  Shade  ! re- 
ceive ; 

This  praise  at  least  a grateful  Muse  may 
give: 

The  Muse  whose  early  voice  you  taught  to 
sing, 

Prescribed  her  heights,  and  pruned  her 
tender  wing, 

(Her  guide  now  lost),  no  more  attempts  to 
rise, 

But  in  low  numbers  short  excursions  tries; 

Content  if  hence  th’  unlearn’d  their  wants 
may  view,  180 

The  learn’d  reflect  on  what  before  they 
knew; 

Careless  of  censure,  nor  too  fond  of  fame; 

Still  pleas’d  to  praise,  yet  not  afraid  to 
blame; 

Averse  alike  to  flatter  or  offend; 

Not  free  from  faults,  nor  yet  too  vain  to 
mend. 


ft. 

ft 


u* 

& 


e 

«:VC 

m 


t.i 

f* 


78 


POEMS  WRITTEN  BETWEEN  1708  AND  1712 


POEMS  WRITTEN  BETWEEN  1708  AND  1712 


ODE  FOR  MUSIC  ON  ST.  CECI- 
LIA’S DAY 

This  ode  was  written  at  the  suggestion  of 
Richard  Steele,  in  1708.  It  was  recast  in  1730 
in  briefer  form  so  that  it  might  be  set  to  music  ; 
and  the  first  four  stanzas  were  considerably 
changed. 

I 

Descend,  ye  Nine,  descend  and  sing: 

The  breathing  instruments  inspire, 

Wake  into  voice  each  silent  string, 

And  sweep  the  sounding  lyre. 

In  a sadly  pleasing  strain 
Let  the  warbling  lute  complain; 

Let  the  loud  trumpet  sound, 

Till  the  roofs  all  around 
The  shrill  echoes  rebound; 

While  in  more  lengthen’d  notes  and  slow 
The  deep,  majestic,  solemn  organs  blow,  u 
Hark!  the  numbers  soft  and  clear 
Gently  steal  upon  the  ear; 

Now  louder,  and  yet  louder  rise, 

And  fill  with  spreading  sounds  the 
skies: 

Exulting  in  triumph  now  swell  the  bold 
notes, 

In  broken  air,  trembling,  the  wild  music 
floats: 

Till  by  degrees,  remote  and  small, 

The  strains  decay, 

And  melt  away  20 

In  a dying,  dying  fall. 

II 

By  Music  minds  an  equal  temper  know, 

Nor  swell  too  high,  nor  sink  too  low. 

If  in  the  breast  tumultuous  joys  arise, 
Music  her  soft  assuasive  voice  applies; 

Or  when  the  soul  is  press’d  with  cares, 
Exalts  her  in  enlivening  airs. 

Warriors  she  fires  with  animated  sounds, 
Pours  balm  into  the  bleeding  lover’s  wounds; 
Melancholy  lifts  her  head,  30 

Morpheus  rouses  from  his  bed, 

Sloth  unfolds  her  arms  and  wakes, 
List’ning  Envy  drops  her  snakes; 
Intestine  war  no  more  our  passions  wage, 
And  giddy  Factions  hear  away  their 
rage. 


Ill 

But  when  our  country’s  cause  provokes  tc 
arms. 

How  martial  music  ev’ry  bosom  warms! 

So  when  the  first  bold  vessel  dared  th( 
seas, 

High  on  the  stern  the  Thracian  rais’d  hi: 
strain, 

While  Argo  saw  her  kindred  trees  41 
Descend  from  Pelion  to  the  main: 
Transported  demigods  stood  round, 

And  men  grew  heroes  at  the  sound, 
Inflamed  with  Glory’s  charms: 

Each  chief  his  sev’nfold  shield  display’d, 
And  half  unsheath’d  the  shining  blade ; 
And  seas,  and  rocks,  and  skies  rebound 
To  arms,  to  arms,  to  arms! 

IV 

But  when  thro’  all  th’  infernal  bounds, 
Which  flaming  Phlegethon  surrounds,  5 
Love,  strong  as  Death,  the  Poet  led 
To  the  pale  nations  of  the  dead, 

What  sounds  were  heard, 

What  scenes  appear’d, 

O’er  all  the  dreary  coasts! 

Dreadful  gleams, 

Dismal  screams, 

Fires  that  glow, 

Shrieks  of  woe, 

Sullen  moans,  < 

Hollow  groans, 

And  cries  of  tortured  ghosts  ! 

But  hark  ! he  strikes  the  golden  lyre, 
And  see  ! the  tortured  ghosts  respire  ! 
See,  shady  forms  advance  ! 

Thy  stone,  O Sisyphus,  stands  still, 
Ixion  rests  upon  his  wheel, 

And  the  pale  spectres  dance  ; 

The  Furies  sink  upon  their  iron  beds, 
And  snakes  uncurl’d  hang  list’ning  roun 
their  heads. 

v. 

By  the  streams  that  ever  flow, 

By  the  fragrant  winds  that  blow 
O’er  th’  Elysian  flowers; 

By  those  happy  souls  who  dwell 
In  yellow  meads  of  Asphodel, 

Or  Amaranthine  bowers* 


ARGUS 


79 


By  the  heroes’  armed  shades, 

Glitt’ring  thro’  the  gloomy  glades; 

By  the  youths  that  died  for  love, 

Wand ’ring  in  the  myrtle  grove,  80 

Restore,  restore  Eurydice  to  life  ! 

Oh,  take  the  husband,  or  return  the  wife  ! 
i He  sung,  and  Hell  consented 
To  hear  the  Poet’s  prayer  : 

Stem  Proserpine  relented, 

! And  gave  him  back  the  Fair. 

Thus  song  could  prevail 
►'  O’er  Death  and  o’er  Hell, 

A conquest  how  hard  and  how  glorious  ! 

► Tho’  fate  had  fast  bound  her,  go 

With  Styx  nine  times  round  her, 

Ifet  music  and  love  were  victorious. 

VI 

But  soon,  too  soon,  the  lover  turns  his  eyes: 
Again  she  falls,  again  she  dies,  she  dies  ! 
How  wilt  thou  now  the  fatal  sisters  move  ? 
No  crime  was  thine,  if ’t  is  no  crime  to  love. 
Now  under  hanging  mountains, 

Beside  the  falls  of  fountains, 

Or  where  Hebrus  wanders, 

Rolling  in  meanders,  too 

All  alone, 

Unheard,  unknown, 

He  makes  his  moan; 

And  calls  her  ghost, 

For  ever,  ever,  ever  lost  ! 

Now  with  Furies  surrounded, 

Despairing,  confounded, 

He  trembles,  he  glows, 

Amidst  Rhodope’s  snows. 

See,  wild  as  the  winds,  o’er  the  desert  he 
flies  ! no 

Hark  ! Hsemus  resounds  with  the  Baccha- 
nals’ cries  — 

Ah  see,  he  dies  ! 

ifet  ev’n  in  death  Eurydice  he  sung, 
iurydice  still  trembled  on  his  tongue  ; 
Eurydice  the  woods, 

Eurydice  the  floods, 

Eurydice  the  rocks  and  hollow  mountains 
J rung. 

VH 

Music  the  fiercest  grief  can  charm, 

And  Fate’s  severest  rage  disarm: 

Music  can  soften  pain  to  ease,  120 
And  make  despair  and  madness 
please : 

Our  joys  below  it  can  improve, 

And  antedate  the  bliss  above. 


This  the  divine  Cecilia  found, 

And  to  her  Maker’s  praise  confin’d  the 
sound. 

When  the  full  organ  joins  the  tuneful  quire, 
Th’  immortal  Powers  incline  their  ear  ; 
Borne  on  the  swelling  notes  our  souls  aspire, 
While  solemn  airs  improve  the  sacred  fire, 
And  Angels  lean  from  Heav’n  to  hear.  130 
Of  Orpheus  now  no  more  let  poets  tell; 

To  bright  Cecilia  greater  power  is  giv’n: 
His  numbers  rais’d  a shade  from  Hell, 
Hers  lift  the  soul  to  Heav’n. 


ARGUS 

Written  in  1709  and  sent  in  a letter  to  Henry 

Cromwell  in  1711. 

When  wise  Ulysses,  from  his  native  coast 

Long  kept  by  wars,  and  long  by  tempests 
toss’d, 

Arrived  at  last,  poor,  old,  disguised,  alone, 

To  all  his  friends,  and  ev’n  his  Queen  un- 
known, 

Changed  as  he  was,  with  age,  and  toils, 
and  cares, 

Furrow’d  his  rev’rend  face,  and  white  his 
hairs, 

In  his  own  palace  forc’d  to  ask  his  bread, 

Scorn’d  by  those  slaves  his  former  bounty 
fed, 

Forgot  of  all  his  own  domestic  crew, 

The  faithful  Dog  alone  his  rightful  master 
knew  ! 

Unfed,  unhous’d,  neglected,  on  the  clay, 

Like  an  old  servant  now  cashier’d,  he  lay  ; 

Touch’d  with  resentment  of  ungrateful 
man, 

And  longing  to  behold  his  ancient  lord 
again. 

Him  when  he  saw  he  rose,  and  crawl’d  to 
meet, 

(’T  was  all  he  could)  and  fawn’d  and  kiss’d 
his  feet, 

Seiz’d  with  dumb  joy  ; then  falling  by  his 
side, 

Own’d  his  returning  lord,  look’d  up,  and 
died  ! 


THE  BALANCE  OF  EUROPE 

Now  Europe  balanc’d,  neither  side  pre- 
vails : 

For  nothing ’s  left  in  either  of  the  scales. 


8o 


POEMS  WRITTEN  BETWEEN  1708  AND  1712 


THE  TRANSLATOR 


4 Egbert  Sanger,’  says  Warton,  ‘ served  his 
apprenticeship  with  Jacob  Tonson,  and  suc- 
ceeded Bernard  Lintot  in  his  shop  at  Middle 
Temple  Gate,  Fleet  Street.  Lintot  printed 
Ozell’s  translation  of  Perrault/s  Characters , 
and  Sanger  his  translation  of  Boileau’s  Lutrin , 
recommended  by  Rowe,  in  1709.’ 


Ozell,  at  Sanger’s  call,  invoked  his 
Muse  — 

For  who  to  sing  for  Sanger  could  refuse  ? 

His  numbers  such  as  Sanger’s  self  might  use. 

Reviving  Perrault,  murd’ring  Boileau,  he 

Slander’d  the  ancients  first,  then  Wycher- 
ley ; 

Which  yet  not  much  that  old  bard’s  anger 
rais’d, 

Since  those  were  slander’d  most  whom 
Ozell  prais’d. 

Nor  had  the  gentle  satire  caused  complain- 


ing, 

Had  not  sage  Rowe  pronounc’d  it  enter- 
taining ; 

How  great  must  be  the  judgment  of  that 
writer, 

Who  The  Plain  Dealer  damns,  and  prints 
The  Biter  ! 


ON  MRS.  TOFTS,  A FAMOUS 
OPERA-SINGER 

Katharine  Tofts  was  an  English  opera 
singer  popular  in  London  between  1703  and 


His  easy  Art  may  happy  Nature  seem, 
Trifles  themselves  are  elegant  in  him. 

Sure  to  charm  all  was  his  peculiar  fate, 
Who  without  flatt’ry  pleas’d  the  Fair  and 
Great ; 

Still  with  esteem  no  less  convers’d  than 
read, 

With  wit  well-natured,  and  with  books  well- 
bred: 

His  heart  his  mistress  and  his  friend  did 
share,  . 9 

His  time  the  Muse,  the  witty,  and  the  fair. 
Thus  wisely  careless,  innocently  gay, 
Cheerful  he  play’d  the  trifle,  Life,  away; 
Till  Fate  scarce  felt  his  gentle  breath  sup- 
prest, 

As  smiling  infants  sport  themselves  to  rest. 
Ev’n  rival  Wits  did  Voiture’s  death  deplore, 
And  the  gay  mourn’d  who  never  mourn’d 
. before; 

The  truest  hearts  for  Yoiture  heav’d  with 
sighs, 

Voiture  was  wept  by  all  the  brightest 
eyes: 

The  Smiles  and  Loves  had  died  in  Voiture’s 
death,  '9 

But  that  for  ever  in  his  lines  they  breathe. 

Let  the  strict  life  of  graver  mortals  be 
A long,  exact,  and  serious  Comedy; 

In  ev’ry  scene  some  Moral  let  it  teach, 
And,  if  it  can,  at  once  both  please  and 
preach. 

Let  mine  an  innocent  gay  farce  appear, 
And  more  diverting  still  than  regular, 
Have  Humour,  Wit,  a native  Ease  and 


1709. 

So  bright  is  thy  beauty,  so  charming  thy 
song, 

As  had  drawn  both  the  beasts  and  their 
Orpheus  along: 

But  such  is  thy  av’rice,  and  such  is  thy 
pride, 

That  the  beasts  must  have  starv’d,  and  the 
poet  have  died. 

EPISTLE  TO  MRS.  BLOUNT, 
WITH  THE  WORKS  OF  VOI- 
TURE. 


Grace, 

Tho’  not  too  strictly  bound  to  Time  and 
Place: 

Critics  in  Wit,  or  Life,  are  hard  to  please, 

Few  write  to  those,  and  none  can  live  tc 
these.  # 3( 

Too  much  your  Sex  is  by  their  forms 
confin’d, 

Severe  to  all,  but  most  to  Womankind  ; 

Custom,  grown  blind  with  Age,  must  be 
your  guide; 

Your  pleasure  is  a vice,  but  not  your  pride; 

By  Nature  yielding,  stubborn  but  for  fame, 

Made  slaves  by  honour,  and  made  fools  bj 


To  Teresa  Blount.  First  published  in  Lin- 
tot’s  Miscellany , in  1712.  See  note. 

In  these  gay  thoughts  the  Loves  and  Graces 
shine, 

And  all  the  writer  lives  in  ev’ry  line; 


shame  ; 

Marriage  may  all  those  petty  tyrants  chase ; 
But  sets  up  one,  a greater,  in  their  place; 
Well  might  you  wish  for  change  by  thos< 
accurst,  3 

But  the  last  tyrant  ever  proves  the  worst- 


THE  DYING  CHRISTIAN  TO  HIS  SOUL 


8! 


.ill  in  constraint  your  suff’ring  Sex  re- 
mains, 

r bound  in  formal,  or  in  real  chains: 

!rhole  years  neglected,  for  some  months 
ador’d, 

tie  fawning  Servant  turns  a haughty  Lord. 

h,  quit  not  the  free  innocence  of  lifer\ 

)i*  the  dull  glory  of  a virtuous  Wife;  \ 
or  let  false  shows,  or  empty  titles  please; 
im  not  at  Joy,  but  rest  content  with 

Ease. 

The  Gods,  to  curse  Pamela  with  her 
pray’rs, 

ive^the  gilt  coach  and  dappled  Flanders 

i,  mafes7~~^~^  50 

le  shining  robes,  rich  jewels,  beds  of  state, 
id,  to  complete  her  bliss,  a fool  for 
mate. 

e glares  in  Balls,  front  Boxes,  and  the 
Ring, 

vain,  unquiet,  glitt’ring,  wretched  thing  ! 
ide,  Pomp,  and  State  but  reach  her  out- 
ward part  ; 

e sighs,  and  is  no  Duchess  at  her  heart. 
But,  Madam,  if  the  fates  withstand,  and 
you 

•e  destin’d  Hymen’s  willing  victim  too; 
ust  not  too  much  your  now  resistless 
charms, 

ose  Age  or  Sickness  soon  or  late  dis- 

I arms:  60 

od  humour  only  teaches  charms  to  last, 

II  makes  new  conquests,  and  maintains 

the  past; 

ve,  rais’d  on  Beauty,  will  like  that  decay, 
r hearts  may  bear  its  slender  chain  a 
„ <*ay; 

now  ry  bands  in  wantonness  are  worn, 
morning’s  pleasure,  and  at  evening  torn; 
is  binds  in  ties  more  easy,  yet  more 
1 strong, 

t.e  willing  heart,  and  only  holds  it  long. 
Thus  Voiture’s  early  care  still  shone  the 
same,  bg 

d Montausier  was  only  changed  in  name; 
this,  ev’11  now  they  live,  ev’n  now  they 
charm, 

iir  wit  still  sparkling,  and  their  flames 
( still  warm. 

L>w  crown’d  with  myrtle,  on  th’  Elysian 
; coast, 

iid  those  lovers,  joys  his  gentle  Ghost: 
as’d,  while  with  smiles  his  happy  lines 
you  view, 

;1  finds  a fairer  Rambouillet  in  you. 


The  brightest  eyes  of  France  inspired  his 
Muse; 

The  brightest  eyes  of  Britain  now  peruse; 
And  dead,  as  living,  ’t  is  our  Author’s  pride 
Still  to  charm  those  who  charm  the  world 
beside.  80 


THE  DYING  CHRISTIAN  TO 
HIS  SOUL 

This  Ode  was  written,  we  find  [in  1712],  at 
the  desire  of  Steele  ; and  our  Poet,  in  a letter 
to  him  on  that  occasion,  says,  — ‘ You  have  it, 
as  Cowley  calls  it,  just  warm  from  the  brain ; 
it  came  to  me  the  first  moment  I waked  this 
morning ; yet  you  ’ll  see,  it  was  not  so  abso- 
lutely inspiration,  but  that  I had  in  my  head, 
not  only  the  verses  of  Hadrian,  but  the  fine 
fragment  of  Sappho.’  It  is  possible,  however, 
that  our  Author  might  have  had  another  com- 
position in  his  head,  besides  those  he  here  re- 
fers to : for  there  is  a close  and  surprising 
resemblance  between  this  Ode  of  Pope,  and 
one  of  an  obscure  and  forgotten  rhymer  of  the 
age  of  Charles  the  Second,  Thomas  Flatman. 
(Warton).  Pope’s  version  of  the  Adriani  mo - 
rientis  ad  Animam  was  written  at  about  this 
date,  and  sent  to  Steele  for  publication  in  The 
Spectator.  It  ran  as  follows : — 

‘ Ah,  fleeting  Spirit ! wand’ring  fire, 

That  long  hast  warm’d  my  tender  breast, 

Must  thou  no  more  this  frame  inspire, 

No  more  a pleasing  cheerful  guest  ? 

Whither,  ah  whither,  art  thou  flying, 

To  what  dark  undiscover’d  shore  ? 

Thou  seem’st  all  trembling,  shiv’ring,  dying, 

And  Wit  and  Humour  are  no  more  1 ’ 

I 

Vital  spark  of  heav’nly  flame, 

Quit,  oh  quit,  this  mortal  frame  ! 

Trembling,  hoping,  ling’ring,  flying, 

Oh,  the  pain,  the  bliss  of  dying  ! 

Cease,  fond  Nature,  cease  thy  strife, 

And  let  me  languish  into  life  ! 

II 

Hark  ! they  whisper;  Angels  say, 

Sister  Spirit,  come  away. 

What  is  this  absorbs  me  quite, 

Steals  my  senses,  shuts  my  sight, 

Drowns  my  spirits,  draws  my  breath  ? 

Tell  me,  my  Soul  1 can  this  be  Death  ? 

III 

The  world  recedes;  it  disappears  ; 

Heav’11  opens  on  my  eyes;  my  ears 


POEMS  WRITTEN  BETWEEN  1708  AND  1712 


82 


With  sounds  seraphic  ring  : 

Lend,  lend  your  wings  ! I mount ! I fly  ! 
O Grave  ! where  is  thy  Victory  ? 

O Death  ! where  is  thy  Sting  ? 


EPISTLE  TO  MR.  JERVAS 

WITH  DRYDEN’S  TRANSLATION  OF  FRES- 

noy’s  art  of  painting 

Charles  Jervas  was  an  early  and  firm  friend 
of  Pope’s,  and,  himself  an  indifferent  painter, 
at  one  time  gave  Pope  some  instruction  in 
painting.  Dry  den’s  translation  of  Fresnoy  ap- 
pears to  have  been  a hasty  and  perfunctory 
piece  of  work.  The  poem  was  first  published  in 
1712. 

This  verse  be  thine,  my  friend,  nor  thou 
refuse 

This  from  no  venal  or  ungrateful  Muse. 
Whether  thy  hand  strike  out  some  free  de- 
sign, 

Where  life  awakes,  and  dawns  at  ev’ry 
line, 

Or  blend  in  beauteous  tints  the  colour’d 
mass, 

And  from  the  canvas  call  the  mimic  face: 
Read  these  instructive  leaves,  in  which  con- 
spire 

Fresnoy ’s  close  Art  and  Dryden’s  native 
Fire; 

And  reading  wish  like  theirs  our  fate  and 
fame, 

So  mix’d  our  studies,  and  so  join’d  our 
name;  10 

Like  them  to  shine  thro’  long  succeeding 
age, 

So  just  thy  skill,  so  regular  my  rage. 

Smit  with  the  love  of  Sister- Arts  we  came, 
And  met  congenial,  mingling  flame  with 
flame; 

Like  friendly  colours  found  them  both 
unite, 

And  each  from  each  contract  new  strength 
and  light. 

How  oft  in  pleasing  tasks  we  wear  the 
day, 

While  summer  suns  roll  unperceiv’d  away  ! 
How  oft  our  slowly  growing  works  impart, 
While  images  reflect  from  art  to  art  1 20 

How  oft  review;  each  finding,  like  a friend, 
Something  to  blame,  and  something  to 
commend. 


What  flatt’ring  scenes  our  wand’rii: 
fancy  wrought, 

Rome’s  pompous  glories  rising  to  oi 
thought! 

Together  o’er  the  Alps  methinks  we  fly, 
Fired  with  ideas  of  fair  Italy. 

With  thee  on  Raphael’s  monument  I mour 
Or  wait  inspiring  dreams  at  Maro’s  urn : 
With  thee  repose  where  Tully  once  was  lai 
Or  seek  some  ruin’s  formidable  shade: 
While  Fancy  brings  the  vanish’d  piles 
view, 

And  builds  imaginary  Rome  anew. 

Here  thy  well-studied  marbles  fix  our  eye 
A fading  fresco  here  demands  a sigh; 
Each  heav’nly  piece  unwearied  we  compai 
Match  Raphael’s  grace  with  thy  lov 
Guido’s  air, 

Carracci’s  strength,  Correggio’s  softer  Hr 
Paulo’s  free  stroke,  and  Titian’s  warm 
divine. 

How  finish’d  with  illustrious  toil  appea 
This  small  well-polish’d  Gem,  the  work 
years, 

Yet  still  how  faint  by  precept  is  exprest 
The  living  image  in  the  painter’s  breast! 
Thence  endless  streams  of  fair  ideas  flow 
Strike  in  the  sketch,  or  in  the  picture  glo 
Thence  Beauty,  waking  all  her  forms,  si 
plies 

An  Angel’s  sweetness,  or  Bridgewate 
eyes. 

Muse!  at  that  name  thy  sacred  sorro 
shed 

Those  tears  eternal  that  embalm  the  des 
Call  round  her  tomb  each  object  of  desir 
Each  purer  frame  inform’d  with  pui 
fire  ; 

Bid  her  be  all  that  cheers  or  softens  life: 
The  tender  sister,  daughter,  friend,  a 
wife; 

Bid  her  be  all  that  makes  mankind  ador 
Then  view  this  marble,  and  be  vain 
more  ! 

Yet  still  her  charms  in  breathing  pa 
engage, 

Her  modest  cheek  shall  warm  a future  a 
Beauty,  frail  flower,  that  ev’ry  season  fea 
Blooms  in  thy  colours  for  a thousand  yea 
Thus  Churchill’s  race  shall  other  hea 
surprise, 

And  other  beauties  envy  Worslev’s  eyes 
Each  pleasing  Blount  shall  endless  smi 
bestow, 

And  soft  Belinda’s  blush  for  ever  glow. 


ELEGY  TO  THE  MEMORY  OF  AN  UNFORTUNATE  LADY 


S3 


O,  lasting  as  those  colours  may  they 
shine, 

Free  as  thy  stroke,  yet  faultless  as  thy 
line; 

^ew  graces  yearly  like  thy  works  display, 
Soft  without  weakness,  without  glaring 
g<^y! 

-<ed  by  some  rule  that  guides,  but  not  con- 
strains, 

j^nd  finish’d  more  thro’  happiness  than 
pains. 

Che  kindred  arts  shall  in  their  praise  con- 
spire, 6g 

>ne  dip  the  pencil,  and  one  string  the  lyre, 
fet  should  the  Graces  all  thy  figures  place, 
Vnd  breathe  an  air  divine  on  ev’ry  face; 

■ et  should  the  Muses  bid  iny  numbers  roll 
trong  as  their  charms,  and  gentle  as  their 
soul; 

Vith  Zeuxis’  Helen  thy  Bridgewater  vie, 
md  these  be  sung  till  Granville’s  Myra  die; 
das  ! how  little  from  the  grave  we  claim ! 
'hou  but  preserv’st  a Face  and  I a Name  ! 


Light  to  the  stars  the  sun  does  thus  re- 
store, 

But  shines  himself  till  they  are  seen  no 
more. 

ELEGY  TO  THE  MEMORY  OF 
AN  UNFORTUNATE  LADY 

It  was  long  rumoxed  that  this  poenL  was  \ 
litersdlxJmind£d_x»a_.fact : that  the  unfortu-  / 
nate  lady  was  a maiden  with  whom  Pope  was  / 
’>*  love^_aJid.-irom  .whom  he  was  separated.  [ 
The  faclL-geems  to  be  that  the  poem’s  only  I 
basis  jn  truth  lay  in  Pope’s  sympathy  for  “an  } 
lin|i^^n^rTLd_^,Qinan  about  w homjie  wrote  / 
tqOjaryll  in  712^  The  verses  were  not  pub-  | 
lisneH  till  1717,  but  were  probably  written  I 
several  years  earlier.  J 


IMPROMPTU  TO  LADY  JW 
CHILSEA  l/ 


IN- 


occasioned  BY  FOUR  SATIRICAL 
VERSES  ON  WOMEN  WITS,  IN  THE 
RAPE  OF  THE  LOCK 

‘ The  four  verses,’  says  Ward,  * are  appar- 
itly  Canto  IV . vv.  59-62.  The  Countess  of 
"inchilsea,  a poetess  whom  Rowe  hailed  as  in- 
ked by  1 more  than  Delphic  ardour,’  replied 
' some  pretty  lines,  where  she  declares  that 
disarmed  with  so  genteel  an  air,”  she  gives 
er  the  contest.’ 

r vain  you  boast  poetic  names  of  yore, 
nd  cite  those  Sapphos  we  admire  no 
more: 

ite  doom’d  the  fall  of  every  female  wit; 
it  doom’d  it  then,  when  first  Ardelia 
writ. 

all  examples  by  the  world  confess’d, 
mew  Ardelia  could  not  quote  the  best; 
ho,  like  her  mistress  on  Britannia’s 
throne, 

ghts  and  subdues  in  quarrels  not  her 
own. 

! write  their  praise  you  but  in  vain  essay: 
>D  while  you  write,  you  take  that  praise 
i away. 


What  beck’ning  ghost  along  , the  moon- 
light shade 

Invites  my  steps,  and  points  to  yonder 
glade  ? 

’T  is  she  ! — but  why  that  bleeding  bosom 
gor’d?  / 

Why  dimly  gleams  the  visionkry^sword  ? 

Oh  ever  beauteous,  ever  friendly  ! tell, 

Is  it,  in  Heav’n,  a crime  to  mve  too  well  ? 

To  bear  too  tender  or  too  fiim  aheart, 
CXi^acl^UoveLs  or  aRmna&jrnii  ?> 

Is  there  no  bright  reversion  in  the  sky 
For  those  who  greatly  think,  or  bravely 
die  ? ro 

Why  bade  ye  else,  ye  Powers  ! her  soul 
aspire 

Above  the  vulgar  flight  of  low  desire  ? 
Ambition  first  sprung  from  your  blest 
abodes, 

The  glorious  fault  of  Angels  and  of  Gods: 
Thence  to  their  images  on  earth  it  flows, 

And  in  the  breasts  of  Kings  and  Heroes 
^ glows. 

Most  goals,  ’t  is  true,  but  peep  out  once  an 
age, 

Dull  sullen  pris’ners  in  the  body’s  cage; 

Dim  lights  of  life,  that  burn  a length  of 
years 

Useless,  unseen,  as  lamps  in  sepulchres;  20 
Like  eastern  Ringa^aJazy  state  they  keep, 

And,  close  confin’d  to  their  own  palace, 
sleep. 

From  these,  perhaps  (ere  Nature  bade 
her  die), 

Fate  snatch’d  her  early  to  the  pitying 
sky. 

^ ^Cc {'  ^ 


KS 


84 


POEMS  WRITTEN  BETWEEN  1708  AND  1712 


r'As  into  air  the  purer  spirits  flow, 

And  sep’rate  from  their  kindred  dregs  be- 
low; 

So  flew  the  soul  to  its (congeniaLplace, 

Nor  left  one  virtue  to  redeem  her  race. 

But  thou,  false  guardian  of  a charge  too 
good,  ? 

Thou,  mean  deserter  of  thy  brother’s 
blood  ! . 30 

See  on  these  ruby  lips  the  trembling 
breath, 

These  cheeks  now  fading  at  the  blast  of 
death ; 

Cold  is  that  breast  which  warm’d  the  world 
before, 

And  those  love-darting  eyes  must  roll  no 
more. 

XThus,  if  eternal-justice  rules  the  ball, 

THus  shall  your  wives,  and  thus  your  chil- 
drenj^allj  ^ 

On  all  the  line  a sudden  vengeance  waits, 
And  frequent  hearses  shall  besiege  your 
gates;  . . 

There  passengers  shall  stand,  and  pointing 

(While^Uie  long  funerals  blacken  all  the 
way),  40 

Lo  ! these  were  they  whose  souls  the  fu- 
ries steel’d, 

And  cursed  with  hearts  unknowing  how  to 
yield.  — b'vir^ 

Thus  uulan^te^ass^hejproud  away, 

The  gaze  of  f obis',  and  pageaiiTof  a day  ! 
(So  perish  all,  whose  breast  ne’er  learn’d  to 
glow 

For  others’  good,  or  melt  at  others  woe. 

What  can  atone,  O ever  injured  shade  ! 
Thy  fate  unpitied,  and  thy  rites  unpaid  ? 
No  friend’s  complaint,  no  kind  domestic 

Pleas’d^thy  pale  ghost,  or  graced  thy 
mournful  bier;  5° 

By  foreign  hands  thy  dying  eyes  were 
closed, 

By  foreign  hands  thy  decent  limbs  com- 
posed, 

By  foreign  hands  thy  humble  grave 
adorn’d, 

By  strangers  honour’d,  and  by  strangers 
mourn’d. 

What  tho’  no  friends  in  sable  weeds  appear, 
Grieve  for  an  hour,  perhaps,  then  mourn  a 
year, 

And  bear  about  the  mockery  of  woe 
To  midnight  dances,  and  the  public  show  / 


What  tho’  no  weeping  loves  thy  ashes 
grace, 

Nor  polish’d  marble  emulatgthy_fafle^?  60 

What  tho’  no  sacred  earth  allow  thee 
room, 

Nor  hallow’d  dirge  be  mutter’d  o’er  thy 
tomb  ? 

/Yet  shall  thy  grave  withjrising  flowers  be 
dress’d, 


And  the  green  turf„iie-4ighdy_JUL-thy 
breast: 

There  shall  the  morn  h^r  earliest  tears  be- 
stow, 

There  t\ie  first  roses  of  the  year  shall 
blow; 

While  angels  with  their  silver  wings  o’er- 
shade 

The  ground,  now  sacred  by  thy  relics 
made. 

So  peaceful  rests,  without  a stone,  a 
name, 

What  once  had  Beauty,  Titles,  Wealth  and 
Fame.  7° 

How  lov’d,  how  honour’d  once,  avails  thee 
not, 

To  whom  related,  or  by  whom  begot; 

A heap  of  dust  alone  remains  of  thee; 

’T  is  all  thou  art,  and  all  the  proud  shall 
be  ! 

Poets  themselves— must  fall  like  those 
they  sung, 

l5eaf  the  prais’d  ear,  and  mute  the  tuneful 
tongue. 

Ev’n  he  whose  soul  now  melts  in  mourn 
ful  lays, 

Shall  shortly  want  the  gen’rous  tear  he 
pays ; 

Then  from  his  closing  eyes  thy  form  shal 
part, 

And  the  last  pang  shall  tear  thee  from  hi: 
heart;  ? 81 

'Life’s  idle  bus’ness  at  one  gasp  be  o er, 

The  Muse  forgot,  and  thou_belov  d n« 

- more ! 


MESSIAH 

Written,  according  to  Courthope,  in  1712. 


ADVERTBBEMENT 


In  reading  several  passages  of  the  propin 
Isaiah,  which  foretell  the  coming  of  Christ,  an 
the  felicities  attending  it,  I could  not  but  ot 
serve  a remarkable  parity  between  many  c 


MESSIAH 


85 


the  thoughts  and  those  in  the  Pollio  of  Virgil. 
This  will  not  seem  surprising,  when  we  reflect 
that  the  Eclogue  was  taken  from  a Sibylline 
prophecy  on  the  same  subject.  One  may  judge 
that  Virgil  did  not  copy  it  line  by  line,  but 
selected  such  ideas  as  best  agreed  with  the 
nature  of  Pastoral  Poetry,  and  disposed  them 
in  that  manner  which  served  most  to  beautify 
lis  piece.  I have  endeavoured  the  same  in 
;his  imitation  of  him,  though  without  admit- 
ting any  thing  of  my  own ; since  it  was  writ- 
ten with  this  particular  view,  that  the  reader, 
by  comparing  the  several  thoughts,  might  see 
low  far  the  images  and  descriptions  of  the 
Prophet  are  superior  to  those  of  the  Poet. 
But  as  I fear  I have  prejudiced  them  by  my 
management,  I shall  subjoin  the  passages  of 
Isaiah,  and  those  of  Virgil,  under  the  same 
disadvantage  of  a literal  translation. 

STe  Nymphs  of  Solyma  ! begin  the  song: 

To  heav’nly  themes  sublimer  strains  be- 
long. 

f he  mossy  fountains,  and  the  sylvan  shades, 
The  dreams  of  Pindus,  and  th’  Aonian 
maids, 

Delight  no  more  — O Thou  my  voice  in- 
spire 

iVho  touch’d  Isaiah’s  hallow’d  lips  with 
fire! 

Rapt  into  future  times,  the  bard  begun: 

V virgin  shall  conceive,  a virgin  bear  a 
son! 1 


IMITATIONS 

1  Virg.  Eel.  iv.  ver.  6. 

Jam  redit  et  Virgo,  redeunt  Saturnia  regna ; 
Tam  nova  progenies  ccelo  demittitur  alto. 

|Fe  duce,  si  qua  manent  sceleris  vestigia  nostri, 
rrita  perpetua  solvent  formidine  terras.  . . . 
i?acatumque  reget  patriis  virtutibus  orbem.’ 

‘ Now  the  virgin  returns,  now  the  kingdom 
*f  Saturn  returns,  now  a new  progeny  is  sent 
lown  from  high  heaven.  By  means  of  thee, 
whatever  relics  of  our  crimes  remain,  shall  be 
vriped  away,  and  free  the  world  from  perpet- 
lal  fears.  He  shall  govern  the  earth  in  peace, 
vith  the  virtues  of  his  father.’ 

Isaiah,  ch.  vii.  ver.  14.  ‘ Behold,  a virgin 

hall  conceive  and  bear  a son.’  Chap.  ix.  ver. 
‘>,  7.  4 Unto  us  a child  is  born,  unto  us  a son 

i given  . . . the  Prince  of  Peace  : of  the  in- 
rease  of  his  government,  and  of  his  peace, 
here  shall  be  no  end,  upon  the  throne  of  David, 
.nd  upon  his  kingdom,  to  order  it,  and  to  es- 
ablish  it,  with  judgment  and  with  justice  from 
. enceforth  even  for  ever.’ 


From  Jesse’s  2 root  behold  a branch  arise,  • 

Whose  sacred  flower  with  fragrance  fills 
the  skies;  10 

Th’  ethereal  spirit  o’er  its  leaves  shall 
move, 

And  on  its  top  descends  the  mystic  dove. 

Ye  Heav’ns!8  from  high  the  dewy  nectar 
pour, 

And  in  soft  silence  shed  the  kindly  shower! 

The  sick  4 and  weak  the  healing  plant  shall 
aid, 

From  storms  a shelter,  and  from  heat  a 
shade. 

All  crimes  shall  cease,  and  ancient  fraud 
shall  fail, 

Returning  Justice  5 lift  aloft  her  scale; 

Peace  o’er  the  world  her  olive  wand  ex- 
tend, 

And  white-robed  Innocence  from  Heav’n 
descend.  - 20 

Swift  fly  the  years,  and  rise  th’  expected 
morn ! 

O spring  to  light,  auspicious  babe!  be 
born. 

See  Nature  hastes  her  earliest  wreaths  to 
bring,6 

With  all  the  incense  of  the  breathing 
spring: 

See  lofty  Lebanon  7 his  head  advance, 

See  nodding  forests  on  the  mountains 
dance : 


2 Isaiah,  ch.  xi.  ver.  1. 

3 Ch.  xlv.  ver.  8. 

4 Ch.  xxv.  ver.  4. 

5 Ch.  ix.  ver.  7. 

6 Virg.  Eel.  iv.  ver.  18. 

1 At  tibi  prima,  puer,  nullo  munuscula  cultu, 
Errantes  hederas  passim  cum  baccare  tellus, 
Mixtaque  ridenti  colocasia  fundet  acantho  — 
Ipsa  tibi  blandos  fundent  cunabula  flores.’ 

‘ For  thee,  O child,  shall  the  earth,  without 
being  tilled,  produce  her  early  offerings  ; wind- 
ing ivy,  mixed  with  baccar,  and  colocasia  with 
smiling  acanthus.  Thy  cradle  shall  pour  forth 
pleasing  flowers  about  thee.’ 

Isaiah,  ch.  xxxv.  ver.  1 . 1 The  wilderness 

and  the  solitary  place  shall  be  glad  . . . and 
the  desert  shall  rejoice  and  blossom  as  the 
rose.’  Ch.  lx.  ver.  13.  ‘ The  glory  of  Lebanon 

shall  come  unto  thee,  the  fir-tree,  the  pine-tree, 
and  the  box  together  to  beautify  the  place  of 
my  sanctuary.’ 

7 Isaiah,  ch.  xxxv,  ver.  2. 


86 


POEMS  WRITTEN  BETWEEN  1708  AND  1712 


See  spicy  clouds  from  lowly  Saron  rise, 

And  Carmel’s  flow’ry  top  perfumes  the 
skies! 

Hark!  a glad  voice  the  lonely  desert 
cheers; 1 

Prepare  the  way  ! 2 a God,  a God  appears  ! 

A.  God,  a God  ! the  vocal  hills  reply;  31 
The  Rocks  proclaim  th’  approaching  Deity. 
Lo,  Earth  receives  him  from  the  bending 
skies! 

Sink  down,  ye  Mountains,  and,  ye  valleys, 
rise; 

With  heads  declin’d,  ye  Cedars,  homage 
pay ; 

Be  smooth,  ye  Rocks;  ye  rapid  floods,  give 
way ; 

The  Saviour  comes,  by  ancient  bards  fore- 
told! 

Hear  him,8  ye  deaf,  and  all  ye  blind,  be- 
hold! 

He  from  thick  films  shall  purge  the  visual 
ray, 

And  on  the  sightless  eyeball  pour  the 
day:  40 

’T  is  he  th’  obstructed  paths  of  sound  shall 
clear, 

And  bid  new  music  charm  th’  unfolding 
ear: 

The  dumb  shall  sing,  the  lame  his  crutch 
forego, 

And  leap  exulting  like  the  bounding  roe. 

No  sigh,  no  murmur,  the  wide  world  shall 
hear, 

From  every  face  he  wipes  off  every  tear. 

IMITATIONS 

1 Virg.  Eel.  iv.  ver.  48,  Eel.  v.  ver.  62. 

‘ Aggredere  o magnos,  aderit  jam  tempus,  ho- 
nores, 

Cara  deum  soboles,  magnum  Jovis  incremen- 
tum ! 

Ipsi  laetitia  voces  ad  sidera  jactant 
Intonsi  montes,  ipsse  jam  carmina  rapes, 

Ipsa  sonant  arbusta,  Deus,  deus  ille,  Menalea ! ’ 

‘ 0 come  and  receive  the  mighty  honours  : 
the  time  draws  nigh.  0 beloved  offspring  of  the 
Gods.  O great  increase  of  Jove  ! . . . The  un- 
cultivated mountains  send  shouts  of  joy  to  the 
stars,  the  very  rocks  sing  in  verse,  the  very 
shrubs  cry  out,  A God,  a God.’ 

Isaiah,  chap.  xl.  ver.  3,  4.  ‘ The  voice  of 

him  that  crieth  in  the  wilderness,  Prepare  ye 
the  way  of  the  Lord,  make  straight  in  the  de- 
sert a high  way  for  our  God  Every  valley 


In 4 adamantine  chains  shall  Death  be 
bound, 

And  Hell’s  grim  tyrant  feel  th’  eternal 
wound. 

As  the  good  Shepherd  6 tends  his  fleecy  care,: 
Seeks  freshest  pasture  and  the  purest  air,  ; 
Explores  the  lost,  the  wand’ring  sheep 
directs,  51 

By  day  o’ersees  them,  and  by  night  pro- 
tects; 

The  tender  lambs  he  raises  in  his  arms, 
Feeds  from  his  hand,  and  in  his  bosom 
warms; 

Thus  shall  mankind  his  guardian  care  en- 
gage, 

The  promis’d  Father  6 of  the  future  age. 
No  more  shall7  nation  against  nation  rise, 
Nor  ardent  warriors  meet  with  hateful 

eyes, 

Nor  fields  with  gleaming  steel  be  cover’d 
o’er, 

The  brazen  trumpets  kindle  rage  no  more: 
But  useless  lances  into  scythes  shall  bend,  61 
And  the  broad  falchion  in  a ploughshare 
end. 

Then  palaces  shall  rise;  the  joyful  8 son 
Shall  finish  wliat  his  short-lived  sire  begun 
Their  vines  a shadow  to  their  race  shal 
yield, 

And  the  same  hand  that  sow’d  shall  reaj 
the  field: 

The  swain  in  barren  9 deserts  with  surprise 
See  lilies  spring,  and  sudden  verdure  rise;1 
And  start,  amidst  the  thirsty  wilds,  to  heai 
New  falls  of  water  murm’ring  in  his  ear.  71 

shall  be  exalted,  and  every  mountain  and  hil 
shall  be  made  low,  and  the  crooked  shall  b< 
made  straight,  and  the  rough  places  plain. 
Chap.  xliv.  ver.  23.  ‘ Break  forth  into  sing 

ing,  ye  mountains  ! 0 forest,  and  every  tre 

therein  ! for  the  Lord  hath  redeemed  Jacob.’ 

2 Ch.  xl.  ver.  3,  4. 

8 Isaiah,  ch.  xlii.  ver.  18 ; ch.  xxxv.  ver.  5,  £ 
4 Ch.  xxv.  ver.  8. 

6  Ch.  xl.  ver.  11. 

6 Ch.  ix.  ver.  6. 

7 Isaiah,  ch.  ii.  ver.  4. 

8 Ch.  lxv.  ver.  21,  22. 

9 Ch.  xxxv.  ver.  1,7. 

1°  Virg.  Eel.  iv.  ver.  28. 

‘ Molli  paulatim  flavescet  campus  arista, 
Incultisque  rubens  pendebit  sentibus  uvfl, 
Et  durae  quercus  sudabunt  roscida  mella.’ 

‘ The  fields  shall  grow  vellow  with  ripene 
ears,  and  the  red  grape  shall  hang  upon  tl 


MESSIAH 


87 


On  rifted  rocks,  the  dragon’s  late  abodes, 
The  green  reed  trembles,  and  the  bulrush 
nods; 

Waste  1 sandy  valleys,  once  perplex’d  with 
thorn, 

The  spiry  fir  and  shapely  box  adorn; 

To  leafless  shrubs  the  flow’ring  palms  suc- 
ceed, 

And  od’rous  myrtle  to  the  noisome  weed. 
The  lambs 2 with  wolves  shall  graze  the 
verdant  mead, 

And  boys  in  flow’ry  bands  the  tiger  lead;3 
The  steer  and  lion  at  one  crib  shall  meet, 
And  harmless  serpents  4 lick  the  pilgrim’s 
feet;  80 

The  smiling  infant  in  his  hand  shall  take 
The  crested  basilisk  and  speckled  snake, 
Pleas’d,  the  green  lustre  of  the  scales 
survey, 

And  with  their  forky  tongue  shall  inno- 
cently play. 

Rise,  crown’d  with  light,  imperial  Salem,5 
rise!  6 

Exalt  thy  tow’ry  head,  and  lift  thy  eyes! 
3ee  a long  race7  thy  spacious  courts  adorn; 
See  future  sons  and  daughters,  yet  unborn, 
[n  crowding  ranks  on  every  side  arise, 
Demanding  life,  impatient  for  the  skies!  90 


ivild  brambles,  and  the  hard  oaks  shall  distil 
loney  like  dew.’ 

Isaiah,  chap.  xxxv.  ver.  7.  ‘ The  parched 

ground  shall  become  a pool,  and  the  thirsty 
and  springs  of  water : in  the  habitation  of 
Iragons,  where  each  lay,  shall  be  grass  with 
eeds  and  rushes.’  — Chap  lv.  ver.  13.  ‘ In- 

tead  of  the  thorn  shall  come  up  the  fir-tree, 
ind  instead  of  the  brier  shall  come  up  the  myr- 
le  tree.’ 

1 Isaiah,  ch.  xli.  ver.  19,  and  ch.  lv.  ver.  13. 

2 Ch.  xi.  ver.  6,  7,  8. 

8  Virg.  Eel.  iv.  ver.  21. 

Ipsae  lacte  domum  referent  distenta  capellse 
Jbera,  nec  magnos  metuent  armenta  leones.  . . . 
)ccidet  et  serpens,  et  fallax  herba  veneni 
)ccidet.’  — 

‘ The  goats  shall  bear  to  the  fold  their  ud- 
ers  distended  with  milk : nor  shall  the  herds  be 
fraid  of  the  greatest  lions.  The  serpent  shall 
ie,  and  the  herb  that  conceals  poison  shall 
ie.’ 

Isaiah,  chap.  xi.  ver.  6,  &c.  1 The  wolf  also 

tiall  dwell  with  the  lamb,  and  the  leopard 
aall  lie  down  with  the  kid,  and  the  calf,  and 


See  barb’rous  nations  8 at  thy  gates  attend, 

Walk  in  thy  light,  and  in  thy  temple  bend! 

See  thy  bright  altars  throng’d  with  pros- 
trate kings, 

And  heap’d  with  products  of  Sabcean  9 
springs; 

For  thee  Idume’s  spicy  forests  blow, 

And  seeds  of  gold  in  Opliir’s  mountains 
glow; 

See  Heav’n  its  sparkling  portals  wide  dis- 
play, 

And  break  upon  thee  in  a flood  of  day! 

No  more  the  rising  sun  10  shall  gild  the 
morn, 

Nor  ev’ning  Cynthia  fill  her  silver  horn; 

But  lost,  dissolv’d  in  thy  superior  rays,  101 

One  tide  of  glory,  one  unclouded  blaze 

O’erflow  thy  courts:  the  light  himself  shall 
shine 

Reveal’d,  and  God’s  eternal  day  be  thine! 

The  seas  11  shall  waste,  the  skies  in  smoke 
decay, 

Rocks  fall  to  dust,  and  mountains  melt 
away; 

But  fix’d  his  word,  his  saving  power  re- 
mains; — 

Thy  realm  for  ever  lasts,  thy  own  Messiah 
reigns! 


the  young  lion,  and  the  fading  together ; and  a 
little  child  shall  lead  them.  — And  the  lion 
shall  eat  straw  like  the  ox.  And  the  sucking 
child  shall  play  on  the  hole  of  the  asp,  and  the 
weaned  child  shall  put  his  hand  on  the  cocka- 
trice’ den.’ 

4 Ch.  lxv.  ver.  25. 

6  Isaiah,  ch.  lx.  ver.  1. 

6 The  thoughts  of  Isaiah,  which  compose  the 
latter  part  of  the  poem,  are  wonderfully  ele- 
vated, and  much  above  those  general  exclama- 
tions of  Virgil,  which  make  the  loftiest  parts 
of  his  Pollio. 

‘ Magnus  ab  integro  sseclorum  nascitur  ordo 

— toto  surget  gens  aurea  mundo  ! 

— incipient  magni  procedere  menses  ! 

Aspice,  venturo  Isetantur  ut  omnia saeclo ! ’ &c. 

The  reader  needs  only  to  turn  to  the  passages 
of  Isaiah  here  cited. 

7 Ch.  lx.  Ver.  4. 

8 Ch.  lx,  ver.  3. 

9 Ch.  lx.  ver.  6. 

10  Isaiah  ch.  lx,  ver.  19,  20. 

11  Ch,  li.  ver.  6,  and  ch.  liv.  ver.  IQo 


88 


THE  RAPE  OF  THE  LOCK 


THE  RAPE  OF  THE  LOCK 

AN  HEROI-COMICAL  POEM 


Nolueram,  Belinda,  tuos  violare  capillos  ; 

Bed  juvat,  hoc  precibus  me  tribuisse  tuis. 

Mart.  Epig.  xii.  84. 


‘ It  appears  by  this  motto,’  says  Pope,  in  a 
footnote  supplied  for  Warburton’s  edition, 

‘ that  the  following-  poem  was  written  or  pub- 
lished at  the  lady’s  request.  But  there  are  some 
other  circumstances  not  unworthy  relating-. 
Mr.  Caryll  (a  gentleman  who  was  secretary  to 
Queen  Mary,  wife  of  James  II.,  whose  for- 
tunes he  followed  into  France,  author  of  the 
comedy  of  Sir  Solomon  Single , and  of  several 
translations  in  Dryden's  Miscellanies)  originally 
proposed  it  to  him  in  a view  of  putting  an  end, 
by  this  piece  of  ridicule,  to  a quarrel  that  was 
risen  between  two  noble  families,  those  of  Lord 
Petre  and  Mrs.  Fermor,  on  the  trifling  occasion 
of  his  having  cut  off  a lock  of  her  hair.  The 
author  sent  it  to  the  lady,  with  whom  he  was 
acquainted  ; and  she  took  it  so  well  as  to  give 
about  copies  of  it.  That  first  sketch  (we  learn 
from  one  of  his  letters)  was  written  in  less  than 
a fortnight,  in  1711,  in  two  cantos  only,  and  it 
was  so  printed  first,  in  a Miscellany  of  Bern. 
Lintot’s,  without  the  name  of  the  author.  But 
it  was  received  so  well  that  he  made  it  more 
considerable  the  next  year  by  the  addition  of 
the  machinery  of  the  Sylphs,  and  extended  it 
to  five  cantos.’ 

TO  MRS.  ARABELLA  FERMOR 

Madam,  — It  will  be  in  vain  to  deny  that 
I have  some  regard  for  this  piece,  since  I dedi- 
cate it  to  you.  Yet  you  may  bear  me  witness 
it  was  intended  only  to  divert  a few  young  la- 
dies, who  have  good  sense  and  good  humour 
enough  to  laugh  not  only  at  their  sex’s  little 
unguarded  follies,  but  at  their  own.  But  as  it 
was  communicated  with  the  air  of  a secret,  it 
soon  found  its  way  into  the  world.  An  imper- 
fect copy  having  been  offer’d  to  a bookseller, 
you  had  the  good-nature  for  my  sake,  to  con- 
sent to  the  publication  of  one  more  correct : 
this  I was  forced  to,  before  I had  executed  half 
my  design,  for  the  Machinery  was  entirely 
wanting  to  complete  it. 

The  Machinery,  Madam,  is  a term  invented 
by  the  critics,  to  signify  that  part  which  the 
Deities,  Angels,  or  Daemons,  are  made  to  act  in 


a poem  : for  the  ancient  poets  are  in  one  re- 
spect like  many  modern  ladies ; let  an  action 
be  never  so  trivial  in  itself,  they  always  make 
it  appear  of  the  utmost  importance.  These 
Machines  I determined  to  raise  on  a very  new 
and  odd  foundation,  the  Rosicrucian  doctrine 
of  Spirits. 

I know  how  disagreeable  it  is  to  make  use 
of  hard  words  before  a lady ; but  it  is  so  much 
the  concern  of  a poet  to  have  his  works  under- 
stood, and  particularly  by  your  sex,  that  you 
must  give  me  leave  to  explain  two  or  three 
difficult  terms.  The  Rosicrucians  are  a people 
I must  bring  you  acquainted  with.  The  best 
account  I know  of  them  is  in  a French  book 
called  La  Comte  de  Gabalis , which,  both  in  its 
title  and  size,  is  so  like  a novel,  that  many  of 
the  fair  sex  have  read  it  for  one  by  mistake. 
According  to  these  gentlemen,  the  four  ele- 
ments are  inhabited  by  Spirits,  which  they  call 
Sylphs,  Gnomes,  Nymphs,  and  Salamanders. 
The  Gnomes,  or  Daemons  of  earth,  delight  in 
mischief ; but  the  Sylphs,  whose  habitation  is 
in  the  air,  are  the  best-conditioned  creatures 
imaginable ; for,  they  say,  any  mortal  may  en- 
joy the  most  intimate  familiarities  with  these 
gentle  spirits,  upon  a condition  very  easy  to 
all  true  adepts,  — an  inviolate  preservation  of 
chastity. 

As  to  the  following  cantos,  all  the  passages 
of  them  are  as  fabulous  as  the  Vision  at  the 
beginning,  or  the  Transformation  at  the  end 
(except  the  loss  of  your  hair,  which  I always 
mention  with  reverence).  The  human  persons 
are  as  fictitious  as  the  airy  ones  ; and  the  char- 
acter of  Belinda,  as  it  is  now  managed,  re- 
sembles you  in  nothing  but  in  beauty. 

If  this  poem  had  as  many  graces  as  there 
are  in  your  person  or  in  your  mind,  yet  I could 
never  hope  it  should  pass  thro’  the  world 
half  so  uncensured  as  you  have  done.  But  let 
its  fortune  be  what  it  will,  mine  is  happy 
enough,  to  have  given  me  this  occasion  of  as- 
suring you  that  I am,  with  the  truest  esteem, 
Madam, 

Your  most  obedient,  humble  servant, 

A.  Pope. 


THE  RAPE  OF  THE  LOCK 


89 


CANTO  I 

Wiiat  dire  offence  from  am’rous  causes 
springs, 

What  mighty  contests  rise  from  trivial 
_ things, 

I sing  — This  verse  to  Caryll , muse  ! is 
due: 

This,  ev’11  Belinda  may  vouchsafe  LovySew  • 

Slight  is  the  subject,  but  limwtlie  prafse, 

If  she  inspire,  and  he  approve  my  lays. 

Say  what  strange  motive,  Goddess  ! could 
compel  ) 

A well-bred  Lord  t’  assault  a gentle  Belle  ?<" 

O say  what  stranger  cause,  yet  unex- 
plor’d,  \i\ 

Could  make  a gentle  Belle  reject  a Lordv? 

I11  tasks  so  bold  can  little  men  engage, 

And  in  soft  bosoms  dwells  such  mighty 
rage  ? 

^ Sol  thro’  white  curtaWs  shot  a tim’rouiT 

ray,  f)D5f  v &Uv4, 

And  oped  those  eyes  that  must  eclipse  the 
day. 

Now  lapdogs  give  themselves  the  rousing 
shake, 

And  sleepless  lovers  just  at  twelve  awake: 

Thrice  rung  the  bell,  the  slipper  knock’d 
the  ground, 

And  the  press’d  watch  return’d  a silver 
sound. 

Belinda  still  herjJojyny  pillow  prest,3^ 

■Her  guardiah  Sylph  ’ *’  ' 


guardian  Sylph  prolong’d  the  balmy 
rest.  ' y - 1 M O5U  Qp  20 

as  he  had  summon’d  to  her  sildnt  bed  * 
he& 

Birthnight 
leek.to 


’T  was  he  had  summon  _ ^ JIH... 

The  morning-dream  that  hover’d  o’< 
head; 

A youth  more  glitt’ring  than  a 


Beau  U \ r,[Q’  ■) 

(That  ev’n  in  slumber  caus’d  her  cheek,  to 
glow) 

Seem’d  to  her  ear  his  winning  lips  to  lay, 
And  thus  in  whispers  said,  or  seem’d  to 

' say  : ...  . 

‘Fairest  of  mortals,  thou  distingMsli’d 
care 

Of  thousand  bright  Inhabitants  of  Air  ! 

If  e’er  one  vision  touch’d  thy  iiifant  thought, 
Of  all  the  nurse  and  all  the  priest  haye 
. taught—  3Q 

Jt  airy  elves  by  moonlight  shadows  seen, 
The  silver  token,  and  the  circled  green, 

Or  virgins  visited  by  Angel-powers, 

With  golden  crowns  and  wreaths  of  heav’nly 
flowers : 


sous 


Hear  and  believe ! thy  own  importance 
know,  K 

Nor  bound  thy  narrow  views  to  things  be- 
low. 

Some  secret  truths,  from  learned  pride  con- 
ceal’d, 

To  maids  alone  and  children  dre  reveal’d: 
whattl,o’„o  doubting  Wits  may 

The  fair  and  innocent  shail  still  believe.  40 
Know,  then,  unnumber’d  Spirits  round  thee 

The  light  militia  of  the  lower  sky:  wmj 
'.(These,  tho’  unseen,  are  ever  on  the  wing, 
'Hang  o’er  the  Box,  and  hover  round  the 
Ring. 

Think  what  an  equipage  thou  hast  in  air, 

’ And  view  with  scorn  two  pages  and  a chair. 

As  now  your  own,  our  beings  were  of  old, 
And  once  inclosed  in  woman’s  beauteous 
mould; 

Thence,  by  a soft  transition,  we  repair 
From  earthly  vehicles  to  these  of  air. 

Think  not,  when  woman’s  transient  breath 
is  fled, 

That  all  her  vanities  at  once  are  dead  ; 
Succeeding  vanities  she  still  regards, 

And,  tho’  she  plays  no  more,  o’erlooks  the 
cards. 

Her  joy  in  gilded  chariots,  when  alive, 

And  love  of  Ombre,  after  death  survive. 

For  when  the  Fair  in  all  their  pride  expire, 

To  their  first  elements  their  souls  retire. 

- 'The  sprites  of  fiery  termagants  in  flame  59 H 
Amount  up,  and  take  a Salamander’s  name. 
Soft  yielding  minds  to  water  glide  away, 

And  sip,  with  Nymphs,  their  elemental  tea. 
The  graver^prude  sinks  downward  to  a 
Gnome 

In  searcRoTmischief  still  on  earth  to  roam. 
The  light  coquettes  in  Sylphs  aloft  repair, 
And  sport  and  flutter  in  the  fields  of  air.  -J 
‘ Know  further  yet:  whoever  fair  and 
chaste  I r 

Rejects— rrraiTkind,  is  by  some  Sylph  em- 
braced ; 

For  spirits,  freed  from  mortal  laws,  with 
ease 

Assume  what  sexes^and  what  shapes  they 


What  guard's  the  purity  of  melting  maids, 
I11  courtly  balls,  and  midnight  masquerades, 
Safe  from  the  treach^ous”fnend,"the  dar- 
ing spark, 

The  glance  by  day,  the  whisper  in  the  dark; 


9° 


THE  RAPE  OF  THE  LOCK 


When  kind  occasion  prompts  their  warm 
desires, 

When  music  softens,  and  when  dancing 
fires  ? 

’Tis  but  their  Sylph,  the  wise  Celestials 
know, 

Tho’  Honour  is  the  word  with  men  below. 

‘ Some  nymphs  ther^  are,  too  conscious 
of  their  face, 

For  life  predestin’d/  to  the  Gnome’s  em- 
brace. 80 

These  swell  their  prospects  and  exalt  their 
pride, 

When  offers  are  disdain’d,  and  love  denied: 
Then  gay  ideas  crpwd  the-vacant  brain, 
While  peers,  and  dukes,  and  all  their 
sweeping  train, 

And  garters,  stars,  and  coronets  appear, 

And  in  soft  sounds,;41  Your  Grace  ” salutes 
their  ear. 

’Tis  these  that  early  taint  the  female  soul, 
Instruct  the  eyes  of  young  coquettes  to  roll, 
Teach  infant  cheek^a  bidden  blush.  , to  know, 
And  little  hearts 'to*  flutter  aif  a Bfeau.  90 

‘«Oft,  when  the  world  imagine  women 
stray, 

The  Sylphs  thro’  mystic  mazes  guidp  their 
way;  ^9  X1 

Thro’  all  the  giddy  circle  they  pursue, 

And  old  impertinence  expel  by  new. 

What  tender  maid  but  must  a victim  fall 
To  one  man’s  treat,  but  for  another’s  ball  ? 
When  FI  orio_  speaks,  what  virgin  could 
withstand, 

If  gentle  Damon  did  not  squeeze  her  hand 
With  varying  vanities,  from  every  part,  . 
They  shift  the  moving  toyshop  of  the^ 
heart;  106 

Where  wigs  with  wigs,  with  sword-knots 
sword-knots  strive, 

Beaux  banish  beaux,  and  coaches  coaches 
drive. 

This  erring  mortals  levity  may  call ; 

Oh  blind  to  truth!  the  Sylphs  contrive  it 
aH. 

‘ Of  these  am  I,  who  thy  protection  claim, 
A watchful  sprite,  and  Ariel  ismvg^me. 
Late,  as  I ranged  the  crystal  wifdsYff  air, 
In  the  clear  mirror  of  thy  ruling  star 
I saw,  alas  ! some  dread  event  impend, 

Ere  to  the  main  this  morning  sun  descend, 
But  Heav’n  reveals  not  what,  or  how  or 
where.  m 

Warn’d  by  the  Sylph,  O pious  maid,  be- 
ware! 


rThis  to  disclose  is  all  thy  guardian  can: 
Beware  of  all,  but  most  beware  of  Man!’ 
He  said;  when  Shock-  who /thought  she 
slept  too  long,  AiH. 

Leap’d  up,  and  waked  1ms  mistress  with  his 
tongue. 

’T  was  then,  Belinda,  if  report  say  true, 

Thy  eyes  first  open’d  on  a billet-doux; 
Wounds,  charms,  and  ardours  were  no 
sooner  read,  119 

But  all  the  vision  vanish’d  from  thy  head. 
And  now,  unveil’d,  the  toilet  stands  dis- 
play’d, 

Each  silver  vase  in  mystic  order  laid. 

First,  robed  in  white,  the  nymph  intent 
adores, 

With  head  uncover’d,  the  cosmetic  powers. 
A heav’nly  image  in  the  glass  appears; 

To  that  she  bends,  to  that  her  eyes  she 
rears.  5|$ 

Th’  infexior  priestess,  at  her  altar  s side,^ 
Trembling  begins  the  sacred  rites  of  Prjde. 
Unnumber’d  t r e a ^ir  e s )fo peat1' o n'de , anahere 
The  various  off’rings  of  the  world  appear; 
From  each  she  nicely  culls ■-'with  puriouSj 
toil,  13 1 

And  decks  the.  Goddess  with  the  glitt’ring 
spoil.  '--v/siv 

This  casket  India’s  glowing  gems  unlocks, 
And  all  Arabia  breathes  from  yonder  box. 
The  tortoise  here  and  elephant  unite, 
Transform’d  to  combs,  the  speckled,  and' 
the  white. 

Here  files  of  pins  extend  their  shining  rows,! 
Buffs,  powders,  patches,  bibles,  billet-doux.' 
Now  awful  beauty  puts  on  all  its  arms;  139 
The  Fair  each  moment  rises  in  her  charms, 
Repairs  her  smiles,  awakens  every  grace, 

I And  calls  forth  all  the  wonders  of  her  face; 
Sfees  by  degrees  a purer  blush  arise, 

And  keener  lightnings  quicken  in  her  eyes. 
The  busy  Sylphs  surround  their  darling 
care,  \J  ' ■ \\\  AV') 

These  set  the  head,  and  those  divide  the 
hair, 

Some  fold  the  sleeve,  whilst  others  plait  the 
gown ; 

And  Betty’s  prais’d  for  labours  not  heij 
own. 


CANTO  II 


Not  with  more  glories,  in  th’  ethereal  plain, 
The  sun  first  rises  o’er  the  purpled  main, 
Than,  issuing  forth,  the  rival  of  his  beams 


THE  RAPE  OF  THE  LOCK 


91 


Launch’d  on  the  bosom  of  the  silver  Thai'h^s. 
Fair  nymphs,  and  well-dress’d  youths 
around  her  shone,  |x>A 

But  every  eye  was  fix’d  on  her  alone. 

On  her  white  breast  a,  sparkling  cross  she 
wore,  C CMyVOt  ( C 

Which  Jews  might  kiss,  and  infidels  adore. 
Her  lively  looks  a sprightly  mind  disclose. 
Quick  as  her  eyes,  and  as  unfix’d  as  thftsbTj 
Favours  to  none,  to  all  she  smiles  extends^ 
Oft  she  rejects,  but  never  once  offends. jOr 
Bright  as  the  sun,  her  eyes  the  gazers- 
strike,  o I 'j&\ 

And,  like  the  sun,  they  shine  on  all  alike. 
Yet  graceful  ease,  and  sweetness  void  of 
pride,  (t&  /W 

Might  hide  her  faults,  if  belles  had  faults 
to  hide; 

If  to  her  share  some  female  errors  fall, 
Look  on  her  face,  and  you  ’ll  forget  ’em 
all.  _ 

This  nymph,  to  the  destruction  of  man- 
kind, 

Nourish’d  two  locks,  which  graceful  hqng 
behind  20 

In  equal  curls,  and  well  conspired  to  deck 
With  shining  ringlets  the  smooth  iv’ry 


ft 


"eCk'  vr&iiiis'fns  slaves 


Love  in  these  labyriffiffi^Tiis  slaved  detains, 
And  mighty  hearts  are  held  in  slender 
chains.  \jV-P  di 

With  hairy  springes  we  the  birds  betray, 
Slight  lines  of  hair  surprise  the  finny  prey, 
Fair  tresses  man’s  imperial  race  ensnare, 
And  beauty  draws  us  with  a single  hair; 

Th’  adventurous  Baron  the  bright  lo$ks 
admired;  '%A(5K ah&xdT 
He  saw,  he  wish’d,  arid  to  the  prize  asmre<j. 
Resolv’d  to  win,  he  meditates  the  wayV  "Mx. 
By  force  to  ravish,  or  by  fraud  betray  ' 
For  when  success  a lover’s  toil  attends, 

Few  ask  if  fraud  or  force  attain’d  his 
ends. 

t ^vFor  this,  ere  Phoebus'  rose,  he  bad  im- 
plor’d 

Propitious  Heav’11,  and  every  Power  ador’d, ^ 
But  chiefly  Love  — to  Love  an  altar  built  / f 
,Of  twelve  vast  French  romances,  neatly-' 
gilt. 

There  lay  three  garters,  half  a pair  of 
gloves, 

And  all  the  trophies  of  his  former  loves;  4 6 
With  tender  billet-doux  he  lights  the  pyre, 
And  breathes  three  am’rous  sighs  to  raise 
the  fire. 


A' 


I 


3 


Then  prostrate  falls,  and  begs  with  ardent 
eyes 

Soon  to  obtain,  and  long  possess  the  prize : 
The  Powers  gave  ear,  and  granted  half  his 
prayer, 


ft 


The  rest  the  winds  dispers’d  in  empty  air. 

But  now  secure  the  painted  vessel 
glides, 

The  sunbeams  trembling  on  the  floating 
tides ; 

S While  melting  music  steals  upon  the  sky, 

And  soften’d  sounds  along  the  waters  die: 
Smooth  flow  the  waves,  the  zephyrs  gently 
play,  51 

Belinda  smil’d,  and  all  the  world  was 

gay- 

All  but  the  Sylph — with  careful  thoughts 
opprest  i! 

Th’  impending  woe  sat  heavy  on  his  breast. 

He  summons  straight  his  denizens  of  air; 

The  lucid  squadrons  round  the  sails  re- 
pair: 

Soft  o’er  the  shrouds  aerial  whispers 
breathe 

That  seem’d  but  zephyrs  to  the  train  be- 
neath. 

Some  to  the  sun  their  insect-wings  unfold, 
Waft  on  the  breeze,  or  sink  in  clouds  of 
gold;  60 

Transparent  forms  too  fine  for  mortal 
sight, 

Their  fluid  bodies  half  dissolv’d  in  light, 

Loo§e  to  the  wind  their  airy  garments 
flew, 

Thin  glitt’ring  textures  of  the  filmy  dew,  — 
Dipt  in  the  richest  tincture  of  the  skies, 

Where  light  disports  in  ever-mingling  — 
dyes, 

While^  ev’ry  beam  new  transient  colours  ~1 
flings, 

Colours  that  change  whene’er  they  wave 
V their  wiiurs. 


m 


C.oaHS  their  wings. 

Amid  the  circle,  on  the  gilded  mast, 
Superior  by  the  head  was  Ariel  plaoed;  70 
His  purple  pinions  opening  to  the  sun, 

raised  his  azure  wand,  and  thus  begun: 
Ye  Sylphs  and  Sylphids,  to  your  chief 
give  ear. 

Fays,  Fairies,  Genii,  Elves,  and  Daemons, 
.<  ^ar ! 

_e  know  the  spheres  and  various  tasks 

C °^li\5.^issign’d 

By  laws  eternal  to  tli’  aerial  kind. 

Some  in  the  fields  of  purest  ether  play, 
And  bask  and  whiten  in  the  blaze  of  day; 


0NVW\ 


MU 


(X*v 


or 


92 


THE  RAPE  OF  THE  LOCK 


Some  guide  the  course  of  wand’ring  orbs 
on  high, 

Or  roll  the  planets  thro’  the  boundless 
sky : 80 

Some,  less  refin’d,  beneath  the  moon’s  pale 
light 

Pursue  the  stars  that  shoot  athwart  the 
night, 

Or  suck  the  mists  in  grosser  air  below, 

Or  dip  their  pinions  in  the  painted  bow, 

Or  brew  fierce  tempests  on  the  wintry 
main, 

Or  o’er  the  glebe  distil  the  kindly  rain. 
Others,  on  earth,  o’er  human  race  preside, 
Watch  all  their  ways,  and  all  their  actions 
guide: 

Of  these  the  chief  the  care  of  nations  own, 
And  guard  with  arms  divine  the  British 
Throne.  90 

‘Our  humbler  province  is  to  tend  the 
Fair, 

Not  a less  pleasing,  tho’  less  glorious  care; 
To  save  the  Powder  from  too  rude  a gale; 
Nor  let  th’  imprison’d  Essences  exhale; 

To  draw  fresh  colours  from  the  vernal 
flowers; 

To  steal  from  rainbows  ere  they  drop  in 
showers 

A brighter  Wash ; to  curl  their  waving 
hairs, 

Assist  their  blushes  and  inspire  their  airs; 
Nay  oft,  in  dreams  invention  we  bestow, 
To  change  a Flounce,  or  add  a Furbelow. 

‘ This  day  black  omens  threat  the  bright- 
est Fair,  101 

That  e’er  deserv’d  a watchful  spirit’s  care; 
Some  dire  disaster,  or  by  force  or  slight; 
But  what,  or  where,  the  Fates  have  wrapt 
in  night. 

Whether  the  nymph  shall  break  Diana’s 
law, 

Or  some  frail  China  jar  receive  a flaw; 

Or  stain  her  honour,  or  her  new  brocade, 
Forget  her  prayers,  or  miss  a masquerade, 
Or  lose  her  heart,  or  necklace,  at  a ball ; 

Or  whether  Heav’n  has  doom’d  that  Shock 
must  fall.  ixc 

Haste,  then,  ye  Spirits  ! to  your  charge  re- 
pair: 

The  flutt’ring  fan  be  Zephyretta’s  care; 
The  drops  to  thee,  Brillante,  we  consign; 
And,  Momentilla,  let  the  watch  be  thine; 
Do  thou,  Crispissa,  tend  her  fav’rite 
Lock; 

Ariel  himself  shall  be  the  guard  of  Shock. 


‘ To  fifty  chosen  sylphs,  of  special  note, 
We  trust  th’  important  charge,  the  petti- 
coat; 

Oft  have  we  known  that  sev’n-fold  fence  to 
fail, 

Tho’  stiff  with  hoops,  and  arm’d  with  ribs 
of  whale  i 120 

Form  a strong  line  about  the  silver  bound, 
And  guard  the  wide  circumference  around. 

‘ Whatever  spirit,  careless  of  his  charge, 
His  post  neglects,  or  leaves  the  Fair  at 
large, 

Shall  feel  sharp  vengeance  soon  o’ertake 
his  sins: 

Be  stopp’d  in  vials,  or  transfix’d  with 
pins, 

Or  plunged  in  lakes  of  bitter  washes  lie, 

Or  wedg’d  whole  ages  in  a bodkin’s  eye; 
Gums  and  pomatums  shall  fyis  flight  re- 
strain, 

While  clogg’d  he  beats  his  silken  wings  in 
vain,  130 

Or  alum  styptics  with  contracting  power 
Shrink  his  thin  essence  like  a rivell’d 
flower: 

Or,  as  Ixion  fix’d,  the  wretch  shall  feel 
The  giddy  motion  of  the  whirling  mill, 

I11  fumes  of  burning  chocolate  shall  glow, 
And  tremble  at  the  sea  that  froths  be- 
low ! ’ 

He  spoke  ; the  spirits  from  the  sails  de- 
scend ; 

Some,  orb  in  orb,  around  the  nymph  ex- 
tend ; 

Some  thread  the  mazy  ringlets  of  her  hair; 
Some  hang  upon  the  pendants  of  her  ear; 
With  beating  hearts  the  dire  event  they 
wait,  141 

Anxious,  and  trembling  for  the  birth  c if,. 
Fate. 

CANTO  m ^ 

Close  by  those  meads,  for  ever  crown’d 
with  flowers, 

Where  Thames  with  pride  surveys  his  ris- 
ing towers 

There  stands  a structure  of  majestic  frame, 
Which  from  the  neighb’ring  Hampton 
takes  its  name. 

Here  Britain’s  statesmen  oft  the  fall  fore- 
doom 

Of  foreign  tyrants,  and  of  nymphs  at 
home; 


r , ' C 


THE  RAPE  OF  THE  LOCK 


93 


Here,  thou,  great  Anna  ! whom  three 
realms  obey, 

Dost  sometimes  counsel  take  — and  some- 
times tea. 

Hither  the  Heroes  and  the  Nymphs  re- 
sort, 

To  taste  awhile  the  pleasures  of  a court;  10 
Iu  various  talk  th’  instructive  hours  they 
past, 

Who  gave  the  ball,  or  paid  the  visit  last; 
One  speaks  the  glory  of  the  British  Queen, 
And  one  describes  a charming  Indian 
screen ; 

A third  interprets  motions,  looks,  and  eyes; 
At  every  word  a reputation  dies. 

Snuff,  or  the  fan,  supply  each  pause  of 
chat, 

With  singing,  laughing,  ogling,  and  all  that. 

- — Meanwhile,  declining  from  the  noon  of 
day, 

The  sun  obliquely  shoots  his  burning  ray; 
The  hungry  judges  soon  the  sentence 
sign,  _ 21 

And  wretches  hang  that  jurymen  may  dine; 
The  merchant  from  th’  Exchange  returns 
in  peace, 

And  the  long  labours  of  the  toilet  cease. 
Belinda  now,  whom  thirst  of  fame  invites, 
Burns  to  encounter  two  adventurous 
knights, 

At  Ombre  singly  to  decide  their  doom, 

And  swells  her  breast  with  conquests  yet 
to  come. 

Straight  the  three  bands  prepare  in  arms 
to  join, 

Each  band  the  number  of  the  sacred  Nine. 
Soon  as  she  spreads  her  hand,  th’  aerial 
guard  31 

Descend,  and  sit  on  each  important  card: 

“First  Ariel  perch’d  upon  a Matadore, 

Then  each  according  to  the  rank  they  bore; 
For  Sylphs,  yet  mindful  of  their  ancient 
race, 

Are,  as  when  women,  wondrous  fond  of 

1"—  place. 

Behold  four  Kings  in  majesty  revered, 
With  hoary  whiskers  and  a forky  beard; 
And  four  fair  Queens,  whose  hands  sustain 
a flower 

Th’  expressive  emblem  of  their  softer 
power;  40 

Four  Knaves,  in  garbs  succinct,  a trusty 
band, 

: Caps  on  their  heads,  and  halberts  in  their 
band 


And  partv-colour’d  troops,  a shining  train, 
Draw  forth  to  combat  on  the  velvet  plain. 

The  skilful  nymph  reviews  her  force  with 
care; 

‘ Let  Spades  be  trumps  ! ’ she  said,  and 
trumps  they  were. 

Now  move  to  war  her  sable  Matadores, 
In  show  like  leaders  of  the  swarthy  Moors. 
Spadillio  first,  unconquerable  lord  ! 

Led  off  two  captive  trumps,  and  swept  the 
board.  50 

As  many  more  Manillio  forced  to  yield, 
And  march’d  a victor  from  the  verdant 
field. 

Him  Basto  follow’d,  but  his  fate  more  hard 
Gain’d  but  one  trump  and  one  plebeian  card. 
With  his  broad  sabre  next,  a chief  in  years, 
The  hoary  Majesty  of  Spades  appears, 

Puts  forth  one  manly  leg,  to  sight  reveal’d; 
The  rest  his  many  colour’d  robe  conceal’d. 
The  rebel  Knave,  who  dares  his  prince  en- 
gage, 

Proves  the  just  victim  of  his  royal  rage.  60 
Ev’11  mighty  Pam,  that  kings  and  queens 
o’erthrew, 

And  mow’d  down  armies  in  the  fights  of 
Loo, 

Sad  chance  of  war  ! now  destitute  of  aid, 
Falls  undistinguish’d  by  the  victor  Spade. 

Thus  far  both  armies  to  Belinda  yield; 
Now  to  the  Baron  Fate  inclines  the  field. 
His  warlike  amazon  her  host  invades, 

Th’  imperial  consort  of  the  crown  of  Spades. 
The  Club’s  black  tyrant  first  her  victim 
died, 

Spite  of  his  haughty  mien  and  barb’rous 
pride : 70 

What  boots  the  regal  circle  on  his  head, 
His  giant  limbs,  in  state  unwieldy  spread; 
That  long  behind  he  trails  his  pompous 
robe, 

And  of  all  monarchs  only  grasps  the  globe  9 

The  Baron  now  his  Diamonds  pours 
apace ; 

Th’  embroider’d  King  who  shows  but  half 
his  face, 

And  his  refulgent  Queen,  with  powers  com- 
bin’d, 

Of  broken  troops  an  easy  conquest  find. 
Clubs,  Diamonds,  Hearts,  in  wild  disorder 
seen, 

With  throngs  promiscuous  strew  the  level 
green.  8a 

Thus  when  dispers’d  a routed  army  runs, 
Of  Asia’s  troops,  and  Afric’s  sable  sons, 


94 


THE  RAPE  OF  THE  LOCK 


J. 


With  like  confusion  d iff ’rent  nations  fly, 

Of  various  habit,  and  of  various  dye; 

The  pierced  battalions  disunited  fall 
In  heaps  on  heaps  ; one  fate  o’erwhelms 
them  all. 

The  Knave  of  Diamonds  tries  his  wily 
arts, 

And  wins  (oh  shameful  chance  !)  the  Queen 
of  Hearts. 

At  this,  the  blood  the  virgin’s  cheek  for- 
sook, 

A livid  paleness  spreads  o’er  all  her  look; 
She  sees,  and  trembles  at  th’  approaching 
ill,  91 

Just  in  the  jaws  of  ruin,  and  Codille. 

And  now  (as  oft  in  some  distemper’d  state) 
O11  one  nice  trick  depends  the  gen’ral 
fate! 

An  Ace  of  Hearts  steps  forth:  the  King 
unseen 

Lurk’d  in  her  hand,  and  mourn’d  his  cap- 
tive Queen. 

He  springs  to  vengeance  with  an  eager  pace, 
And  falls  like  thunder  on  the  prostrate 
Ace. 

The  nymph,  exulting,  fills  with  shouts  the 
sky; 

The  walls,  the  woods,  and  long  canals  re- 
ply. • TOO 

Oh  thoughtless  mortals  ! ever  blind  to 
fate, 

Too  soon  dejected,  and  too  soon  elate: 
Sudden  these  honours  shall  be  snatch’d 
away, 

And  curs’d  for  ever  this  victorious  day. 

For  lo  ! the  board  with  cups  and  spoons 
is  crown’d, 

The  berries  crackle,  and  the  mill  turns 
round ; 

On  shining  altars  of  japan  they  raise 
The  silver  lamp;  the  fiery  spirits  blaze: 
From  silver  spouts  the  grateful  liquors 
glide, 

While  China’s  earth  receives  the  smoking 
tide.  no 

At  once  they  gratify  their  scent  and  taste, 
And  frequent  cups  prolong  the  rich  repast. 
Straight  hover  round  the  Fair  her  airy 
band ; 

Some,  as  she  sipp’d,  the  fuming  liquor 
fann’d, 

Some  o’er  her  lap  their  careful  plumes  dis- 
play’d, 

Trembling,  and  conscious  of  the  rich  bro- 
cade. 


Coffee  (which  makes  the  politician  wise, 
And  see  thro’  all  things  with  his  half-shut 
eyes) 

Sent  up  in  vapors  to  the  Baron’s  brain 
New  stratagems,  the  radiant  Lock  to  gain. 
Ah,  cease,  rash  youth  ! desist  ere ’t  is  too 
late,  121 

Fear  the  just  Gods,  and  think  of  Scylla’s 

fate  ! 

Changed  to  a bird,  and  sent  to  flit  in  air, 

She  dearly  pays  for  Nisus’  injured  hair  ! 
f But  when  to  mischief  mortals  bend  their 
will, 

How  soon  they  find  fit  instruments  of  ill! 
Just  then,  Clarissa  drew  with  -tempting 
grace 

A two-edg’d  weapon  from  her  shining  case: 
So  ladies  in  romance  assist  their  knight, 
Present  the  spear,  and  arm  him  for  the 

fight.  130 

He  takes  the  gift  with  rev’rence,  and  ex- 
tends 

The  little  engine  on  his  fingers’  ends; 

This  just  behind  Belinda’s  neck  he  spread, 
As  o’er  the  fragrant  steams  she  bends  her 
head. 

Swift  to  the  Lock  a thousand  sprites  re- 
pair; 

A thousand  wings,  by  turns,  blow  back  the 
hair; 

And  thrice  they  twitch’d  the  diamond  in  her 
ear; 

Thrice  she  look’d  back,  and  thrice  the  foe 
drew  near.  138 

Just  in  that  instant,  anxious  Ariel  sought 
The  close  recesses  of  the  virgin’s  thought: 
As  on  the  nosegay  in  her  breast  reclin’d, 

He  watch’d  th’  ideas  rising  in  her  mind, 
Sudden  he  view’d,  in  spite  of  all  her  art, 
An  earthly  Lover  lurking  at  her  heart. 
Amazed,  confused,  he  found  his  power  ex- 
pired, 

Resign’d  to  fate,  and  with  a sigh  retired. 

The  Peer  now  spreads  the  glitt’ring  for- 
fex  wide, 

T’  inclose  the  Lock;  now  joins  it,  to  di- 
vide. 

Ev’n  then,  before  the  fatal  engine  closed, 

A wretched  Sylph  too  fondly  interposed; 
-Fate  urged  the  shears,  and  cut  the  Sylph 
in  twain  151 

(But  airy  substance  soon  unites  again). 

The  meeting  points  the  sacred  hair  dissever 
From  the  fair  head,  for  ever,  and  for 
ever  ! 


THE  RAPE  OF  THE  LOCK 


95 


Then  flash’d  the  living  lightning  from 
her  eyes, 

And  screams  of  horror  rend  th’  affrighted 
skies. 

Not  louder  shrieks  to  pitying  Heav’n  are 
cast, 

When  husbands,  or  when  lapdogs  breathe 
their  last ; 

Or  when  rich  China  vessels,  fall’n  from 
high, 

In  glitt’ring  dust  and  painted  fragments 
lie!  160 

Let  wreaths  of  triumph  now  my  temples 
twine,’ 

Hie  Victor  cried,  ‘the  glorious  prize  is 
mine! 

While  fish  in  streams,  or  birds  delight  in 
air, 

Or  in  a coach  and  six  the  British  Fair, 

As  long  as  Atalantis  shall  be  read, 

Or  the  small  pillow  grace  a lady’s  bed, 

While  visits  shall  be  paid  on  solemn  days, 

When  numerous  wax-lights  in  bright  order 
blaze: 

While  nymphs  take  treats,  or  assignations 
give, 

3o  long  my  honour,  name,  and  praise  shall 
live!  170 

What  Time  would  spare,  from  Steel  re- 
ceives its  date, 

And  monuments,  like  men,  submit  to  Fate! 

5teel  could  the  labour  of  the  Gods  destroy, 

And  strike  to  dust  th’  imperial  towers  of 
Troy; 

*>teel  could  the  works  of  mortal  pride  con- 
found 

And  hew  triumphal  arches  to  the  ground. 

What  wonder,  then,  fair  Nymph!  thy  hairs 
should  feel 

The  conquering  force  of  unresisted  steel?  ’ 


CANTO  IV 

3ut  anxious  cares  the  pensive  nymph  op- 
prest, 

And  secret  passions  labour’d  in  her  breast, 
tfot  youthful  kings  in  battle  seiz’d  alive, 
Sot  scornful  virgins  who  their  charms  sur- 
t vive, 

Not  ardent  lovers  robb’d  of  all  their  bliss, 
Sot  ancient  ladies  when  refused  a kiss, 

Not  tyrants  fierce  that  unrepenting  die, 
Not  Cynthia  when  her  mantua ’s  pinn’d 
awry, 


E’er  felt  such  rage,  resentment,  and  de- 
spair, 

As  thou,  sad  Virgin!  for  thy  ravish’d  hair. 

For,  that  sad  moment,  when  the  Sylphs 
withdrew,  n 

And  Ariel  weeping  from  Belinda  flew, 
Umbriel,  a dusky,  melancholy  sprite 
As  ever  sullied  the  fair  face  of  light, 

Down  to  the  central  earth,  his  proper  scene, 
Repair’d  to  search  the  gloomy  cave  of 
Spleen. 

Swift  on  his  sooty  pinions  flits  the 
Gnome, 

And  in  a vapour  reach’d  the  dismal  dome. 
No  cheerful  breeze  this  sullen  region  knows, 
The  dreaded  East  is  all  the  wind  that 
blows.  20 

Here  in  a grotto  shelter’d  close  from  air, 
And  screen’d  in  shades  from  day’s  de- 
tested glare, 

She  sighs  for  ever  on  her  pensive  bed, 

Pain  at  her  side,  and  Megrim  at  her  head. 
Two  handmaids  wait  the  throne;  alike  in 
place, 

But  diff’ring  far  in  figure  and  in  face. 

Here  stood  Ill-nature,  like  an  ancient 
maid, 

Her  wrinkled  form  in  black  and  white  ar- 
ray’d! 

With  store  of  prayers  for  mornings,  nights, 
and  noons, 

Her  hand  is  fill’d;  her  bosom  with  lam- 
poons. 30 

There  Affectation,  with  a sickly  mien, 
Shows  in  her  cheek  the  roses  of  eighteen, 
Practis’d  to  lisp,  and  hang  the  head  aside, 
Faints  into  airs,  and  languishes  with  pride; 
On  the  rich  quilt  sinks  with  becoming  woe, 
Wrapt  in  a gown  for  sickness  and  for 
show. 

The  fair  ones  feel  such  maladies  as  these, 
When  each  new  night-dress  gives  a new 
disease. 

A constant  vapour  o’er  the  palace  flies 
Strange  phantoms  rising  as  the  mists  arise; 
Dreadful  as  hermits’  dreams  in  haunted 
shades,  41 

Or  bright  as  visions  of  expiring  maids: 
Now  glaring  fiends,  and  snakes  on  rolling 
spires, 

Pale  spectres,  gaping  tombs,  and  purple 
fires; 

Now  lakes  of  liquid  gold,  Elysian  scenes, 
And  crystal  domes,  and  angels  in  ma- 
chines. 


96 


THE  RAPE  OF  THE  LOCK 


Unnumber’d  throngs  on  ev’ry  side  are 
seen, 

Of  bodies  changed  to  various  forms  by 
Spleen. 

Here  living  Teapots  stand,  one  arm  held 
out, 

One  bent;  the  handle  this,  and  that  the 
spout:  50 

A Pipkin  there,  like  Homer’s  Tripod  walks; 
Here  sighs  a Jar,  and  there  a Goose-pie 
talks; 

Men  prove  with  child,  as  powerful  fancy 
works, 

And  maids  turn’d  bottles  call  aloud  for 
corks. 

Safe  pass’d  the  Gnome  thro’  this  fantastic 
band, 

A branch  of  healing  spleenwort  in  his 
hand. 

Then  thus  address’d  the  Power  — ‘ Hail, 
wayward  Queen! 

Who  rule  the  sex  to  fifty  from  fifteen: 
Parent  of  Vapours  and  of  female  wit, 

Who  give  th’  hysteric  or  poetic  fit,  60 

On  various  tempers  act  by  various  wavs, 
Make  some  take  physic,  others  scribble 
plays; 

Who  cause  the  proud  their  visits  to  delay, 
And  send  the  godly  in  a pet  to  pray. 

A nymph  there  is  that  all  your  power  dis- 
dains, 

And  thousands  more  in  equal  mirth  main- 
tains. 

But  oh!  if  e’er  thy  Gnome  could  spoil  a 
grace, 

Or  raise  a pimple  on  a beauteous  faee, 

Like  citron-waters  matrons’  cheeks  inflame, 
Or  change  complexions  at  a losing  game;  70 
If  e’er  with  airy  horns  I planted  heads, 

Or  rumpled  petticoats,  or  tumbled  beds, 

Or  caused  suspicion  when  no  soul  was  rude, 
Or  discomposed  the  head-dress  of  a prude, 
Or  e’er  to  costive  lapdog  gave  disease, 
Which  not  the  tears  of  brightest  eyes  could 
ease, 

Hear  me,  and  touoh  Belinda  with  chagrin; 
That  single  act  gives  half  the  world  the 
spleen.’ 

The  Goddess,  with  a discontented  air, 
Seems  to  reject  him  tho’  she  grants  his 
prayer.  80 

A wondrous  Bag  with  both  her  hands  she 
binds, 

Like  that  where  once  Ulysses  held  the 
winds; 


There  she  collects  the  force  of  female  lungs. 
Sighs,  sobs,  and  passions,  and  the  war  of 
tongues. 

A Vial  next  she  fills  with  fainting  fears, 
Soft  sorrows,  melting  griefs,  and  flowing 
tears. 

The  Gnome  rejoicing  bears  her  gifts  away, 
Spreads  his  black  wings,  and  slowly  mounts 
to  day. 

Sunk  in  Thalestris’  arms  the  nymph  he 
found, 

Her  eyes  dejected,  and  her  hair  unbound.  90 
Full  o’er  their  heads  the  swelling  Bag  he 
rent, 

And  all  the  Furies  issued  at  the  vent. 
Belinda  burns  with  more  than  mortal  ire, 
And  fierce  Thalestris  fans  the  rising  fire. 

‘O  wretched  maid!  ’ she  spread  her  hands, 
and  cried 

(While  Hampton’s  echoes,  ‘Wretched 
maid!  ’ replied), 

Was  it  for  this  you  took  such  constant  care 
The  bodkin,  comb,  and  essence  to  prepare  ? 
For  this  your  locks  in  paper  durance 
bound  ? 

For  this  with  torturing  irons  wreathed 
around  ? 100 

For  this  with  fillets  strain’d  your  tender 
head, 

And  bravely  bore  the  double  loads  of  lead  ? 
Gods!  shall  the  ravisher  display  your  hair, 
While  the  fops  envy,  and  the  ladies  stare! 
Honour  forbid!  at  whose  unrivall’d  shrine 
Ease,  Pleasure,  Virtue,  all,  our  sex  resign, 
Methinks  already  I your  tears  survey, 
Already  hear  the  horrid  things  they  say, 
Already  see  you  a degraded  toast, 

And  all  your  honour  in  a whisper  lost!  no 
How  shall  I,  then,  your  hapless  fame  de- 
fend ? 

’T  will  then  be  infamy  to  seem  your  friend! 
And  shall  this  prize,  th’  inestimable  prize, 
Exposed  thro’  crystal  to  the  gazing  eyes, 
And  heighten’d  by  the  diamond’s  circling 
rays, 

On  that  rapacious  hand  for  ever  blaze  ? 
Sooner  shall  grass  in  Hyde  Park  Circus  grow, 
And  Wits  take  lodgings  in  the  sound  of 
Bow; 

Sooner  let  earth,  air,  sea,  to  chaos  fall, 
Men,  monkeys,  lapdogs,  parrots,  perish 
all!’  i2Q 

She  said;  then  raging  to  Sir  Plume  re- 
pairs, 

And  bids  her  beau  demand  the  precious  hairs 


THE  RAPE  OF  THE  LOCK 


97 


(Sir  Plume,  of  amber  snuff-box  justly  vain, 
And  the  nice  conduct  of  a clouded  cane): 
With  earnest  eyes,  and  round  unthinking 
face, 

He  first  the  snuff-box  open’d,  then  the  case, 
And  thus  broke  out  — ‘ My  lord,  why,  what 
the  devil! 

Z— ds!  damn  the  Lock!  ’fore  Gad,  you 
must  be  civil! 

! Plague  on ’t!  ’t  is  past  a jest  — nay,  prithee, 
pox! 

Give  her  the  hair.’  — He  spoke,  and  rapp’d 
his  box.  i3o 

* It  grieves  me  much,’  replied  the  Peer 
again, 

* Who  speaks  so  well  should  ever  speak  in 
vain: 

But  by  this  Lock,  this  sacred  Lock,  I swear 
(Which  never  more  shall  join  its  parted 
hair; 

Which  never  more  its  honours  shall  renew, 
Clipp’d  from  the  lovely  head  where  late  it 
grew), 

That,  while  my  nostrils  draw  the  vital  air, 
This  hand,  which  won  it,  shall  for  ever 
wear.’ 

He  spoke,  and  speaking,  in  proud  triumph 
spread 

The  long-contended  honours  of  her  head.  140 
But  Umbriel,  hateful  Gnome,  forbears 
not  so; 

He  breaks  the  Vial  whence  the  sorrows 
flow. 

Then  see!  the  nymph  in  beauteous  grief  ap- 
pears, 

Her  eyes  half-languishing,  half  drown’d  in 
tears; 

On  her  heav’d  bosom  hung  her  drooping 
head, 

Which  with  a sigh  she  rais’d,  and  thus  she 
said: 

‘For  ever  curs’d  be  this  detested  day, 
Which  snatch’d  my  best,  my  fav’rite  curl 
away! 

Sappy!  ah,  ten  times  happy  had  I been, 

T Hampton  Court  these  eyes  had  never 
seen!  1So 

let  am  not  I the  first  mistaken  maid, 
ly  love  of  courts  to  numerous  ills  betray’d. 

) had  I rather  unadmired  remain’d 
n some  lone  isle,  or  distant  northern  land; 
Where  the  gilt  chariot  never  marks  the 
way, 

Where  none  learn  Ombre,  none  e’er  taste 
Bohea! 


There  kept  my  charms  conceal’d  from 
mortal  eye, 

Like  roses,  that  in  deserts  bloom  and  die. 

What  mov’d  my  mind  with  youthful  lords 
to  roam  ? 

0 had  I stay’d,  and  said  my  prayers  at 
home;  160 

’T  was  this  the  morning  omens  seem’d  to 
tell, 

Thrice  from  my  trembling  hand  the  patch- 
box  fell; 

The  tott’ring  china  shook  without  a wind; 

Nay,  Poll  sat  mute,  and  Shock  was  most 
unkind! 

A Sylph,  too,  warn’d  me  of  the  threats  of  - 


fate, 


:reats  or  ~j 
late ! _J 


In  mystic  visions,  now  believ’d  too  late! 

See  the  poor  remnants  of  these  slighted 
hairs! 

My  hands  shall  rend  what  ev’n  thy  rapine 
spares. 

These,  in  two  sable  ringlets  taught  to 
break, 

Once  gave  new  beauties  to  the  snowy  neck; 

The  sister-lock  now  sits  uncouth  alone,  171 

And  in  its  fellow’s  fate  foresees  its  own; 


Uncurl’d  it  hangs,  the  fatal  shears  de- 
mands, 

And  tempts  once  more  thy  sacrilegious 
hands. 

O hadst  thou,  cruel ! been  content  to  seize 
Hairs  less  in  sight,  or  any  hairs  but  these  ! ’ 


CANTO  V 

She  said:  the  pitying  audience  melt  in 
tears; 

But  Fate  and  Jove  had  stopp’d  the  Baron’s 
ears. 

In  vain  Thalestris  with  reproach  assails, 

For  who  can  move  when  fair  Belinda  fails  ? 

Not  half  so  fix’d  the  Trojan  could  remain, 

While  Anna  begg’d  and  Dido  raged  in 
vain. 

Then  grave  Clarissa  graceful  waved  her 
fan; 

Silence  ensued,  and  thus  the  nymph  began: 

‘ Say,  why  are  beauties  prais’d  and  hon- 
our’d most, 

The  wise  man’s  passion,  and  the  vain 
man’s  toast  ? I0 

Why  deck’d  with  all  that  land  and  sea  af- 
ford, 

Why  angels  call’d,  aud  angel-like  ador’d  ? 


98  THE  RAPE  OF  THE  LOCK 


Why  round  our  coaches  crowd  the  white- 
glov’d  beaux  ? 

Why  bows  the  side-box  from  its  inmost 
rows  ? 

How  vain  are  all  these  glories,  all  our 
pains, 

Unless  Good  Sense  preserve  what  Beauty 
gains; 

That  men  may  say  when  we  the  front-box 
grace, 

“ Behold  the  first  in  virtue  as  in  face  ! ” 

Oh  ! if  to  dance  all  night,  and  dress  all 
day, 

Charm’d  the  smallpox,  or  chased  old  age 
away ; 20 

Who  would  not  scorn  what  housewife’s 
cares  produce, 

Or  who  would  learn  one  earthly  thing  of 
use  ? 

To  patch,  nay,  ogle,  might  become  a saint, 
Nor  could  it  sure  be  such  a sin  to  paint. 

, But  since,  alas  ! frail  beauty  must  decay, 
Curl’d  or  uncurl’d,  since  locks  will  turn  to 
gray; 

Since  painted,  or  not  painted,  all  shall 
fade, 

And  she  who  scorns  a man  must  die  a 
maid; 

What  then  remains,  but  well  our  power  to 
use, 

And  keep  good  humour  still  whate’er  we 
lose  ? 30 

And  trust  me,  dear,  good  humour  can  pre- 
vail, 

When  airs,  and  flights,  and  screams,  and 
scolding  fail. 

Beauties  in  vain  their  pretty  eyes  may  roll; 
Charms  strike  the  sight,  but  merit  wins 
the  soul.’ 

So  spoke  the  dame,  but  no  applause  en- 
sued; 

Belinda  frown’d,  Thalestris  call’d  her 
prude. 

* To  arms,  to  arms  ! ’ the  fierce  virago  cries, 
And  swift  as  lightning  to  the  combat  flies. 
All  side  in  parties,  and  begin  th’  attack; 
Fans  clap,  silks  rustle,  and  tough  whale- 
bones crack;  4° 

Heroes’  and  heroines’  shouts  confusedly 
rise, 

And  bass  and  treble  voices  strike  the  skies. 
No  common  weapons  in  their  hands  are 
found, 

Like  Gods  they  fight  nor  dread  a mortal 
wound. 


So  when  bold  Homer  makes  the  Gods 
engage, 

And  heav’nly  breasts  with  human  passions 
rag<?; 

’Gainst  Pallas,  Mars  ; Latona,  Hermes 
arms; 

And  all  Olympus  rings  with  loud  alarms; 
Jove’s  thunder  roars,  Heav’n  trembles  all 
around, 

Blue  Neptune  storms,  the  bell’wing  deeps 
resound : 50 

Earth  shakes  her  nodding  towers,  the 
ground  gives  way, 

And  the  pale  ghosts  start  at  the  flash  of 
day  ! 

Triumphant  Umbriel,  on  a sconce  s 
height, 

Clapp’d  his  glad  wings,  and  sat  to  view  the 
fight: 

Propp’d  on  their  bodkin-spears,  the  sprites 
survey 

The  growing  combat,  or  assist  the  fray. 

While  thro’  the  press  enraged  Thalestris 
flies, 

And  scatters  death  around  from  both  her 
eyes, 

A Beau  and  Witling  perish’d  in  the  throng, 
One  died  in  metaphor,  and  one  in  song:  6c 
‘ O cruel  Nymph  ! a living  death  I bear,’ 
Cried  Dapperwit,  and  sunk  beside  his 
chair. 

A mournful  glance  Sir  Fopling  upwards 
cast, 

‘ Those  eyes  are  made  so  killing  ’ — was  his 
last. 

Thus  on  Meander’s  flowery  margin  lies 
Th’  expiring  swan,  and  as  he  sings  h( 
dies. 

When  bold  Sir  Plume  had  drawn  Clar 
issa  down, 

Chloe  stepp’d  in,  and  kill’d  him  with  : 
frown ; 

She  smiled  to  see  the  doughty  hero  slain, 
But,  at  her  smile,  the  beau  revived  again. 
Now  Jove  suspends  his  golden  scales  ii 
air,  _ 7 

Weighs  the  men’s  wits  against  the  lady’ 
hair; 

The  doubtful  beam  long  nods  from  side  t 
side; 

At  length  the  wits  mount  up,  the  hairs  sut 
side. 

See  fierce  Belinda  on  the  Baron  flies, 
With  more  than  usual  lightning  in  he 
eyes; 


THE  RAPE  OF  THE  LOCK 


99 


Nor  fear’d  the  chief  th’  unequal  fight  to  try, 
Who  sought  uo  more  than  on  his  foe  to  die. 
But  this  bold  lord,  with  manly  strength  en- 
dued, 

She  with  one  finger  and  a thumb  subdued: 
Just  where  the  breath  of  life  his  nostrils 
drew,  8 1 

A charge  of  snuff  the  wily  virgin  threw; 
The  Gnomes  direct,  to  every  atom  just, 
The  pungent  grains  of  titillating  dust. 
Sudden,  with  starting  tears  each  eye  o’er- 
flows, 

And  the  high  dome  reechoes  to  his  nose. 

‘ Now  meet  thy  fate,’  incens’d  Belinda 
cried, 

And  drew  a deadly  bodkin  from  her  side. 
(The  same,  his  ancient  personage  to  deck, 
Her  great-great-grandsire  wore  about  his 
neck,  9o 

In  three  seal-rings;  which  after,  melted 
down, 

Form’d  a vast  buckle  for  his  widow’s  gown: 
Her  infant  grandame’s  whistle  next  it  grew, 
The  bells  she  jingled,  and  the  whistle  blew; 
Then  in  a bodkin  graced  her  mother’s  hairs, 
Which  long  she  wore  and  now  Belinda 
wears.) 

‘ Boast  not  my  fall,’  he  cried,  ‘ insulting 
foe  ! 

Thou  by  some  other  shalt  be  laid  as  low; 
Nor  think  to  die  dejects  my  lofty  mind: 

All  that  I dread  is  leaving  you  behind  ! ioo 
Rather  than  so,  ah,  let  me  still  survive, 

And  burn  in  Cupid’s  flames  — but  burn 
alive.’ 

‘Restore  the  Lock!’  she  cries;  and  all 
around 

‘ Restore  the  Lock  ! ’ the  vaulted  roofs  re- 
bound. 

Not  fierce  Othello  in  so  loud  a strain 
Roar’d  for  the  handkerchief  that  caus’d  his 
pain. 

But  see  how  oft  ambitious  aims  are  cross’d, 
And  chiefs  contend  till  all  the  prize  is  lost ! 
The  lock,  obtain’d  with  guilt,  and  kept 
with  pain, 

In  ev’ry  place  is  sought,  but  sought  in 
vain:  . IIO 

With  such  a prize  no  mortal  must  be  blest. 
So  Heav’n  decrees  ! with  Heav’n  who  can 
contest  ? 

Some  thought  it  mounted  to  the  lunar 
sphere, 

Since  all  things  lost  on  earth  are  treasured 
there. 


There  heroes’  wits  are  kept  in  pond’rous 
vases, 

And  beaux’  in  snuffboxes  and  tweezer- 
cases. 

There  broken  vows,  and  deathbed  alms  are 
found, 

And  lovers’  hearts  with  ends  of  riband 
bound, 

The  courtier’s  promises,  and  sick  man’s 
prayers, 

The  smiles  of  harlots,  and  the  tears  of 
heirs,  120 

Cages  for  gnats,  and  chains  to  yoke  a flea, 

Dried  butterflies,  and  tomes  of  casuistry.  

But  trust  the  Muse  — she  saw  it  upward 
rise, 

Tho’  mark’d  by  none  but  quick  poetic  eyes 
(So  Rome’s  great  founder  to  the  heav’ns 
withdrew, 

To  Proculus  alone  confess’d  in  view): 

A sudden  star,  it  shot  thro’  liquid  air, 

And  drew  behind  a radiant  trail  of  hair. 

Not  Berenice’s  locks  first  rose  so  bright, 

The  heav’ns  bespangling  with  dishevell’d 
light.  ...  *30 

The  Sylphs  behold  it  kindling  as  it  flies, 

And  pleas’d  pursue  its  progress  thro’  the 
skies. 

This  the  beau  monde  shall  from  the  Mall 
survey, 

And  hail  with  music  its  propitious  ray; 

This  the  blest  lover  shall  for  Venus  take, 

And  send  up  vows  from  Rosamouda’s  lake; 
This  Partridge  soon  shall  view  in  cloudless 
skies, 

When  next  he  looks  thro’  Galileo’s  eyes; 

And  hence  th’  egregious  wizard  shall  fore- 
doom 

The  fate  of  Louis,  and  the  fall  of  Rome.  i4o 
Then  cease,  bright  Nymph  ! to  mourn  thy 
ravish’d  hair, 

Which  adds  new  glory  to  the  shining 
sphere  ! 

Not  all  the  tresses  that  fair  head  can  boast 
Shall  draw  such  envy  as  the  Lock  you  lost. 
For  after  all  the  murders  of  your  eve, 

When,  after  millions  slain,  yourself  shall 
die; 

When  those  fair  suns  shall  set,  as  set  they 
must, 

And  all  those  tresses  shall  be  laid  in  dust, 
This  Lock  the  Muse  shall  consecrate  to 
fame, 

And  ’midst  the  stars  inscribe  Belinda’s 
name.  jcq 


100 


POEMS  WRITTEN  BETWEEN  1713  AND  1717 


POEMS  WRITTEN  BETWEEN  1713  AND  1717 


PROLOGUE  TO  MR.  ADDISON’S 
CATO 

This  prologue  was  written  in  1713,  after 
Addison  had  given  Pope  two  of  the  main  causes 
which  led  to  their  estrangement ; and  itself  led 
the  way  for  the  third.  Addison’s  faint  praise 
of  the  Pastorals , and  disagreement  with  Pope 
as  to  the  advisability  of  revising  The  Rape  of 
the  Lock , had  not  as  yet  led  to  their  estrange- 
ment. But  when  not  long  after  the  presen- 
tation of  Cato , Pope  ventured  to  become  its 
champion  against  the  attacks  of  John  Dennis, 
Addison’s  quiet  disclaimer  of  responsibility  for 
his  anonymous  defender  cut  Pope  to  the  quick. 

To  wake  the  soul  by  tender  strokes  of 
art, 

To  raise  the  genius,  and  to  mend  the  heart; 
To  make  mankind,  in  conscious  virtue  bold, 
Live  o’er  each  scene,  and  be  what  they  be- 
hold: 

For  this  the  Tragic  Muse  first  trod  the 
stage, 

Commanding  tears  to  stream  thro’  ev’ry 
age: 

Tyrants  no  more  their  savage  nature  kept, 
And  foes  to  virtue  wonder’d  how  they  wept. 
Our  author  shuns  by  vulgar  springs  to 
move 

The  Hero’s  glory,  or  the  Virgin’s  love;  io 
In  pitying  Love,  we  but  our  weakness  show, 
And  wrild  Ambition  well  deserves  its  woe. 
Here  tears  shall  flow  from  a more  gen’rous 
cause, 

Such  tears  as  patriots  shed  for  dying 
laws. 

He  bids  your  breasts  with  ancient  ardour 
rise, 

And  calls  forth  Roman  drops  from  British 
eyes: 

Virtue  confess’d  in  human  shape  he  draws, 
What  Plato  thought,  and  godlike  Cato  was: 
No  common  object  to  your  sight  displays, 
But  what  with  pleasure  Heav’n  itself  sur- 
veys, 20 

A brave  man  struggling  in  the  storms  of 
fate, 

And  greatly  falling  with  a falling  state. 
While  Cato  gives  his  little  senate  laws, 
What  bosom  beats  not  in  his  country’s 
cause  ? 


Who  sees  him  act,  but  envies  ev’ry  deed  ? 
Who  hears  him  groan,  and  does  not  wish 
to  bleed  ? 

Ev’n  when  proud  Caesar,  midst  triumphal 
cars, 

The  spoils  of  nations,  and  the  pomp  of 
wars, 

Ignobly  vain,  and  impotently  great, 

Show’d  Rome  her  Cato’s  figure  drawn  in 
state;  30 

As  her  dead  father’s  rev’rend  image  past, 
The  pomp  was  darken’d,  and  the  day  o’er- 
cast ; 

The  triumph  ceas’d,  tears  gush’d  from 
ev’ry  eye, 

The  world’s  great  Victor  pass’d  unheeded 
by; 

Her  last  good  man  dejected  Rome  ador’d, 
And  honour’d  Csesar’s  less  than  Cato’s 
sword. 

Britons,  attend:  be  worth  like  this  ap- 
prov’d, 

And  show  you  have  the  virtue  to  be 
mov’d. 

With  honest  scorn  the  first  famed  Cato 
view’d 

Rome  learning  arts  from  Greece,  whom  she 
subdued;  40 

Your  scene  precariously  subsists  too  long 
O11  French  translation  and  Italian  song. 
Dare  to  have  sense  yourselves;  assert  the 
stage; 

Be  justly  warm’d  with  your  own  native 
rage: 

Such  plays  alone  should  win  a British  ear 
As  Cato’s  self  had  not  disdain’d  to  hear. 


EPILOGUE  TO  MR.  ROWE’S 
JANE  SHORE 

DESIGNED  FOR  MRS.  OLDFIELD 

Nicholas  Rowe’s  play  was  acted  at  Drury 
Lane  in  February,  1714.  Mrs.  Oldfield  played 
the  leading  part,  hut  Pope’s  Epilogue  was  not 
used. 

Prodigious  this!  the  Frail-one  of  our  play 
From  her  own  sex  should  mercy  find  to- 
day! 


UPON  THE  DUKE  OF  MARLBOROUGH’S  HOUSE 


ioi 


You  flight  have  held  the  pretty  head  aside, 
Peep’d  in  your  fans,  been  serious,  tlius,  and 
cried,  — 

‘ The  play  may  pass  — but  that  strange 
creature,  Shore, 

I can’t  — indeed  now  1 so  hate  a whore  I ’ 
Just  as  a blockhead  rubs  his  thoughtless 
skull, 

And  thanks  his  stars  he  was  not  born  a 
fool; 

So  from  a sister  sinner  you  shall  hear, 

* How  strangely  you  expose  yourself,  my 
dear!  io 

But  let  me  die,  all  raillery  apart, 

Our  sex  are  still  forgiving  at  their  heart; 
And,  did  not  wicked  custom  so  contrive, 

We ’d  be  the  best  good-natured  things 
alive.’ 

There  are,  ’tis  true,  who  tell  another 
tale, 

That  virtuous  ladies  envy  while  they  rail ; 
Such  rage  without  betrays  the  fire  within; 
In  some  close  corner  of  the  soul  they  sin; 
Still  hoarding  up,  most  scandalously  nice, 
Amidst  their  virtues  a reserve  of  vice.  20 
The  godly  dame,  who  fleshly  failings 
damns, 

Scolds  with  her  maid,  or  with  her  chaplain 

crams. 

Would  you  enjoy  soft  nights  and  solid 
dinners  ? 

Faith,  gallants,  board  with  saints,  and  bed 
with  sinners. 

Well,  if  our  author  in  the  Wife  offends, 

He  has  a Husband  that  will  make  amends: 
He  draws  him  gentle,  tender,  and  forgiv- 
ing; 

And  sure  such  kind  good  creatures  may  be 
living. 

In  days  of  old,  they  pardon’d  breach  of 
vows;  29* 

Stern  Cato’s  self  was  no  relentless  spouse. 
?lu  — Plutarch,  what ’s  his  name  that 
writes  his  life, 

Tells  us,  that  Cato  dearly  lov’d  his  wife: 
fet  if  a friend,  a night  or  so,  should  need 
her, 

Te ’d  recommend  her  as  a special  breeder. 
To  lend  a wife,  few  here  would  scruple 
1 make; 

Lit,  pray,  which  of  you  all  would  take  her 
back  ? 

fho’  with  the  Stoic  Chief  our  stage  may 
ring, 

the  Stoic  Husband  was  the  glorious  thing. 


The  man  had  courage,  was  a sage,  ’t  is 
true, 

And  lov’d  his  country  — but  what’s  that 
to  you  ? 40 

Those  strange  examples  ne’er  were  made 
to  fit  ye, 

But  the  kind  cuckold  might  instruct  the 
city: 

There,  many  an  honest  man  may  copy  Cato 
Who  ne’er  saw  naked  sword,  or  look’d  in 
Plato. 

If,  after  all,  you  think  it  a disgrace, 

That  Edward’s  Miss  thus  perks  it  in  your 
face, 

To  see  a piece  of  failing  flesh  and  blood, 

In  all  the  rest  so  impudently  good: 

Faith,  let  the  modest  matrons  of  the  town 
Come  here  in  crowds,  and  stare  the  strum- 
pet down.  50 


TO  A LADY,  WITH  THE  TEM- 
PLE OF  FAME 

What  ’a  Fame  with  men,  by  custom  of  the 
nation, 

Is  call’d,  in  women,  only  Reputation: 

About  them  both  why  keep  we  such  a 
pother  ? 

Part  you  with  one,  and  I ’ll  renounce  the 
other. 


UPON  THE  DUKE  OF  MARLBOR- 
OUGH’S HOUSE  AT  WOOD- 
STOCK 

Atria  longa  patent;  sed  nec  coenantibus  usquam, 

Nec  sorano,  locus  eSt : quam  bene  non  habitas. 

Martial . 

These  verses  were  first,  published  in  1714. 
There  is  no  actual  proof  that  they  are  Pope’s, 
hut  as  his  editors  have  always  retained  them, 
they  are  here  given. 

See,  Sir,  here ’s  the  grand  approach, 

This  way  is  for  his  Grace  s coach ; 

There  lies  the  bridge,  and  here ’s  the  clock; 
Observe  the  lion  and  the  cock, 

The  spacious  court,  the  colonnade, 

And  mark  how  wide  the  hall  is  made! 

The  chimneys  are  so  well  design’d, 

They  never  smoke  in  any  wind. 

This  gallery ’s  contrived  for  walking, 

The  windows  to  retire  and  talk  in ; 


POEMS  WRITTEN  BETWEEN  1713  AND  1717 


The  council-chamber  for  debate, 

Amd  all  the  rest  are  rooms  of  state. 

Thanks,  Sir,  cried  I,  ’t  is  very  fine, 

But  where  d’ye  sleep,  or  where  d’ye 
dine  ? 

I find  by  all  you  have  been  telling 
That ’t  is  a house,  but  not  a dwelling. 


LINES  TO  LORD  BATHURST 

In  illustration  Mitford  refers  to  Pope’s  letter 
to  Lord  Bathurst  of  September  13, 1732,  where 
1 Mr.  L.’  is  spoken  of  as  ‘ more  inclined  to  ad- 
mire God  in  his  greater  works,  the  tall  timber.’ 
(Ward.)  Proof  is  lacking  that  these  lines  be- 
long to  Pope.  They  were  printed  by  E.  Curll 
in  1714. 

t A Wood!  ’ quoth  Lewis,  and  with  that 
He  laugh’d,  and  shook  his  sides  of  fat. 

His  tongue,  with  eye  that  mark’d  his  cun- 
ning, 

Thus  fell  a-reas’ning,  not  a-running  : 

‘ Woods  are  — not  to  be  too  prolix  — 
Collective  bodies  of  straight  sticks. 

It  is,  my  lord,  a mere  conundrum 
To  call  things  woods  for  what  grows  under 
’em. 

For  shrubs,  when  nothing  else  at  top  is, 
Can  only  constitute  a coppice. 

But  if  you  will  not  take  my  word, 

See  anno  quint,  of  Richard  Third; 

And  that ’s  a coppice  call’d,  when  dock’d, 
Witness  an.  prim,  of  Harry  Oct. 

If  this  a wood  you  will  maintain, 

Merely  because  it  is  no  plain, 

Holland,  for  all  that  I can  see, 

May  e’en  as  well  be  term’d  the  sea, 

Or  C[onings]by  be  fair  harangued 
An  honest  man,  because  not  hang’d.’ 


MACER 

A CHARACTER 

This  was  first  printed  in  1727  in  the  1 Miscel- 
lanies of  Pope  and  Swift,  but  was  probably 
written  in  1715.  Macer  is  supposed  to  be  Am- 
brose Philips.  The  4 borrow’d  Play  ’ of  the 
eighth  line  would  then  have  been  The  Distrest 
Mother , adapted  by  Philips  from  Racine. 

When  simple  Macer , now  of  high  renown, 
First  sought  a poet’s  fortune  in  the  town, 


’T  was  all  th’  ambition  his  high  soul  could 
feel 

To  wear  red  stockings,  and  to  dine  with 
Steele. 

Some  ends  of  verse  his  betters  might  af- 
ford, 

And  gave  the  harmless  fellow  a good  word : 
Set  up  with  these  he  ventured  on  the  town, 
And  with  a borrow’d  play  outdid  poor 
Crowne. 

There  he  stopp’d  short,  nor  since  has  writ 
a tittle, 

But  has  the  wit  to  make  the  most  of  little; 
Like  stunted  hide-bound  trees,  that  just 
have  got  n 

Sufficient  sap  at  once  to  bear  and  rot. 

Now  he  begs  verse,  and  what  he  gets  com- 
mends, 

Not  of  the  Wits  his  foes,  but  Fools  his 
friends. 

So  some  coarse  country  wench,  almost 
decay’d, 

Trudges  to  towrn  and  first  turns  chamber- 
maid; 

Awkward  and  supple  each  devoir  to  pay, 
She  flatters  her  good  lady  twice  a day; 
Thought  wondrous  honest,  tho’  of  mear 
degree, 

And  strangely  liked  for  her  simplicity:  2 
In  a translated  suit  then  tries  the  town, 
With  borrow’d  pins  and  patches  not  he: 
own: 

But  just  endured  the  winter  she  began, 
And  in  four  months  a batter’d  harridan: 
Now  nothing  left,  but  wither’d,  pale,  ant 
shrunk, 

To  bawd  for  others,  and  go  shares  wit! 
punk. 

EPISTLE  TO  MRS.  TERESA 
‘ BLOUNT 

ON  HER  LEAVING  THE  TOWN  AFTER  TH 
CORONATION 

This  was  written  shortly  after  the  coronatio 
of  George  I.  4 Zephalinda  ’ was  a fancifi 
name  employed  by  Teresa  Blount  in  correspoi 
denee. 

As  some  fond  virgin,  whom  her  mother 
care 

Drags  from  the  town  to  wholesome  counti 
air, 


A FAREWELL  TO  LONDON 


103 


Just  when  she  learns  to  roll  a melting 
eye, 

And  hear  a spark,  yet  think  no  danger 
nigh  — 

From  the  dear  man  unwilling  she  must 
sever, 

Yet  takes  one  kiss  before  she  parts  for 
ever  — 

Thus  from  the  world  fair  Zephalinda  flew, 
Saw  others  happy,  and  with  sighs  with- 
drew; 

Not  that  their  pleasures  caus’d  her  dis- 
content ; 

She  sigh’d  not  that  they  stay’d,  but  that 
she  went.  IO 

She  went  to  plain-work,  and  to  purling 
brooks, 

Old-fashion’d  halls,  dull  aunts,  and  croak- 
ing rooks: 

She  went  from  Op’ra,  Park,  Assembly, 

To  morning  walks,  and  prayers  three  hours 
a day; 

To  part  her  time  ’twixt  reading  and  Bohea, 
To  muse,  and  spill  her  solitary  tea; 

Or  o’er  cold  coffee  trifle  with  the  spoon, 
Count  the  slow  clock,  and  dine  exact  at 
noon; 

Divert  her  eyes  with  pictures  in  the  fire, 
Hum  half  a tune,  tell  stories  to  the  squire; 
Up  to  her  godly  garret  after  sev’n,  21 
There  starve  and  pray,  for  that ’s  the  way 
to  Heav’n. 

Some  Squire,  perhaps,  you  take  delight 
to  rack, 

Whose  game  is  Whist,  whose  treat  a toast 
in  sack; 

Who  visits  with  a gun,  presents  you  birds, 
Then  gives  a smacking  buss,  and  cries  — 

‘ No  words!  ’ 

Or  with  his  hounds  comes  hollowing  from 
the  stable, 

Makes  love  with  nods,  and  knees  beneath  a 
table ; 

Whose  laughs  are  hearty,  tho’  his  jests  are 
coarse, 

And  loves  you  best  of  all  things  — but  his 
horse.  3Q 

In  some  fair  ev’ning,  on  your  elbow  laid, 
You  dream  of  triumphs  in  the  rural  shade; 
In  pensive  thought  recall  the  fancied  scene, 
See  coronations  rise  on  ev’ry  green: 

Before  you  pass  th’  imaginary  sights 
Of  Lords  and  Earls  and  Dukes  and  garter’d 
Knights,  I 


While  the  spread  fan  o’ershades  your  clos- 
ing eyes; 

Then  gives  one  flirt,  and  all  the  vision  flies. 

Thus  vanish  sceptres,  coronets,  and  balls, 

And  leave  you  in  lone  woods,  or  empty 
walls!  4Q 

So  when  your  Slave,  at  some  dear  idle 
time 

(Not  plagued  with  headaches  or  the  want 
of  rhyme) 

Stands  in  the  streets,  abstracted  from  the 
crew, 

And  while  he  seems  to  study,  thinks  of 
you; 

J ust  when  his  fancy  paints  your  sprightly 
eyes, 

Or  sees  the  blush  of  soft  Parthenia  rise, 

Gay  pats  my  shoulder,  and  you  vanish 
quite, 

Streets,  Chairs,  and  Coxcombs  rush  upon 
my  sight; 

Vext  to  be  still  in  town,  I knit  my  brow, 

Look  sour,  and  hum  a tune,  as  you  may 


LINES  OCCASIONED  BY  SOME 
VERSES  OF  HIS  GRACE  THE 
DUKE  OF  BUCKINGHAM 

Muse,  ’t  is  enough,  at  length  thy  labour 
ends, 

And  thou  shalt  live,  for  Buckingham  com- 
mends. 

Let  crowds  of  critics  now  my  verse  assail, 

Let  Dennis  write,  and  nameless  numbers 
rail: 

This  more  than  pays  whole  years  of  thank- 
less pain; 

Time,  health,  and  fortune,  are  not  lost  in 
vain. 

Sheffield  approves,  consenting  Phoebus 
bends, 

And  I and  malice  from  this  hour  are 
friends. 

A FAREWELL  TO  LONDON 

IN  THE  YEAR  1715 

Dear,  damn’d,  distracting  town,  farewell! 
Thy  fools  no  more  I ’ll  tease: 

This  year  in  peace,  ye  Critics,  dwell, 

Ye  Harlots,  sleep  at  ease! 


104 


POEMS  WRITTEN  BETWEEN  1713  AND  1717 


Soft  B a and  rough  C[ragg]s,  adieu! 

Earl  Warwick,  make  your  moan; 

The  lively  H[inchenbroo]k  and  you 
May  knock  up  whores  alone. 

To  drink  and  droll  be  Rowe  allow’d 
Till  the  third  watchman’s  toll; 

Let  Jervas  gratis  paint,  and  Froude 
Save  threepence  and  his  soul. 

Farewell  Arbuthnot’s  raillery 
O11  every  learned  sot; 

And  Garth,  the  best  good  Christian  he, 
Although  he  knows  it  not. 

Lintot,  farewell!  thy  bard  must  go; 

Farewell,  unhappy  Tonson! 

Heav’n  gives  thee  for  thy  loss  of  Rowe, 
Lean  Philips  and  fat  Johnson. 

Why  should  I stay?  Both  parties  rage; 

My  vixen  mistress  squalls; 

The  Wits  in  envious  feuds  engage; 

And  Homer  (damn  him!)  calls. 

The  love  of  arts  lies  cold  and  dead 
In  Halifax’s  urn; 

And  not  one  Muse  of  all  he  fed 
Has  yet  the  grace  to  mourn. 

My  friends,  by  turns,  my  friends  con- 
found, 

Betray,  and  are  betray’d: 

Poor  Y[ounge]r ’s  sold  for  fifty  pounds, 
And  B[ickne]ll  is  a.  jade. 

Why,  make  I friendships  with  the  great, 
When  I no  favour  seek  ? 

Or  follow  girls  seven  hours  in  eight  ? — 

I need  but  once  a week. 

Still  idle,  with  a busy  air, 

Deep  whimseys  to  contrive; 

The  gayest  valetudinaire, 

Most  thinking  rake  alive. 

Solicitous  for  others’  ends, 

Tho’  fond  of  dear  repose; 

Careless  or  drowsy  with  my  friends, 

And  frolic  with  my  foes. 

Luxurious  lobster-nights,  farewell, 

For  sober,  studious  days! 

And  Burlington’s  delicious  meal, 

For  salads,  tarts,  and  pease! 


Adieu  to  all  but  Gay  alone, 

Whose  soul  sincere  and  free, 

Loves  all  mankind  but  flatters  none, 

And  so  may  starve  with  me. 

IMITATION  OF  MARTIAL 

Referred  to  in  a letter  from  Trumbull  to 
Pope  dated  January,  1716.  The  epigram  imi- 
tated is  the  twenty-third  of  the  tenth  book. 

At  length,  my  Friend  (while  Time,  with 
still  career, 

Wafts  on  his  gentle  wing  his  eightieth 
year), 

Sees  his  past  days  safe  out  of  Fortune’s 
power, 

Nor  dreads  approaching  Fate’s  uncertain 
hour; 

Reviews  his  life,  and  in  the  strict  survey,  I 
Finds  not  one  moment  he  could  wish  away,  > 
Pleased  with  the  series  of  each  happy  day.  ) 
Such,  such  a man  extends  his  life’s  short 
space, 

And  from  the  goal  again  renews  the  race  ; 
For  he  lives  twice,  who  can  at  once  employ 
The  present  well,  and  ev’n  the  past  enjoy. 

IMITATION  OF  TIBULLUS 

See  the  fourth  elegy  of  Tibullus,  lines  55. 5o. 
In  the  course  of  his  high-flown  correspondence 
with  Lady  Mary  Wortley  Montagu,  after  her 
departure  for  the  East,  Pope  often  suggests 
the  possibility  of  his  travelling  to  meet  her. 

‘ But  if  my  fate  be  such,’  he  says  on  the  occa- 
sion which  brought  forth  this  couplet,  ‘ that 
this  body  of  mine  (which  is  as  ill  matched  to 
my  mind  as  any  wife  to  her  husband)  be  left 
behind  in  the  journey,  let  the  epitaph  of  Tibul- 
lus be  set  over  it ! ’ 

Here,  stopt  by  hasty  Death,  Alexis  lies, 
Who  cross’d  half  Europe,  led  by  Wortley ’s 
eyes. 

THE  BASSET-TABLE 
AN  ECLOGUE 

This  mock  pastoral  was  one  of  three  which 
made  up  the  original  volume  of  Town  Eclogues , 
published  anonymously  in  1716.  Three  more 
appeared  in  a later  edition.  It  is  now  known 
that  only  the  Basset-Table  is  Pope’s,  the  rest 
being  the  work  of  Lady  Mary  Wortley  Mon- 
tagu. 


THE  BASSET-TABLE 


I05 


CAKDELIA,  SMILINDA,  LOVET 

Card.  The  Basset-Table  spread,  the 
Tallier  come, 

Why  stays  Smilinda  in  the  dressing-room  ? 
Rise,  pensive  nymph!  the  Tallier  waits') 
for  you. 

Smil.  Ah,  madam  ! since  my  Sharper  l 
is  untrue, 

I joyless  make  my  once  adored  Alpeu.  J 
I saw  him  stand  behind  Ombrelia’s  chair,  ] 
And  whisper  with  that  soft  deluding  air,  I 
And  those  feign’d  sighs  which  cheat  the  [ 
list’ning  Fair.  J 

Card.  Is  this  the  cause  of  your  roman- 
tic strains  ? 

A mightier  grief  my  heavy  heart  sustains: 
As  you  by  love,  so  I by  Fortune  crost;  n 
One,  one  bad  Deal,  three  Septlevas  have 
lost. 

Smil.  Is  that  the  grief  which  you  com- 
pare with  mine  ? 

With  ease  the  smiles  of  fortune  I resign  : 
Would  all  my  gold  in  one  bad  Deal  were 
gone, 

Were  lovely  Sharper  mine,  and  mine  alone. 

Card.  A lover  lost  is  but  a common 
care, 

And  prudent  nymphs  against  that  change 
prepare : 

The  Knave  of  Clubs  thrice  lost:  Oh  ! who 
could  guess  lg 

This  fatal  stroke,  this  unforeseen  distress  ? 

Smil.  See  Betty  Lovet  ! very  apropos; 
She  all  the  cares  of  love  and  play  does 
know. 

Dear  Betty  shall  th’  important  point  de- 
cide; 

Betty  ! who  oft  the  pain  of  each  has  tried; 
Impartial  she  shall  say  who  suffers  most, 

By  cards’  ill  usage,  or  by  lovers  lost. 

Lov.  Tell,  tell  your  griefs;  attentive 
will  I stay, 

Though  time  is  precious,  and  I want  some 
tea. 

Card.  Behold  this  equipage,  by  Mathers 
wrought, 

vVith  fifty  guineas  (a  great  pen’ worth) 
i bought.  30 

3ee  on  the  toothpick  Mars  and  Cupid 
i strive, 

^.nd  both  the  struggling  figures  seem  alive. 

J Jpon  the  bottom  shines  the  Queen’s  bright 
} face ; 

V myrtle  foliage  round  the  thimble  case. 


Jove,  Jove  himself  does  on  the  scissors 
shine: 

The  metal,  and  the  workmanship,  divine. 

Smil.  This  snuff-box  — once  the  pledge 
of  Sharper’s  love, 

When  rival  beauties  for  the  present  strove ; 
At  Corticelli’s  he  the  raffle  won;  39 

Then  first  his  passion  was  in  public  shown: 
Hazardia  blush’d,  and  turn’d  her  head  aside, 
A rival’s  envy  (all  in  vain)  to  hide. 

This  snuffbox  — on  the  hinge  see  brilliants 
shine  — 

This  snuffbox  will  I stake,  the  Prize  is 
mine. 

Card.  Alas!  far  lesser  losses  than  I 
bear 

Have  made  a soldier  sigh,  a lover  swear. 
And  oh!  what  makes  the  disappointment 
hard, 

’Twas  my  own  Lord  that  drew  the  fatal 
card. 

In  complaisance  I took  the  Queen  he  gave, 
Tho’  my  own  secret  wish  was  for  the 
Knave.  50 

The  Knave  won  Sonica,  which  I had  chose, 
And  the  next  pull  my  Septleva  I lose. 

Smil.  But  ah!  what  aggravates  the  kill- 
ing smart, 

The  cruel  thought  that  stabs  me  to  the 
heart, 

This  curs’d  Ombrelia,  this  undoing  Fair, 

By  whose  vile  arts  this  heavy  grief  I 
bear, 

She,  at  whose  name  I shed  these  spiteful 
tears, 

She  owes  to  me  the  very  charms  she  wears. 
An  awkward  thing  when  first  she  came  to 
town, 

Her  shape  unfashion’d,  and  her  face  un- 
known: 60 

She  was  my  friend;  I taught  her  first  to 
spread 

Upon  her  sallow  cheeks  enlivening  red; 

I introduced  her  to  the  park  and  plays, 

And  by  my  int’rest  Cozens  made  her  Stays. 
Ungrateful  wretch!  with  mimic  airs  grown 
pert, 

She  dares  to  steal  my  favourite  lover’s 
heart. 

Card.  Wretch  that  I was,  how  often 
have  I swore, 

When  Winnall  tallied,  I would  punt  no 
more! 

I know  the  bite,  yet  to  my  ruin  run, 

And  see  the  folly  which  I cannot  shun. 


t: 

Cis 


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w 


7« 


io6 


POEMS  WRITTEN  BETWEEN  1713  AND  1717 


Smil.  How  many  maids  have  Sharper’s 
vows  deceiv’d  ? 

How  many  curs’d  the  moment  they  be- 
liev’d ? 

Yet  his  known  falsehoods  could  no  warning 
prove : 

Ah!  what  is  warning  to  a maid  in  love  ? 
Card.  But  of  what  marble  must  that 
breast  be  form’d, 

To  gaze  on  Basset,  and  remain  un warm’d  ? 
When  Kings,  Queens,  Knaves,  are  set  in 
decent  rank, 

Exposed  in  glorious  heaps  the  tempting 
Bank, 

Guineas,  half-guineas,  all  the  shining  train, 
The  winner’s  pleasure,  and  the  loser’s 
pain.  80 

In  bright  confusion  open  Rouleaux  lie, 

They  strike  the  soul,  and  glitter  in  the  eye: 
Fired  by  the  sight,  all  reason  I disdain, 

My  passions  rise,  and  will  not  bear  the 
rein. 

Look  upon  Basset,  you  who  reason  boast, 
And  see  if  reason  must  not  there  be  lost. 

Smil.  What  more  than  marble  must 
that  heart  compose 

Can  harken  coldly  to  my  Sharper’s  vows  ? 
Then  when  he  trembles!  when  his  blushes 
rise! 

When  awful  love  seems  melting  in  his 
eyes!  9° 

With  eager  heats  his  Mechlin  cravat 
moves: 

‘ He  loves  ’ — I whisper  to  myself,  ‘ He 

loves! ’ 

Such  unfeign’d  passion  in  his  looks  appears, 
I lose  all  mem’ry  of  my  former  fears; 

My  panting  heart  confesses  all  his  charms, 
I yield  at  once,  and  sink  into  his  arms. 
Think  of  that  moment,  you  who  Prudence 
boast; 

For  such  a moment  Prudence  well  were 
lost. 

Card.  At  the  Groom-Porter’s  batter’d 
bullies  play,  99 

Some  dukes  at  Mary-bone  bowl  time  away; 
But  who  the  Bowl  or  rattling  Dice  com- 
pares 

To  Basset’s  heav’nly  joys  and  pleasing 
cares  ? 

Smil.  Soft  Simplicetta  dotes  upon  a 
beau ; 

Prudina  likes  a man,  and  laughs  at  show: 
Their  several  graces  in  my  Sharper  meet, 
Strong  as  the  footman,  as  the  master  sweet. 


Lov.  Cease  your  contention,  which  has 
been  too  long; 

I grow  impatient,  and  the  tea’s  too  strong. 
Attend,  and  yield  to  what  I now  decide; 
The  equipage  shall  grace  Smilinda’s  side;  no 
The  snuffbox  to  Cardelia  I decree ; 

Now  leave  complaining,  and  begin  your 
tea. 


EPIGRAM  ON  THE  TOASTS  OF 
THE  KIT-CAT  CLUB 

ANNO  1716 

Whence  deathless  4 Kit-cat  ’ took  its  name, 
Few  critics  can  unriddle: 

Some  say  from  4 Pastrycook  ’ it  came, 

And  some,  from  4 cat  ’ and  4 fiddle.’ 

From  no  trim  Beaux  its  name  it  boasts, 
Gray  Statesmen,  or  green  wits; 

But  from  this  pellmell  pack  of  Toasts 
Of  old  ‘cats  ’ and  young  ‘kits.’ 


THE  CHALLENGE 

A COURT  BALLAD 

TO  THE  TUNE  OF  ‘TO  ALL  YOU  LADIES  NOW 
AT  LAND,’  ETC. 

This  lively  ballad,  written  in  1717,  belongs 
to  the  period  of  Pope’s  intimacy  with  court 
society.  The  three  ladies  here  addressed  were 
attached  to  the  court  of  the  Prince  and  Prin- 
cess of  Wales. 

I 

To  one  fair  lady  out  of  Court, 

And  two  fair  ladies  in, 

Who  think  the  Turk  and  Pope  a sport, 

And  wit  and  love  no  sin; 

Come  these  soft  lines,  with  nothing  stiff  in, 
To  Bellenden,  Lepell,  and  Griffin. 

With  a fa,  la,  la. 

II 

What  passes  in  the  dark  third  row, 

And  what  behind  the  scene, 

Couches  and  crippled  chairs  I know, 

And  garrets  hung  with  green; 

I know  the  swing  of  sinful  hack, 

Where  many  damsels  cry  alack. 

With  a fa,  la,  la. 


PROLOGUE  FOR  MR.  D’URFEY’S  LAST  PLAY 


107 

THE  LOOKING-GLASS 


hi 

Then  why  to  Courts  should  I repair, 
Where ’s  such  ado  with  Townshend  ? 

To  hear  each  mortal  stamp  and  swear, 

And  every  speech  with  Zounds  end ; 

To  hear  ’em  rail  at  honest  Sunderland, 

And  rashly  blame  the  realm  of  Blunder- 
land. 

With  a fa,  la,  la. 

IV 

Alas!  like  Schutz,  I cannot  pun, 

Like  Grafton  court  the  Germans; 

Tell  Piekenbourg  how  slim  she ’s  grown, 
Like  Meadows  run  to  sermons; 

To  Court  ambitious  men  may  roam, 

But  I and  Marlbro’  stay  at  home. 

With  a fa,  la,  la. 

V 

Cn  truth,  by  what  I can  discern, 

Of  courtiers  ’twixt  you  three, 

Some  wit  you  have,  and  more  may  learn 
From  Court,  than  Gay  or  me; 

Perhaps,  in  time,  you  ’ll  leave  high  diet, 

To  sup  with  us  on  milk  and  quiet. 

With  a fa,  la,  la. 

VI 

At  Leicester-Fields,  a house  full  high, 

With  door  all  painted  green, 
inhere  ribbons  wave  upon  the  tie 
. (A  milliner  I mean), 
rhere  may  you  meet  us  three  to  three, 

?or  Gay  can  well  make  two  of  me. 

With  a fa,  la,  la. 

f VII 

hit  should  you  catch  the  prudish  itch 
And  each  become  a coward, 

Iring  sometimes  with  you  lady  Rich, 

And  sometimes  mistress  Howard; 
or  virgins  to  keep  chaste  must  go 
Lbroad  with  such  as  are  not  so. 

With  a fa,  la,  la. 

VIII 

.nd  thus,  fair  maids,  my  ballad  ends: 

God  send  the  King  safe  landing; 

.nd  make  all  honest  ladies  friends 
To  armies  that  are  standing; 
reserve  the  limits  of  those  nations, 

•nd  take  off  ladies’  limitations. 

With  a fa,  la,  la. 


ON  MRS.  PULTENEY 

Mrs.  Pulteney  was  a daughter  of  one  John 
Gumley,  who  had  made  a fortune  by  a glass 
manufactory. 

With  scornful  mien,  and  various  toss  of  air, 
Fantastic,  vain,  and  insolently  fair, 
Grandeur  intoxicates  her  giddy  brain, 

She  looks  ambition,  and  she  moves  disdain. 
Far  other  carriage  graced  her  virgin  life, 
But  charming  Gumley ’s  lost  in  Pulteuey’s 
wife. 

Not  greater  arrogance  in  him  we  find, 

And  this  conjunction  swells  at  least  her 
mind. 

O could  the  sire,  renown’d  in  glass,  pro- 
duce 

One  faithful  mirror  for  his  daughter’s  use! 
Wherein  she  might  her  haughty  errors 
trace, 

And  by  reflection  learn  to  mend  her  face: 
The  wonted  sweetness  to  her  form  restore, 
Be  what  she  was,  and  charm  mankind  once 
more. 


PROLOGUE,  DESIGNED  FOR  MR. 
D’URFEY’S  LAST  PLAY 

‘ Tom  ’ D’Urfey  was  a writer  of  popular 
farces  under  the  Restoration.  Through  Addi- 
son’s influence  his  play  The  Plotting  Sisters 
was  revived  for  his  benefit;  and  the  present 
prologue  was  possibly  written  for  that  occa- 
sion. It  was  first  published  in  1727. 

Grown  old  in  rhyme,  ’t  were  barb’rous  to 
discard 

Your  persevering,  unexhausted  Bard : 
Damnation  follows  death  in  other  men, 

But  your  damn’d  poet  lives  and  writes 
again. 

The  adventurous  lover  is  successful  still, 
Who  strives  to  please  the  Fair  against  her 
will. 

Be  kind,  and  make  him  in  his  wishes  easy, 
Who  in  your  own  despite  has  strove  to 
please  ye. 

He  scorn’d  to  borrow  from  the  Wits  of  yore, 
But  ever  writ,  as  none  e’er  writ  before,  io 
You  modern  Wits,  should  each  man  bring 
his  claim, 

I Have  desperate  debentures  on  your  fame; 


| 


io8 


POEMS  WRITTEN  BETWEEN  1713  AND  1717 


And  little  would  be  left  you,  I ’m  afraid, 

If  all  your  debts  to  Greece  and  Koine  were 
paid. 

From  this  deep  fund  our  author  largely 
draws, 

Nor  sinks  bis  credit  lower  than  it  was. 

Tho’  plays  for  honour  in  old  time  he  made, 
’T  is  now  for  better  reasons  — to  be  paid. 
Believe  him,  he  has  known  the  world  too 
long, 

And  seen  the  death  of  much  immortal 
song.  20 

He  says,  poor  poets  lost,  while  players  won, 
As  pimps  grow  rich  while  gallants  are  un- 
done. 

Though  Tom  the  poet  writ  with  ease  and 
pleasure, 

The  comic  Tom  abounds  in  other  treasure. 
Fame  is  at  best  an  unperforming  cheat; 

But ’t  is  substantial  happiness  to  eat. 

Let  ease,  his  last  request,  be  of  your  giving, 
Nor  force  him  to  be  damn’d  to  get  his  liv- 
ing. 

PROLOGUE  TO  THE  ‘THREE 
HOURS  AFTER  MARRIAGE’ 

Three  Hours  after  Marriage  was  a dull  and 
unsuccessful  farce  produced  in  January,  1717, 
at  the  Drury  Lane  Theatre.  Though  it  was 
attributed  to  the  joint  authorship  of  Pope,  Gay, 
and  Arbuthnot,  direct  proof  is  lacking  not 
only  of  Pope’s  share  in  the  play.  but.  of  his 
authorship  of  the  Prologue.  Of  the  latter  fact, 
at  least,  we  have,  however,  indirect  evidence  in 
Pope’s  resentment  of  the  ridicule  cast  by  Cib- 
ber, in  a topical  impromptu,  upon  the  play ; 
the  incident  which  first  roused  Pope’s  enmity 
for  Cibber,  which  resulted  in  his  eventually  dis- 
placing Theobald  as  the  central  figure  in  The 
Dunciad. 

Authors  are  judged  by  strange  capricious 
rules, 

The  great  ones  are  thought  mad,  the  small 
ones  fools: 

Yet  sure  the  best  are  most  severely  fated; 
For  Fools  are  only  laugh’d  at,  Wits  are 
hated. 

Blockheads  with  reason  men  of  sense  abhor; 
But  fool  ’gainst  fool,  is  barb’rous  civil  war. 
Why  on  all  Authors  then  should  Critics 
fall? 

Since  some  have  writ,  and  shown  no  wit  at 
all. 


Condemn  a play  of  theirs,  and  they  evade 
it; 

Cry,  ‘ Damn  not  us,  but  damn  the  French, 
who  jnade  it.’  io 

By  running  goods  these  graceless  Owlers 
gain; 

Theirs  are  the  rules  of  France,  the  plots  of 
Spain: 

But  wit,  like  wine,  from  happier  climates 
brought, 

Dash’d  by  these  rogues,  turns  English  com- 
mon draught. 

They  pall  Moliere’s  and  Lopez’  sprightly 
strain, 

And  teach  dull  Harlequins  to  grin  in  vain. 

How  shall  our  Author  hope  a gentler 
fate, 

Who  dares  most  impudently  not  translate? 
It  had  been  civil,  in  these  ticklish  times, 

To  fetch  his  fools  and  knaves  from  foreign 
climes.  20 

Spaniards  and  French  abuse  to  the  world’s 
end, 

But  spare  old  England,  lest  you  hurt  a 
friend. 

If  any  fool  is  by  our  satire  bit, 

Let  him  hiss  loud,  to  show  you  all  he ’s  hit. 
Poets  make  characters,  as  salesmen  clothes; 
We  take  no  measure  of  your  Fops  and 
Beaux; 

But  here  all  sizes  and  all  shapes  you  meet, 
And  fit  yourselves  like  chaps  in  Monmouth 
Street. 

Gallants,  look  here!  this  Foolscap  has 
an  air  29 

Goodly  and  smart,  with  ears  of  Issachar. 
Let  no  one  fool  engross  it,  or  confine 
A common  blessing!  now  ’t  is  yours,  now 
mine. 

But  poets  in  all  ages  bad  the  care 
To  keep  this  cap  for  such  as  will,  to  wear. 
Our  Author  has  it  now  (for  every  Wit 
Of  course  resign’d  it  to  the  next  that  writ) 
And  thus  upon  the  stage ’t.  is  fairly  thrown; 
Let  him  that  takes  it  wear  it  as  his  own. 


PRAYER  OF  BRUTUS 

FROM  GEOFFREY  OF  MONMOUTH 

The  Rev.  Aaron  Thompson,  of  Queen’s  Col- 
lege, Oxon.,  translated  the  Chronicle  of  Geoffrey 
of  Monmouth.  He  submitted  the  transla- 
tion to  Pope,  1717,  who  gave  him  the  follow- 


TO  LADY  MARY  WORTLEY  MONTAGU 


iog 


mg-  lines,  being  a translation  of  a Prayer  of 
Brutus.  (Carruthers.) 

Goddess  of  woods,  tremendous  in  the 
chase 

To  mountain  wolves  and  all  the  savage 
race, 

Wide  o’er  th’  aerial  vault  extend  thy 
sway, 

And  o’er  th’  infernal  regions  void  of  day. 

On  thy  Third  Reign  look  down;  disclose 
our  fate ; 

In  what  new  station  shall  we  fix  our 
seat  ? 

When  shall  we  next  thy  hallow’d  altars 
raise, 

And  choirs  of  virgins  celebrate  thy  praise  ? 

c/TO  LADY  MARY  WORTLEY 
MONTAGU 

While  there  is  no  absolute  date  to  be  given 
for  this  or  the  following  poem,  both  evidently 
belong  to  the  period  of  Pope’s  somewhat  fanci- 
ful attachment  for  Lady  Mary. 

I 

In  beauty,  or  wit, 

No  mortal  as  yet 

To  question  your  empire  has  dar’d; 

But  men  of  discerning 
Have  thought  that  in  learning, 

To  yield  to  a lady  was  hard. 

II 

Impertinent  schools, 

With  musty  dull  rules, 

Have  reading  to  females  denied: 

So  Papists  refuse 
The  Bible  to  use, 

Lest  flocks  should  be  wise  as  their  guide. 


III 

’T  was  a woman  at  first, 

(Indeed  she  was  curst) 

In  Knowledge  that  tasted  delight, 

And  sages  agree 
The  laws  should  decree 
To  the  first  possessor  the  right. 

IV 

Then  bravely,  fair  Dame, 

Resume  the  old  claim, 

Which  to  your  whole  sex  does  belong; 
And  let  men  receive, 

From  a second  bright  Eve, 

The  knowledge  of  right  and  of  wrong. 

V 

But  if  the  first  Eve 
Hard  doom  did  receive, 

When  only  one  apple  had  she, 

What  a punishment  new 
Shall  be  found  out  for  you, 

Who  tasting  have  robb’d  the  whole  tree  ? 


EXTEMPORANEOUS  LINES 

ON  A PORTRAIT  OF  LADY  MARY  WORT- 
LEY MONTAGU,  PAINTED  BY  KNELLER 

The  playful  smiles  around  the  dimpled 
mouth, 

That  happy  air  of  majesty  and  truth, 

So  would  I draw  (but  oh!  ’t  is  vain  to  try; 
My  narrow  Genius  does  the  power  deny;) 
The  equal  lustre  of  the  heav’nly  mind, 
Where  ev’ry  grace  with  ev’ry  virtue’s 
join’d; 

Learning  not  vain,  and  Wisdom  not  severe, 
With  Greatness  easy,  and  with  Wit  sincere; 
With  just  description  show  the  work  divine, 
And  the  whole  Princess  in  my  work 
should  shine. 


I IO 


ELOISA  TO  ABELARD 


ELOISA  TO  ABELARD 


The  origin  of  this  famous  poem  seems  to 
have  lain  jointly  in  Pope’s  perception  of  the 
poetic  availability  of  the  H^lo'ise-Abelard  le- 
gend, and  in  his  somewhat  factitious  grief  in 
his  separation  from  Lady  Mary  Wortley  Mon- 
tagu.  They  met  in  17  lo,  became  ±r lends,  and  in 

ELOISA  TO  ABELARD 

ARGUMENT 

Abelard  and  Eloisa  flourished  in  the  twelfth 
century  ; they  were  two  of  the  most  distin- 
guished persons  of  their  age  in  Learning  and 
Beauty,  but  for  nothing  more  famous  than  for 
their  unfortunate  passion.  After  a long  course 
of  calamities,  they  retired  each  to  a several 
convent,  and  consecrated  the  remainder  of  their 
days  to  Religion.  It  was  many  years  after 
this  separation  that  a letter  of  Abelard’s  to  a 
friend,  which  contained  the  history  of  his  mis- 
fortune, fell  into  the  hands  of  Eloisa.  This, 
awakening  all  her  tenderness,  occasioned  those 
celebrated  letters  (out  of  which  the  following 
is  partly  extracted),  which  give  so  lively  a 
picture  of  the  struggles  of  Grace  and  Nature, 
Virtue  and  Passion. 

In  these  deep  solitudes  and  awful  cells, 
Where  heav’nly-pensive  Contemplation 
dwells,  . p^ho'*>,/y 

And  ever-musing  Melancholy  reigns,' 

What  means  this  tumult  in  a vestal’s  veins  ? 
Why  rove  my  thoughts  beyond  this  last  re- 
treat ? 

Why  feels  my  heart  its  long-forgotten 
heat  ? 

Yet,  yet  I love!  — From  Abelard  it  came, 
And  Eloisa  yet  must  kiss  the  name. 

Dear  fatal  name!  rest  ever  unreveal’d, 
Nor  pass  these  lips,  in  holy  silence  seal’d:  io 
Hide  it,  my  heart,  within  that  close  dis- 
guise, 

Where,  mix’d  with  God’s,  his  lov’d  idea  lies: 
O write  it  not,  my  hand — the  name  ap- 
pears 

Already  written  — wash  it  out,  my  tears! 
In  vain  lost  Eloisa  weeps  and  prays, 

Her  heart  still  dictates,  and  her  hand 
obeys. 

.^"Relentless  walls!  whose  darksome  round 
contains 

Repentant  sighs,  and  voluntary  pains: 


1716  Lady  Mary  left  England.  In  a letter  of 
June,  17 17,  Pope  commends  the  poem  to  her 
consideration,  with  a suggestion  of  the  personal 
applicability  of  the  concluding  lines  to  his  own 
suffering  under  the  existing  circumstance  of 
their  separation. 

Ye  rugged  rocks,  which  holy  knees  have 
worn ; 

Ye  grots  and  caverns  sliagg’d  with  horrid 
thorn!  20 

Shrines!  where  their  vigils  pale-eyed 
virgins  keep, 

And  pitying  saints,  whose  statues  learn  to 
weep! 

Tho’  cold  like  you,  unmov’d  and  silent 
grown, 

( I have  not  yet  forgot  myself  to  stoned 
kAH  is  not  Heav’n’s  while  Abelard  has  part;^ 
Still  rebel  Nature  holds  out  half  my  heart; 
Nor  prayers  nor  fasts  its  stubborn  pulse  re- 
strain, 

Nor  tears,  for  ages  taught  to  flow  in  vain. 

Soon  as  thy  letters  trembling  I unclose, 
That  well-known  name  awakens  all  my 
woes.  3° 

Oh  name  for  ever  sad!  for  ever  dear! 

Still  breathed  in  sighs,  still  usher’d  with  a 
tear. 

I tremble  too,  where’er  my  own  I find, 
Some  dire  misfortune  follows  close  behind. 
Line  after  line  my  gushing  eyes  o’erflow, 
Led  thro’  a safe  variety  of  woe: 

Now  warm  in  love,  now  with’ring  in  my 
bloom, 

Lost  in  a convent’s  solitary  gloom! 

There  stejn  religion  quench’d  th’  unwilling 
flame, 

There  died  the  best  of  passions,  Love  and 
Fame.  _ 4« 

Yet  write,  O write  me  all,  that  I may  join 
Griefs  to  thy  griefs,  and  echo  sighs  to 
thine. 

Nor  foes  nor  fortune  take  this  power  away; 
And  is  my  Abelard  less  kind  than  they  ? 
Tears  still  are  mine,  and  those  I need  not 
spare ; t ; 

Love  but  demands  what  else  were  shed  in 
prayer. 

No  happier  task  these  faded  eyes  pursue; 

I To  read  and  weep  is  all  they  now  can  do. 


ELOISA  TO  ABELARD 


tn 


Then  share  thy  pain,  allow  that  sad  re- 
lief; 

Ah,  more  than  share  it,  give  me  all  thy 
grief.  So 

Heav  n first  taught  letters  for  some  wretch’s 
aid, 

Some  banish’d  lover,  or  some  captive  maid; 
They  live,  they  speak,  they  breathe  what 
love  inspires, 

Warm  from  the  soul,  and  faithful  to  its 
fires; 

The  virgin’s  wish  without  her  fears  impart, 
Excuse  the  blush,  and  pour  out  all  the 
heart, 

Speed  the  soft  intercourse  from  soul  to  soul, 
And  waft  a sigh  from  In.dus-to  the  Pole. 

Thou  know’st  how  guiltless  first  I met 
thy  flame, 

When  Love  approach’d  me  under  Friend- 
ship’s name;  60 

My  fancy  form’d  thee  of  angelic  kind, 

Some  emanation  of  th’  all-beauteous  Mind. 
Those  smiling  eyes,  attempting  every  ray, 
Shone  sweetly  lambent  with  celestial  day, 
Guiltless  I gazed;  Heav’n  listen’d  while 
you  sung; 

And  truths  divine  came  mended  from  that 
tongue.  / 

b rom  lips  like  those  what  precept  fail’d  to 
move  ? 

Too  soon  thejr  taught  me ’t  wag^no  sin  to 

Back  thro’  the  paths  of  pleasing  sense  I 
ran,  69 

Nor  wish’d  an  angel  whom  I loved  a man. 
Dim  and  remote  the  joys  of  saints  I see; 

Nor  envy  them  that  Heav’n  I lose  for  thee. 

- How  oft,  when  press’d  to  marriage,  have 

I said, 

purse  on  all  laws  but  those  which  Love  has 
made ! " 

Love,  free  as  air,  at  sight  of  human  ties, 
'Spreads  his  light  wings,  and  in  a moment 
flies. 

Let  Wealth,  leL  Honour,  wait  the  wedded 
j dame. 

August  her  deed,  and  sacred  be  her  fame; 
|3efore  true  passion  all  those  views  remove; 

- ame,  Wealth,  and  Honour  ! what  are  you 

to  Love  ? gQ 

The  jealous  God,  when  we  profane  his  fires, 
Those  restless  passions  in  revenge  inspires, 
^.nd  bids  them  make  mistaken  mortals 
groan, 

Who  seek  in  love  for  aught  but  love  alone. 


Should  at  my  feet  the  world’s  great  master 
fall, 

Himself,  his  throne,  his  world,  I ’d  scorn 
’em  all: 

Not  Caesar’s  empress  would  I deign  to 
prove ; 

No,  make  me  mistress  to  the  man  I love; 

If  there  be  yet  another  name  more  free, 
More  fond  than  mistress,  make  me  that  to 
thee  ! ^ 

O happy  state  ! when  souls  each  other  draw, 
When  Love  is  liberty,  and  Nature  law: 

All  then  is  full,  possessing  and  possess’d, 
No  craving  void  left  aching  in  the  breast: 
Ev’n  thought  meets  thought,  ere  from  the 
lips  it  part, 

And  each  warm  wish  springs  mutual  from 
the  heart. 

This  sure  is  bliss  (if  bliss  on  earth  there 
be), 

And  once  the  lot  of  Abelard  and  me. 

(\  j Alas,  how  changed  ! what  sudden  horrors 
rise  ! 

A naked  lover  bound  and  bleeding  lies  ! 100 
Where,  where  was  Eloise  ? her  voice,  her 
hand, 

Her  poniard  had  opposed  the  dire  com- 
mand. 

Barbarian,  stay  ! that  bloody  stroke  re- 
strain ; 

The  crime  was  common,  common  be  the 
pain. 

I can  no  more;  by  shame,  by  rage  sup- 
press’d, 

Let  tears  and  burning  blushes  speak  the 
rest. 

Canst  thou  forget  that  sad,  that  solemn 
day, 

When  victims  at  yon  altar’s  foot  we  lay  ? 
Canst  thou  forget  what  tears  that  moment 
fell, 

When,  warm  in  youth,  I bade  the  world 
farewell  ? II0 

As  with  cold  lips  I kiss’d  the  sacred  veil, 

The  shrmes~all  trembled7~ahd~flie“lamps 
grew  pale: 

Heav’mscarce  believ’d  the  conquest  it  sur- 
vey’d, 

And  saints  with  wonder  heard  the  vows  I 
made. 

Yet  then,  to  those  dread  altars  as  I drew, 
Not  on  the  cross  my  eyes  were  fix’d,  but 
you : 

Not  grace,  or  zeal,  love  only  was  my  call# 
And  if  I lose  thy  love,  I lose  my  all. 


1 12 


ELOISA  TO  ABELARD 


Come  ! with  thy  looks,  thy  words,  relieve 


{( 


my  woe;  “9 

Those  still  at  least  are  left  thee  to  bestow. 
Still  on  that  breast  enamour’d  let  me  lie, 
Still  drink  delicious  poison  from  thy  eye, 
Pant  on  thy  lip,  and  to  thy  heart  be  press’d ; 
GiyealLihniLcanst and  let  me  dream  the 
rest. 

Ah,  no  ! instruct  me  other  joys  to  prize, 
WitlTother  beauties  charm  my  partial  eyes  ! 
Full  in  my  view  set  all  the  bright  abode, 
And  make  my  soul  quit  Abelard  for  God. 
Ah,  think  at  least  thy  flock  deserves  thy 


Plants  of  thy  hand,  and  children  of  thy 


prayer.  *30 

From  tlie  false  world  in  early  youth  they 


fled, 


By  thee  to  mountains,  wilds,  and  deserts  led. 
You  raised  these  hallow’d  walls;  the  desert 
smil’d,  . < ^ 

And  Paradise  was  open’d  in  the  wild. 

No  weeping  orphan  saw  his  father’s  stores 
Our  shrines  irradiate  or  emblaze  the  floors; 
No  silver  saints,  by  dying  misers  giv’n, 
Here  bribed  the  rage  of  ill-requited  Heav’n; 
But  such  plain  roofs  as  piety  could  raise, 
And  only  vocal  with  the  Maker’s  praise.  140 
In  these  lone  walls  (their  day’s  eternal 
bound), 

These  moss-grown  domes  with  spiry  turrets 
crown’d, 

Where  awful  arches  make  a noonday  night, 
And  the  dim  windows  shed  a solemn  light, 
Thy  eyes  diffused  a reconciling  ray, 

And  gleams  of  glory  brighten’d  all  the  day. 
But  now  no  face  divine  contentment  wears, 
’T  is  all  blank  sadness,  or  continual  tears. 


/See  how  the  force  of  others’  prayers  I try, 

X.  / i \ rtf  om^nnnc  nlionfv  T rr 


\0  pious  fraud  of  am’rous  charity  !) 

But  why  should  I on  others’  prayers  de- 
pend ? 

Come  thou,  my  father,  brother,  husband, 
friend  ! 

Ah,  let  thy  handmaid,  sister,  daughter, 
move, 

And  all  those  tender  names  in  one,  thy 

love  ! 

The  darksome  pines,  that  o’er  yon  rocks 
reclin’d, 

Wave  high,  and  murmur  to  the  hollow 
wind, 

The  wand’ring  streams  that  shine  between 
the  hills, 

The  grots  that  echo  to  the  tinkling  rills, 


The  dying  gales  that  pant  upon  the  trees, 
The  lakes  that  quiver  to  the  curling 
> breeze — > i&c 

/No  more  these  scenes  my  meditation  aid, 

Or  lull  to  rest  the  visionary  maid: 

But  o’er  the  twilight  groves  and  dusky 
caves, 

Long -sounding  aisles  and  intermingled 
graves, 

Black  Melancholy  sits,  and  round  her 
throws 

A death-like  silence,  and  a dread  repose: 
Her  gloomy  px*esence  saddens  all  the  scene, 
Shades  every  flower,  and  darkens  every 
green, 

Deepens  the  murmur  of  the  falling  floods, 
And  breathes  a browner  horror  on  the 
woods. 

Yet  here  for  ever,  ever  must  I stay; 

Sad  proof  hmy^well  a lover  canjohev ! 
..Death,  oniyT)eath  can  break  the  lasting 
chain ; 

And  here,  ev’n  then  shall  my  cold  dust  re- 
main; 

Here  all  its  frailties,  all  its  flames  resign, 
And  wait  till ’t  is  no  sin  to  mix  with  thine. 

0 / Ah,  wretch!  believ’d  the  spouse  of  God 

in  vain, 

Confess’d  within  the  slave  of  Love  and  man. ; 
Assist  me,  Heav’n!  but  whence  arose  that 
prayer  ? 

Sprung  it  from  piety  or  from  despair  ? iS 
Ev’n  lie  re,  where  Frozen  Chastity  retires, 
Love  finds  an  altar  for  forbidden  fires. 

I ought  to  grieve,  but  cannot  what  I ought; 
I mourn  the  lover,  not  lament  the  fault; 

I view  my  crime,  but  kindle  at  the  view, 
Repent  oid  pleasures,  and  solicit  new; 

(Now  turn’d  to  Heav’u,  I weep  my  pastj 

1 offence, 
i^Tow  think  of  thee,  and  curse  my  innocence. 

Of  all  affliction  taught  a lover  yet, 

’T  is  sure  the  hardest  science  to  forget!  19c 
(How  shall  I lose  the  sin,  yet  keep  the 
sense/ 

And  love  tli’  offender,  yet  detest  th’  of- 
fence ? 

How  the  dear  object  from  the  crime 
move, 

Or  how  distinguish  Penitence  from  Love  ? 
Unequal  task!  a passion  to  resign, 

For  hearts  so  touch’d,  so  pierced,  so  los 


as  mine: 

Ere  such  a soul  regains  its  peaceful  state, 
How  often  must  it  love,  how  often  hate! 


ELOISA  TO  ABELARD 


IT3 


How  often  hope,  despair,  resent,  regret, 
Conceal,  disdain  — do  all  things  but  for- 
# 200 
But  let  Heav’n  seize  it,  all  at  once ’t  is  fired ; 
Not  touch’d,  but  rapt ; not  waken’d,  but 
inspired! 

O come!  O teach  me  Nature  to  subdue, 
Renounce  my  love,  my  life,  myself — and 
You: 

Fill  my  fond  heart  with  God  a lone,  for  he 
Alone  can  rival,  can  succeed  to  thee. 

— How  happy  is  the  blameless  vestal’s  lot! 
The  world  forgetting,  by  the  world  forgot; 
Eternal  sunshine  of  the  spotless  mind, 

Each  prayer  accepted,  and  each  wish  re- 
sign’d; 

Labour  and  rest,  that  equal  periods  keep; 
Obedient  slumbers  that  can  wake  and  weep; 
Desires  composed,  affections  ever  ev’n; 
Tears  that  delight,  and  sighs  that  waft  to 
Heav’n. 

Grace  shines  around  her  with  serenest 
beams, 

And  whisp’ring  angels  prompt  her  golden 
dreams. 

For  her  th’  unfading  rose  of  Eden  blooms, 
And  wings  of  seraphs  shed  divine  per- 
fumes; 

For  her  the  spouse  prepares  the  bridal  ring; 
For  her  white  virgins  hymeneals  sing;  22o 
To  sounds  of  heav’nly  harps  she  dies  away, 
And  melts  in  visions  of  eternal  day. 

Far  other  dreams  my  erring  soul  employ, 
Far  other  raptures  of  unholy  joy. 

When  at  the  close  of  each  sad,  sorrowing 

_ day> 

- ancy  restores  what  vengeance  snatch’d 

away, 

Then  conscience  sleeps,  and  leaving  Nature 
free, 

All  my  loose  soul  unbounded  springs  to 
thee! 

>h  curst,  dear  horrors  of  all-conscious  night! 
Low  glowing  guilt  exalts  the  keen  delight! 
5rovoking  demons  all  restraint  remove,  231 
|fnd  stir  within  me  every  source  of  love. 

hear  thee,  view  thee,  gaze  o’er  all  thy 
) charms, 

Lnd  round  thy  phantom  glue  my  clasping 
' arms. 

wake:  — no  more  I hear,  no  more  I 
!'  view, 

he  phantom  flies  me,  as  unkind  as  you. 
call  aloud;  it  hears  not  what  I say: 
stretch  my  empty  arms;  it  glides  away. 


To  dream  once  more  I close  my  willing 
eyes; 

Ye  soft  illusions,  dear  deceits,  arise!  240 
-''Alas,  no  more!  methinks  we  wand’ring  go 
Thro’  dreary  wastes,  and  weep  each  other’s 
’woe, 

Where  round  some  mould’ring  tower  pale 
ivy  creeps, 

And  low-brow’d  rocks  hang  nodding  o’er 
the  deeps. 

Sudden  you  mount,  you  beckon  from  the 
skies; 

Clouds  interpose,  waves  roar,  and  winds 
arise. 

I shriek,  start  up,  the  same  sad  prospect 
find, 

(And  wake  to  all  the  griefs  I left  behind.) 

— - - Eor  thee  the  Fates,  severely  kind,  ordain 
A cool  suspense"Trom  pleasure  and  from 
pain;  2SO 

Thy  life  a long  dead  calm  of  fix’d  repose; 
No.  pulse  that  riots,  and  no  blood  that 
glows. 

Still  as  the  sea,  ere  winds  were  taught  to 
blow, 

Or  moving  spirit  bade  the  waters  flow; 

Soft  as  the  slumbers  of  a saint  forgiv’n, 

And  mild  as  opening  gleams  of  promised 
Heav’n.  / 

1 Come,  Abelard!  for  what  hast  thou  to 
dread  ? ^ ^ ^ 

The  torch  of  Venus  burns  not  for  the  dea'tL 
Nature  stands  check’d;  Religion  disap- 
proves; 

Ev’n  thou  art  cold  — _yet  Eloisa  loves.  26o 
Ah,  hopeless,  lasting  flames; like  those  that 
burn 

To  light  the  dead,  and  warm  th’  unfruitful 
urn! 

What  scenes  appear  where’er  I turn  my 
view; 

The  dear  ideas,  where  I fly,  pursue; 

Rise  in  the  grove,  before  the  altar  rise, 

Stain  all  my  soul,  and  wanton  in  my  eyes. 

I waste  the  jnatin  lamp  in  sighs  for  thee, 

Thy  image  steals  between  my  God  and  me: 
Thy  voice  I seem  in  every  hymn  to  hear, 
With  every  bead  I drop  too 'soft  a tear.  27o 
When  from  the  censer  clouds  of  fragrance 
roll, 

And  swelling  organs  lift  the  rising  soul, 

One  thought  of  thee  puts  all  the  pomp  to  ^ 

. flight,  P 

Priests,  tapers,  temples,  swim  before  my/ 
sight:  J ) 


H4 


ELOISA  TO  ABELARD 


In  seas  of  flame  my  plunging  soul  is 
drown’d, 

While  altars  blaze,  and  angels__fcremble 
round. 

While  prostrate  here  in  humble  grief  I 
lie, 

Kind  virtuous  drops  just  gath’ring  in  my 


eye, 


A 


\/> 


While  praying,  trembling,  in  the  dust  I roll, 
And  dawning  grace  is  opening  on  my  soul : 
Come,  if  thou  dar’st,  all  charming  as  thou 
ajrt!  281 

Oppose  thyself  to  Heav’n;  dispute  my 
heart ; 

Come,  with  one  glance  of  those  deluding 

eyes 

Blot  out  each  bright  idea  of  the  skies; 

Take  back  that  grace,  those  sorrows  and 
those  tears, 

Take  back  mv  fruitless  penitence  and 
prayers; 

Snatch  me,  just  mounting,  from  the  blest 
abode: 

/’Assist  the  fiends,  and  tear  me  from  my 
God!  ) 

✓'No,  fly  me,  fly  me,  far  as  pole  from  pole; 

^ Rise  Alps  between  us  ! and  whole  oceans 
/■  roll  ! 29° 

Ah,  come  not,  write  not,  think  not  once  of 

Cme, 

Nor  share  one  pang  of  all  I felt  for  thee. 
Thv  oaths  I quit,  thy  memory  resign; 
Forget,  renounce  me,  hate  whate’er  was 
mine. 

Fair  eyes,  and  tempting  looks  (which  yet  I 
view), 

Long  lov’d,  ador’d  ideas,  all  adieu  1 
O Grace  serene  ! O Virtue  heav’nly  fair  ! 
.^Divine  Oblivion  of  low-thoughted  care  ! 
aF  Fresh  blooming  Hope,  gay  daughter  of  the 
v.  $ sky  ! 

f (And, Faith,  our  earlyjjnmortality  ! j 300 
J q VEnteV each  mild,  each  amicable  guest; 
Receive,  and  wrap  me  in  eternal  rest  ! 

See  in  her  cell  sad  Eloisa  spread, 

Propt  on  some  tomb,  a neighbour  of  the 
dead. 

In  each  low  wind  metbinks  a spirit  calls, 

. And  more  than  echoes  talk  along  the  walls. 
Here,  as  I watch’d  the  dying  lamps  around, 
From  yonder  shrine  I heard  a hollow 
sound: 

1 Come,  sister,  come  ! (it  said,  or  seem’d  to 

say)  , . 

$ Thy  place  is  here,  sad  sister,  come  away; 


Once,  like  thyself,  I trembled,  wept,  and 
pray’d,  3” 

Love’s  victim  then,  tho’  now  a $pnted 
maid: 

But  all  is  calm  in  this  eternal  sleep; 

Here  grief  forgets  to  groan,  and  love  to 
weep; 

Ev’11  superstition  loses  ev’ry  fear: 

For  God,  not  man,  absolves  our  frailties 
here.’ 

j I come,  I come  ! prepare  your  roseate 
bowers, 

Celestial  palms,  and  ever-blooming  flowers. 
Thither,  where  sinners  may  have  rest,  I go, 
Where  flames  refin’d  in  breasts  seraphic 
glow;  320 

Thou,  Abelard  ! the  last  sad  office  pay, 
And  smooth  my  passage  to  the  realms  of 
day : 

See  my  lips  tremble,  and  my  eyeballs  roll, 
Suck  my  last  breath,  and  catch  my  flying 
soul ! 

Ah,  no  — in  sacred  vestments  mayst  thou 
stand, 

The  hallow’d  taper  trembling  in  thy  hand, 
Present  the  cross  before  my  lifted  eye, 
Teach  me  at  once,  and  learn  of  me,  to  die. 
Ah  then,  thy  once  lov’d  Eloisa  see  ! 

It  will  be  then  ju^cri me  tx}_gazejiii_me . 330 
See  from  my  cheelTthe  transient  roses  fly  ! 
See  the  last  sparkle  languish  in  my  eye  ! 
Till  ev’ry  motion,  pulse,  and  breath  be  o’er, 
And  ev’n  mv  Abelard  be  lov’d  no  more. 

O Death,  all-eloquent ! you  only  prove 
What  dust  we  doat  on,  when  ’t  is  man  we 
love. 

Then  too,  when  Fate  shall  thy  fair  frame 
destroy 

(That  cause  of  all  my  guilt,  and  all  m> 

j°y)>  . , , 

In  trance  ecstatic  may  thy  pangs  b< 
drown’d, 

Bright  clouds  descend,  and  angels  watcl 
thee  round;  34 

From  opening  skies  may  streaming  glorie 
shine, 

And  saints  embrace  thee  with  a love  lik< 
mine. 

/May  one  kind  grave  unite  each  haples 
v name,  ) 

And  graft  my  love  immortal  on  thy  fame 
Then,  ages  hence,  when  all  my  woes  ar 
o’er, 

When  this  rebellious  heart  shall  beat  n 


A DIALOGUE 


lr5 


If  ever  chance  two  wand’ring  lovers  brings, 
To  Parade  te’js  white  walls  and  silver 

springs, 

O’er  the  pale  marble  shall  they  "join  their 
heads, 

And  drink  the  falling  tears  each  other 

sheds;  . < 3So 

'Then  sadly  say,  with  mutual  pity  mov’d, 

‘ O may  we  never  love  as  these  have  lov’d  1 ’Jl 
From  the  full  choir,  when  loud  hosannas 
rise, 

And  swell  the  pomp  of  dreadful  sacrifice, 
Amid  that  scene  if  some  relenting  eye 
Glance  on  the  stone  where  our  cold  relics 
lie, 


Devotion’s  self  shall  steal  a thought  from 
Heav’n, 

One  human  tear  shall  drop,  and  be  forgiv’n. 
And  sure  if  Fate  some  future  bard  shall  join 
In  sad  similitude  of  griefs  to  mine,  360 
Condemn’d  whole  years  in  absence  to  de- 
plore, 

And  image  charms  he  must  behold  no 
more,  — 

Such  if  there  be,  who  loves  so  long,  so  well, 
Let  him  our  sad,  our  tender  story  tell; 

’Die  well-sung  woes  will  soothe  my  pensive  7 
ghost;  i 

He  best  can  paint  them  who  shall  feel  them  ) 
most. 


POEMS  WRITTEN  BETWEEN  1718  AND  1727 


AN  INSCRIPTION  UPON  A 
PUNCH-BOWL 

IN  THE  SOUTH  SEA  YEAR,  FOR  A CLUB  ; 
CHASED  WITH  JUPITER  PLACING  CAL- 
LISTO  IN  THE  SKIES,  AND  EUROPA 
WITH  THE  BULL 

Pope  himself  became  seriously  involved  in 
die  South  Sea  speculations,  and  while  he  does 
lot,  appear  to  have  been  a heavy  loser  in  the 
end,  his  unwise  action  for  friends,  notably  for 
Lady  Mary  Wortley  seems  to  have  gotten  him 
nto  some  difficulties.  This  was  of  course  writ- 
ten before  the  bursting  of  the  bubble:  pre- 
sumably in  1720. 

}ome,  fill  the  South  Sea  goblet  full; 

^ The  gods  shall  of  our  stock  take  care; 
lluropa  pleased  accepts  the  Bull, 

And  Jove  with  joy  puts  off  the  Bear. 


EPISTLE  TO  JAMES  CRAGGS, 
ESQ. 

SECRETARY  OF  STATE 

Craggs  was  made  Secretary  of  War  in  1717, 
hen  Addison  was  Secretary  of  State.  He 
lcceeded  Addison  in  1720,  and  died  in  the 
mowing  year.  He  was  an  intimate  friend  and 
^respondent  of  Pope’s  after  1711. 

‘ SOUL  as  full  of  Worth  as  void  of  Pride, 
Vhich  nothing  seeks  to  show,  or  needs  to 
hide, 


Which  nor  to  guilt  nor  fear  its  Caution 
owes, 

And  boasts  a Warmth  that  from  no  passion 
flows; 

A face  untaught  to  feign;  a judging  eye, 
That  darts  severe  upon  a rising  lie, 

And  strikes  a blush  thro’  frontless  Flat- 
tery- 

All  this  thou  wert;  and  being  this  before, 
Know,  Kings  and  Fortune  cannot  make 
thee  more. 

Then  scorn  to  gain  a friend  by  servile 
ways, 

J'ior  wish  to  lose  a foe  these  virtues  raise; 
But  candid,  free,  sincere,  as  you  began, 
Proceed,  a Minister,  but  still  a Man. 

Be  not  (exalted  to  whate’er  degree) 
Ashamed  of  any  friend,  not  ev’n  of  me: 

The  patriot’s  plain  but  untrod  path  pursue; 
If  not,  ’t  is  I must  be  ashamed  of  you. 

A DIALOGUE 

POPE 

SINCE  my  old  friend  is  grown  so  great, 

As  to  be  Minister  of  State, 

I ’m  told,  bnt ’t  is  not  true,  I hope, 

That  Craggs  will  be  ashamed  of  Pope. 

CRAGGS 

Alas  I if  I am  such  a creature, 

To  grow  the  worse  for  growing  greater, 
Why,  faith,  in  spite  of  all  my  brags, 

’T  is  Pope  must  be  ashamed  of  Craggs, 


n6  POEMS  WRITTEN  BETWEEN  1718  AND  1727 


VERSES  TO  MR.  C. 

ST.  JAMES’S  PALACE,  LONDON,  OCT.  22 


ON  DRAWINGS  OF  THE  STAT- 
UES OF  APOLLO,  VENUS,  AND 
HERCULES 


Probably  Craggs,  who  was  in  office  at  the 
time  when  Pope  established  himself  at  Twick- 
enham. (Ward.) 

Few  words  are  best;  I wish  you  well; 

Bethel,  I’m  told,  will  soon  be  here; 
Some  morning  walks  along  the  Mall, 
And  ev’ning  friends,  will  end  the  year. 


If,  in  this  interval,  between 

The  falling  leaf  and  coming  frost, 

You  please  to  see,  on  Twit’nam  green, 
Your  friend,  your  poet,  and  your  host: 

For  three  whole  days  you  here  may  rest 
From  Office  bus’ness,  news,  and  strife; 
And  (what  most  folks  would  think  a jest) 
Want  nothing  else,  except  your  wife. 


TO  MR.  GAY 


WHO  HAD  CONGRATULATED  POPE  ON 
FINISHING  HIS  HOUSE  AND  GARDENS 


Written  early  in  1722. 


Ah,  friend!  ’t  is  true  — this  truth  you  lov- 
ers know  — 

In  vain  my  structures  rise,  my  gardens 
grow, 

In  vain  fair  Thames  reflects  the  double 


scenes 

Of  hanging  mountains,  and  of  sloping 


greens; 

Joy  lives  not  here,  to  happier  seats  it  flies, 

And  only  dwells  where  Wortley  casts  her 
eyes. 

What  are  the  gay  Parterre,  the  chequer’d 
Shade, 

The  morning  Bower,  the  ev’ning  Colon- 
nade, 

But  soft  recesses  of  uneasy  minds, 

To  sigh  unheard  in  to  the  passing  winds  ? 

So  the  struck  deer  in  some  sequester’d 
part 

Lies  down  to  die,  the  arrow  at  his  heart; 

He  stretch’d  unseen  in  coverts  hid  from 


day, 

Bleeds  drop 
away. 


by  drop,  and  pants  his  life 


MADE  FOR  POPE  BY  SIR  GODFREY 
KNELLER 

These  drawings  were  made  for  the  adorn- 
ment of  Pope’s  house  at  Twickenham. 

What  god,  what  genius  did  the  pencil 
move, 

When  Kneller  painted  these  ? 

’T  was  friendship,  warm  as  Phoebus,  kind 
as  Love, 

And  strong  as  Hercules. 

EPISTLE  TO  ROBERT  EARL  OF1 
OXFORD  AND  MORTIMER 

PREFIXED  TO  PARNELL’S  POEMS 

Such  were  the  notes  thy  once-lov’d  Poet 
sung, 

Till  Death  untimely  stopp’d  his  tuneful1 
tongue. 

Oh,  just  beheld  and  lost!  admired  and 
mourn’d! 

With  softest  manners,  gentlest  arts, 
adorn’d! 

Bless’d  in  each  science!  bless’d  in  ev’ry 
strain ! 

Dear  to  the  Muse!  to  Harley  dear  — ii: 
vain! 

For  him  thou  oft  hast  bid  the  world 
attend, 

Fond  to  forget  the  statesman  in  the  friend 
For  Swift  and  him  despised  the  farce  oi 
state, 

The  sober  follies  of  the  wise  and  great,  i 
Dext’rous  the  craving,  fawning  crowd  t< 
quit, 

And  pleas’d  to  ’scape  from  Flattery  ti 
Wit. 

Absent  or  dead,  still  let  a friend  be  dea 
(A  sigh  the  absent  claims,  the  dead  a tear) 
Recall  those  nights  that  closed  thy  toilsomi 
days, 

Still  hear  thy  Parnell  in  his  living  lays; 
Who,  careless  now  of  Int’rest,  Fame,  o 
Fate, 

Perhaps  forgets  that  Oxford  e’er  was  great 
Or  deeming  meanest  what  we  greates 
call, 

Beholds  thee  glorious  only  in  thy  fall.  a 


TWO  CHORUSES  TO  THE  TRAGEDY  OF  BRUTUS  117 


And  sure  if  aught  below  the  seats  divine 
Jan  touch  immortals,  ’t  is  a soul  like  thine; 
1 soul  supreme,  in  each  hard  instance  tried, 
Lbove  all  pain,  all  passion,  and  all  pride, 
"he  rage  of  power,  the  blast  of  public 
breath, 

’he  lust  of  lucre,  and  the  dread  of  death. 

In  vain  to  deserts  thy  retreat  is  made; 
’lie  Muse  attends  thee  to  thy  silent  shade; 
L’  is  hers  the  brave  man’s  latest  steps  to 
trace, 

iejudge  his  acts,  and  dignify  disgrace.  30 
Vlien  Int’rest  calls  off  all  her  sneaking 
train, 

md  all  th’  obliged  desert,  and  all  the 
vain, 

he  waits,  or  to  the  scaffold  or  the  cell, 
Then  the  last  ling’ring  friend  has  bid 
farewell. 

Jv’n  now  she  shades  thy  evening  walk 
with  bays 

No  hireling  she,  no  prostitute  to  praise); 
Jv’n  now,  observant  of  the  parting  ray, 
Eyes  the  calm  sunset  of  thy  various  day, 
’iiro’  fortune’s  cloud  one  truly  great  can 
see, 

lor  fears  to  tell  that  Mortimer  is  he.  40 


'WO  CHORUSES  TO  THE  TRA- 
GEDY OF  BRUTUS 

. Brutus , says  Pope,  was  a play  ‘ altered 
•om  Shakespeare  by  the  Duke  of  Buckingham, 
b whose  desire  these  choruses  were  composed 
> supply  as  many  wanting  in  his  play.’ 
f arcus  Brutus  was  one  of  two  plays  (the  other 
staining  Shakespeare’s  title)  manufactured  by 
iohn  Sheffield,  Duke  of  Buckinghamshire,  out 
E Julius  Ccrsar.  Both  were  published  in 
722.  Pope’s  choruses  stand  after  the  first  and 
|!Cond  acts  of  Brutus.  The  plays  have  no 
terary  merit. 

CHORUS  OF  ATHENIANS 
Strophe  1 

Ye  shades,  where  sacred  truth  is  sought, 
Groves,  where  immortal  sages  taught, 
Where  heav’nly  visions  Plato  fired, 

( And  Epicurus  lay  inspired! 

In  vain  your  guiltless  laurels  stood 
f Unspotted  long  with  human  blood. 

/ar,  horrid  war,  your  thoughtful  walks  in- 
, vades, 

nd  steel  now  glitters  in  the  Muses’  shades. 


Antistrophe  I 

O Heav’n-born  sisters!  source  of  Art  I 
Who  charm  the  sense,  or  mend  the  heart; 
Who  lead  fair  Virtue’s  train  along, 
Moral  Truth  and  mystic  Song! 

To  what  new  clime,  what  distant  sky, 
Forsaken,  friendless,  shall  ye  fly  ? 

Say,  will  ye  bless  the  bleak  Atlantic  shore  ? 
Or  bid  the  furious  Gaul  be  rude  no  more  ? 

Strophe  II 

When  Athens  sinks  by  fates  unjust, 
When  wild  Barbarians  spurn  her  dust; 
Perhaps  ev’n  Britain’s  utmost  shore 
Shall  cease  to  blush  with  strangers’  gore, 
See  Arts  her  savage  sons  control, 

And  Athens  rising  near  the  pole! 

Till  some  new  tyrant  lifts  his  purple  hand, 
And  civil  madness  tears  them  from  the  land. 

Antistrophe  II 

Ye  Gods!  what  justice  rules  the  ball  ? 
Freedom  and  Arts  together  fall; 

Fools  grant  whate’er  Ambition  craves, 
And  men,  once  ignorant,  are  slaves. 

O curs’d  effects  of  civil  hate, 

I11  ev’ry  age,  in  ev’ry  state! 

Still,  when  the  lust  of  tyrant  Power  suc- 
ceeds, 

Some  Athens  perishes,  some  Tally  bleeds. 
CHORUS  OF  YOUTHS  AND  VIRGINS 
Semichorus 

O tyrant  Love!  hast  thou  possest 
The  prudent,  learned,  and  virtuous 
breast  ? 

Wisdom  and  wit  in  vain  reclaim, 

And  arts  but  soften  us  to  feel  thy  flame. 
Love,  soft  intruder,  enters  here, 

But  ent’ring  learns  to  be  sincere. 

Marcus  with  blushes  owns  he  loves, 

And  Brutus  tenderly  reproves. 

Why,  Virtue,  dost  thou  blame  desire 
Which  Nature  hath  imprest? 

Why,  Nature,  dost  thou  soonest  fire 
The  mild  and  gen’rous  breast  ? 

Chorus 

Love’s  purer  flames  the  Gods  approve; 
The  Gods  and  Brutus  bend  to  love: 
Brutus  for  absent  Portia  sighs, 

And  sterner  Cassius  melts  at  Junia’s  eyes, 
What  is  loose  love  ? a transient  gust, 
Spent  in  a sudden  storm  of  lust, 


Cs- 

t 


M* 

& 


| 


If*®” 


1 18 


POEMS  WRITTEN  BETWEEN  1718  AND  1727 


A vapour  fed  from  wild  desire, 

A wand’ring,  self-consuming  fire. 

But  Hymen’s  kinder  flames  unite, 

And  burn  for  ever  one; 

Chaste  as  cold  Cynthia’s  virgin  light, 
Productive  as  the  sun. 

Semichorus 

O source  of  ev’ry  social  tie, 

United  wish,  and  mutual  joy! 

What  various  joys  on  one  attend, 

As  son,  as  father,  brother,  husband,  friend  ? 
Whether  his  hoary  sire  he  spies, 

While  thousand  grateful  thoughts  arise; 
Or  meets  his  spouse’s  fonder  eye, 

Or  views  his  smiling  progeny; 

What  tender  passions  take  their  turns! 

What  home-felt  raptures  move! 

His  heart  now  melts,  now  leaps,  now 
burns, 

With  Rev’rence,  Hope,  and  Love. 

Chorus 

Hence  guilty  joys,  distastes,  surmises, 
Hence  false  tears,  deceits,  disguises, 
Dangers,  doubts,  delays,  surprises, 
Fires  that  scorch,  yet  dare  not  shine! 
Purest  Love’s  un wasting  treasure, 
Constant  faith,  fair  hope,  long  leisure, 
Days  of  ease,  and  nights  of  pleasure, 
Sacred  Hymen!  these  are  thine. 


TO  MRS.  M.  B.  ON  HER  BIRTH- 
DAY 

Written  to  Martha  Blount  in  1723.  Lines 
5-10  were  elsewhere  adapted  for  a versified 
celebration  of  his  own  birthday,  and  for  an 
epitaph  on  a suicide  ! 

Oh,  he  thou  blest  with  all  that  Heav’n  can 
send, 

Long  Health,  long  Youth,  long  Pleasure, 
and  a Friend: 

Not  with  those  Toys  the  female  world  ad- 
mire, 

Riches  that  vex,  and  Vanities  that  tire. 
With  added  years  if  Life  bring  nothing  new, 
But,  like  a sieve,  let  ev’ry  blessing  thro’, 
Some  joy  still  lost,  as  each  vain  year  runs 
o’er, 

And  all  we  gain,  some  sad  Reflection  more; 
Is  that  a birthday  ? ’t  is  alas!  too  clear, 

JT  is  but  the  funeral  of  the  former  year. 


Let  Joy  or  Ease,  let  Affluence  or  Con* 
tent, 

And  the  gay  Conscience  of  a life  well  spent, 
Calm  ev’ry  thought,  inspirit  ev’ry  grace, 
Glow  in  thy  heart,  and  smile  upon  thy  face. 
Let  day  improve  on  day,  and  year  on  year, 
Without  a Pain,  a Trouble,  or  a Fear; 

Till  Death  unfelt  that  tender  frame  de- 
stroy, 

In  some  soft  dream,  or  extasy  of  joy, 
Peaceful  sleep  out  the  Sabbath  of  the 
Tomb, 

And  wake  to  raptures  in  a life  to  come. 

ANSWER  TO  THE  FOLLOWING 
QUESTION  OF  MRS.  HOWE 

Mary  Howe  was  appointed  Maid  of  Honour 
to  Queen  Caroline,  in  1720.  ‘ Lepell  ’ was  an- 

other Maid  of  Honour,  referred  to  in  The  Chal- 
lenge. 

What  is  Prudery  ? 

’T  is  a beldam, 

Seen  with  Wit  and  Beauty  seldom. 

’T  is  a fear  that  starts  at  shadows; 

’T  is  (no,  ’t  isn’t)  like  Miss  Meadows. 

’T  is  a virgin  hard  of  feature, 

Old,  and  void  of  all  good-nature; 

Lean  and  fretful;  would  seem  wise, 

Yet  plays  the  fool  before  she  dies. 

’T  is  an  ugly  envious  shrew, 

That  rails  at  dear  Lepell  and  you. 

ON  A CERTAIN  LADY  AT 
COURT 

Catharine  Howard,  one  of  Queen  Caroline’s 
waiting-women ; afterward  Countess  of  Suf- 
folk and  mistress  to  George  II.  Her  identifi- 
cation as  the  Chloe  of  Moral  Essays , II.,  makes 
it  easier  to  believe  Walpole’s  statement  that 
this  lady  once  reprieved  a condemned  criminal 
that  ‘ an  experiment  might  be  made  on  his 
ears  for  her  benefit.’ 

I know  the  thing  that ’s  most  uncommon; 
(Envy,  be  silent,  and  attend!) 

I know  a reasonable  Woman, 

Handsome  and  witty,  yet  a friend: 

Not  warp’d  by  Passion,  awed  by  Rumour, 
Not  grave  thro’  Pride,  nor  gay  thro’  Folly, 
An  equal  mixture  of  Good-humour, 

And  sensible  soft  Melancholy. 


THE  CTJRLL  MISCELLANIES 


1 T9 


Has  she  no  faults  then  (Envy  says),  sir  ? ’ 
ifes,  she  has  one,  I must  aver: 

When  all  the  world  conspires  to  praise  her, 
Che  woman ’s  deaf  and  does  not  hear. 

» 

TO  MR.  JOHN  MOORE 

AUTHOR  OF  THE  CELEBRATED  WORM- 
POWDER 

Jow  much,  egregious  Moore ! are  we 
•Deceiv’d  by  shows  and  forms! 

Whate’er  we  think,  whate’er  we  see, 

All  humankind  are  Worms. 

Jan  is  a very  Worm  by  birth, 
file  reptile,  weak,  and  vain! 

A.  while  he  crawls  upon  the  earth, 

Chen  shrinks  to  earth  again. 

That  woman  is  a Worm  we  find, 

;£’er  since  our  Grandam’s  evil: 

She  first  convers’d  with  her  own  kind, 

Chat  ancient  Worm,  the  Devil. 

The  learn’d  themselves  we  Bookworms 
name, 

The  blockhead  is  a Slowworm ; 

Che  nymph  whose  tail  is  all  on  flame, 

's  aptly  term’d  a Glowworm. 

Che  fops  are  painted  Butterflies, 

Chat  flutter  for  a day; 

rirst  from  a Worm  they  take  their  rise, 

And  in  a Worm  decay. 

Che  flatterer  an  Earwig  grows; 
jChus  worms  suit  all  conditions; 

Jisers  are  Muckworms;  Silkworms,  beaux; 
And  Deathwatches,  physicians. 

That  statesmen  have  the  worm,  is  seen 
■3y  all  their  winding  play; 

Their  conscience  is  a Worm  within, 

That  gnaws  them  night  and  day. 

Ah,  Moore,  thy  skill  were  well  employ’d, 
And  greater  gain  would  rise, 
f thou  couldst  make  the  courtier  void 
Che  Worm  that  never  dies! 

) learned  friend  of  Abchureh-Lane, 

Vho  sett’st  our  entrails  free, 
rain  is  thy  Art,  thy  Powder  vain, 

>ince  Worms  shall  eat  ev’n  thee* 


Our  fate  thou  only  canst  adjourn 
Some  few  short  years,  no  more! 

Ev’n  Button’s  Wits  to  Worms  shall  turn, 
Who  Maggots  were  before. 


THE  CURLL  MISCELLANIES 
UMBRA 

Though  speculation  has  connected  several 
other  persons  with  this  poem,  it  is  proba- 
bly still  another  hit  at  the  luckless  Ambrose 
Philips.  It,  with  the  three  following  poems, 
was  first  published  in  the  Miscellanies , 1727. 

Close  to  the  best  known  author  Umbra 
sits, 

The  constant  index  to  old  Button’s  Wits. 

‘ Who ’s  here  ? ’ cries  Umbra.  ‘ Only 
Johnson.’  — ‘ O ! 

Your  slave,’  and  exit;  but  returns  with 
Rowe. 

‘ Dear  Rowe,  let ’s  sit  and  talk  of  trage- 
dies : ’ 

Ere  long  Pope  enters,  and  to  Pope  he 
flies. 

Then  up  comes  Steele:  he  turns  upon  his 
heel, 

And  in  a moment  fastens  upon  Steele; 

But  cries  as  soon,  ‘ Dear  Dick,  I must  be 
gone, 

For,  if  1 know  his  tread,  here ’s  Addison.’ 
Says  Addison  to  Steele,  ‘ ’T  is  time  to  go  : ’ 
Pope  to  the  closet  steps  aside  with  Rowe. 
Poor  Umbra,  left  in  this  abandon’d  pickle, 
Ev’n  sits  him  down,  and  writes  to  honest 
Tickell. 

Fool!  ’t  is  in  vain  from  Wit  to  Wit  to 
roam ; 

Know,  Sense,  like  Charity,  ‘ begins  at 
home.’ 


BISHOP  HOUGH 

A Bishop,  by  his  neighbors  hated, 

Has  cause  to  wish  himself  translated; 

But  why  should  Hough  desire  translation, 
Loved  and  esteem’d  by  all  the  nation  ? 

Yet  if  it  be  the  old  man’s  case, 

I ’ll  lay  my  life  I know  the  place  : 

’T  is  where  God  sent  some  that  adore 
him, 

And  whither  Enoch  went  before  bim„ 


120 


POEMS  WRITTEN  BETWEEN  1718  AND  1727 


SANDYS’  GHOST 

OR,  A PROPER  NEW  BALLAD  ON  THE  NEW 
OVID’S  METAMORPHOSES:  AS  IT  WAS 
INTENDED  TO  BE  TRANSLATED  BY 
PERSONS  OF  QUALITY 

This  refers  to  the  translation  undertaken  by 
Sir  Samuel  Garth,  which  aimed  to  complete 
Dryden’s  translation  of  Ovid,  avoiding-  the 
rigidness  of  Sandys’  method.  The  enterprise 
was  beg-un  in  1718,  when  these  verses  were 
probably  written. 

Ye  Lords  and  Commons,  men  of  wit 
And  pleasure  about  town, 

Read  this,  ere  you  translate  one  bit 
Of  books  of  high  renown. 

Beware  of  Latin  authors,  all, 

Nor  think  your  verses  sterling, 

Tho’  with  a golden  pen  you  scrawl, 

And  scribble  in  a Berlin. 

For  not  the  desk  with  silver  nails, 

Nor  bureau  of  expense, 

Nor  standish  well  japann’d,  avails 
To  writing  of  good  sense. 

Hear  how  a Ghost  in  dead  of  night, 

With  saucer  eyes  of  fire, 

In  woful  wise  did  sore  affright 
A Wit  and  courtly  Squire: 

Rare  imp  of  Phoebus,  hopeful  youth! 

Like  puppy  tame,  that  uses 
To  fetch  and  carry  in  his  mouth 
The  works  of  all  the  Muses. 

Ah!  why  did  he  write  poetry, 

That  hereto  was  so  civil; 

And  sell  his  soul  for  vanity 
To  Rhyming  and  the  Devil  ? 

A desk  he  had  of  curious  work, 

With  glitt’ring  studs  about; 

Within  the  same  did  Sandys  lurk, 

Tho’  Ovid  lay  without. 

Now,  as  he  scratch’d  to  fetch  up  thought, 
Forth  popp’d  the  sprite  so  thin, 

And  from  the  keyhole  bolted  out, 

All  upright  as  a pin. 

With  whiskers,  band,  and  pantaloon, 

And  ruff  composed  most  duly, 


This  Squire  he  dropp’d  his  pen  full  soon, 
While  as  the  light  burnt  bluely. 

Ho!  master  Sam,  quoth  Sandys’  sprite, 
Wfite  on,  nor  let  me  scare  ye! 

Forsooth,  if  rhymes  fall  not  in  right, 

To  Budgell  seek  or  Carey. 

I hear  the  beat  of  Jacob’s  drums, 

Poor  Ovid  finds  no  quarter! 

See  first  the  merry  P[embroke]  comes 
In  haste  without  his  garter. 

Then  Lords  and  Lordlings,  Squires  and 
Knights, 

Wits,  Witlings,  Prigs,  and  Peers: 

Garth  at  St.  James’s,  and  at  White’s, 

Beats  up  for  volunteers. 

What  Fenton  will  not  do,  nor  Gay, 

Nor  Congreve,  Rowe,  nor  Stanyan, 

Tom  B[urne]t,  or  Tom  D’Urfey  may, 

John  D unton,  Steele,  or  any  one. 

If  Justice  Philips’  costive  head 
Some  frigid  rhymes  disburses, 

They  shall  like  Persian  tales  be  read, 

And  glad  both  babes  and  nurses. 

Let  W[a]rw[ic]k’s  Muse  with  Ash[urs]t 
join, 

And  Ozell’s  with  Lord  Hervey’s, 

Tickell  and  Addison  combine, 

And  P[o]pe  translate  with  Jervas. 

L[ansdowne]  himself,  that  lively  lord, 

Who  bows  to  every  lady, 

Shall  join  with  F[rowde]  in  one  accord, 
And  be  like  Tate  and  Brady. 

Ye  ladies,  too,  draw  forth  your  pen; 

I pray,  where  can  the  hurt  lie  ? 

Since  you  have  brains  as  well  as  men, 

As  witness  Lady  Wortley. 

Now,  Tonson,  list  thy  forces  all, 

Review  them  and  tell  noses; 

For  to  poor  Ovid  shall  befall 
A strange  metamorphosis; 

A metamorphosis  more  strange 
Than  all  his  books  can  vapour  — 

‘ To  what  (quoth  ’Squire)  shall  Ovid 
change  ? ’ 

Quoth  Sandys,  ‘ To  waste  paper.’ 


POEMS  SUGGESTED  BY  GULLIVER 


1 2 I 


EPITAPH 

Imitated  from  a Latin  couplet  on  Joannes 
Mirandula  : — 

Joannes  jacet  hie  Mirandula:  csetera  norunt 
Et  Tagus  et  Ganges — forsan  et  Antipodes. 

First  applied  by  Pope  to  Francis  Chartres, 
but  published  in  this  form  in  1727. 

Here  lies  Lord  Coningsby  — be  civil! 

The  rest  God  knows  — perhaps  the  Devil. 

THE  THREE  GENTLE  SHEP- 
HERDS 

Of  gentle  Philips  will  I ever  sing, 

With  gentle  Philips  shall  the  valleys  ring. 
My  numbers  too  for  ever  will  I vary, 

With  gentle  Budgell,  and  with  gentle  Carey. 
Or  if  in  ranging  of  the  names  I judge  ill, 
With  gentle  Carey  and  with  gentle  Budgell. 
Oh!  may  all  gentle  bards  together  place  ye, 
Men  of  good  hearts,  and  men  of  delicacy. 
May  Satire  ne’er  befool  ye  or  beknave  ye, 
And  from  all  Wits  that  have  a knack,  God 
save  ye! 


ON  THE  COUNTESS  OF  BUR- 
LINGTON CUTTING  PAPER 

Pallas  grew  vapourish  once  and  odd; 

She  would  not  do  the  least  right  thing, 
Either  for  Goddess  or  for  God, 

Nor  work,  nor  play,  nor  paint,  nor  sing. 

Jove  frown’d,  and  ‘ Use  (he  cried)  those 
eyes 

So  skilful,  and  those  hands  so  taper; 

Do  something  exquisite  and  wise  — ’ 

She  bow’d,  obey’d  him,  and  cut  paper. 

This  vexing  him  who  gave  her  birth, 
Thought  by  all  Heav’n  a burning  shame, 
What  does  she  next,  but  bids,  on  earth, 
Her  Burlington  do  just  the  same. 

Pallas,  you  give  yourself  strange  airs; 

But  sure  you  ’ll  find  it  hard  to  spoil 
The  Sense  and  Taste  of  one  that  bears 
The  name  of  Saville  and  of  Boyle. 

Mas!  one  bad  example  shown, 

* How  quickly  all  the  sex  pursue! 

'See,  madam,  see  the  arts  o’erthrown 
Between  John  Overton  and  you! 


EPIGRAM 

AN  EMPTY  HOUSE 

You  beat  your  Pate,  and  fancy  Wit  will 
come : 

Knock  as  you  please,  there ’s  nobody  at 
home. 


POEMS  SUGGESTED  BY 
GULLIVER 

ODE  TO  QUINBUS  FLESTRIN 

THE  MAN  MOUNTAIN,  PY  TITTY  TIT,  POET 
LAUREATE  TO  HIS  MAJESTY  OF  LILLI- 
PUT.  TRANSLATED  INTO  ENGLISH 

This  ‘Ode  ’ and  the  three  following  poems, 
were  written  by  Pope  after  reading  Gulliver's 
Travels , and  first  published  in  the  Miscellanies 
of  Pope  and  Swift,  in  1727. 

In  amaze 
Lost  I gaze! 

Can  our  eyes 
Reach  thy  size! 

May  my  lays 
Swell  with  praise, 

Worthy  thee! 

Worthy  me! 

Muse,  inspire 
All  thy  fire! 

Bards  of  old 
Of  him  told, 

When  they  said 
Atlas’  head 
Propp’d  the  skies: 

See!  and  believe  your  eyes! 

See  him  stride 
Valleys  wide, 

Over  woods, 

Over  floods! 

When  he  treads, 

Mountains’  heads 
Groan  and  shake, 

Armies  quake; 

Lest  his  spurn 
Overturn 
Man  and  steed: 

Troops,  take  heed! 

Left  and  right, 

Speed  your  flight! 

Lest  an  host 


122 


POEMS  WRITTEN  BETWEEN  1718  AND  1727 


Beneath  his  foot  be  lost; 
Turn’d  aside 
From  his  hide 
Safe  from  wound, 

Darts  rebound. 

From  his  nose 
Clouds  he  blows! 

When  he  speaks, 
Thunder  breaks! 

When  he  eats, 

Famine  threats! 

When  he  drinks, 
Neptune  shrinks! 

Nigh  thy  ear 
In  mid  air, 

On  thy  hand 
Let  me  stand; 

So  shall  I, 

Lofty  poet!  touch  the  sky. 


THE  LAMENTATION  OF  GLUM- 
DALCLITCH  FOR  THE  LOSS 
OF  GRILDRIG 

A PASTORAL 

Soon  as  Glumdalclitch  miss’d  her  pleasing 
care, 

She  wept,  she  blubber’d,  and  she  tore  her 
hair; 

No  British  miss  sincerer  grief  has  known, 
Her  squirrel  missing,  or  her  sparrow  flown. 
She  furl’d  her  sampler,  and  haul’d  in  her 
thread, 

And  stuck  her  needle  into  Grildrig’s  bed; 
Then  spread  her  hands,  and  with  a bounce 
let  fall 

Her  baby,  like  the  giant  in  Guildhall. 

In  peals  of  thunder  now  she  roars,  and 
now 

She  gently  whimpers  like  a lowing  cow:  10 
Yet  lovely  in  her  sorrow  still  appears: 

Her  locks  dishevell’d,  and  her  flood  of  tears, 
Seem  like  the  lofty  barn  of  some  rich  swain, 
When  from  the  thatch  drips  fast  a shower 
of  rain. 

In  vain  she  search’d  each  cranny  of  the 
house, 

Each  gaping  chink,  impervious  to  a mouse. 
‘ Was  it  for  this  (she  cried)  with  daily  care 
Within  thy  reach  I set  the  vinegar, 

And  fill’d  the  cruet  with  the  acid  tide, 
While  pepper-water  worms  thy  bait  sup- 
plied ? 20 


Where  twined  the  silver  eel  around  thy 
hook, 

And  all  the  little  monsters  of  the  brook! 
Sure  in  that  lake  he  dropt;  my  Grilly’s 
drown’d!  ’ 

She  dragg’d  the  cruet,  but  no  Grildrig 
found. 

‘Vain  is  thy  courage,  Grilly,  vain  thy 
boast! 

But  little  creatures  enterprise  the  most. 
Trembling  I ’ve  seen  thee  dare  the  kitten’s 
paw, 

Nay,  mix  with  children,  as  they  play’d  at 
taw, 

Nor  fear  the  marbles  as  they  bounding  flew; 
Marbles  to  them,  but  rolling  rocks  to  you ! 30 
‘ Why  did  I trust  thee  with  that  giddy 
youth  ? 

Who  from  a page  can  ever  learn  the  truth  ? 
Versed  in  court  tricks,  that  money-loving 
boy 

To  some  lord’s  daughter  sold  the  living 

toy; 

Or  rent  him  limb  from  limb  in  cruel  play, 
As  children  tear  the  wings  of  flies  away. 
From  place  to  place  o’er  Brobdingnag  I ’ll 
roam, 

And  never  will  return,  or  bring  thee  home. 
But  who  hath  eyes  to  trace  the  passing 
wind  ? 

How  then  thy  fairy  footsteps  can  I find  ? 40 
Dost  thou  bewilder’d  wander  all  alone 
In  the  green  thicket  of  a mossy  stone; 

Or,  tumbled  from  the  toadstool’s  slipp’ry 
round, 

Perhaps,  all  maim’d,  lie  grovelling  on  the 
ground 

Dost  thou,  embosom’d  in  the  lovely  rose, 
Or,  sunk  within  the  peach’s  down  repose  ? 
Within  the  kingcup  if  thy  limbs  are  spread, 
Or  in  the  golden  cowslip’s  velvet  head, 

O show  me,  Flora,  midst  those  sweets,  the 
flower 

Where  sleeps  my  Grildrig  in  the  fragrant 
bower.  sd 

But  ah ! I fear  thy  little  fancy  roves 
On  little  females,  and  on  little  loves; 

Thy  pigmy  children,  and  thy  tiny  spouse, 
The  baby  playthings  that  adorn  thy  house, 
Doors,  windows,  chimneys,  and  the  spacious 
rooms, 

Equal  in  size  to  cells  of  honeycombs. 

Hast  thou  for  these  now  ventured  from  the 
shore, 

Thy  bark  a bean  shell,  and  a straw  thy  oar  1 


POEMS  SUGGESTED  BY  GULLIVER 


123 


Or  in  thy  box  now  bounding  on  the  main, 

Shall  I ne’er  bear  thyself  and  house  again  ? 

And  shall  I set  thee  on  my  hand  no  more,  61 

To  see  thee  leap  the  lines,  and  traverse  o’er 

My  spacious  palm;  of  stature  scarce  a span, 

Mimic  the  actions  of  a real  man  ? 

No  more  behold  thee  turn  my  watch’s  key, 

As  seamen  at  a capstan  anchors  weigh  ? 

How  wert  thou  wont  to  walk  with  cautious 
tread, 

A dish  of  tea,  like  milkpail,  on  thy  head! 

How  chase  the  mite  that  bore  thy  cheese 
away, 

And  keep  the  rolling  maggot  at  a bay  ! ’ 70 
She  spoke;  but  broken  accents  stopp’d 
her  voice, 

Soft  as  the  speaking  - trumpet’s  mellow 
noise: 

She  sobb’d  a storm,  and  wiped  her  flowing 
eyes, 

Which  seem’d  like  two  broad  suns  in  misty 
skies. 

O squander  not  thy  grief!  those  tears  com- 
mand 

To  weep  upon  our  cod  in  Newfoundland; 

The  plenteous  pickle  shall  preserve  the  fish, 

And  Europe  taste  thy  sorrows  in  a dish. 


TO  MR.  LEMUEL  GULLIVER 

THE  GRATEFUL  ADDRESS  OF  THE  UN- 
HAPPY HOUYHNHNMS  NOW  IN  SLAVERY 
AND  BONDAGE  IN  ENGLAND 

To  thee,  we  wretches  of  the  Houyhnhnm 
band, 

Condemn’d  to  labour  in  a barb’rous  land, 

Return  our  thanks.  Accept  our  humble 
lays, 

And  let  each  grateful  Houyhnhnm  neigh 
i thy  praise. 

O happy  Yahoo,  purged  from  human 
crimes, 

By  thy  sweet  sojourn  in  those  virtuous 
climes, 

Where  reign  our  sires;  there,  to  thy  coun- 
try’s shame, 

Reason,  you  found,  and  Virtue  were  the 
same. 

Their  precepts  razed  the  prejudice  of  youth, 

And  ev’n  a Yahoo  learn’d  the  love  of 
Truth.  10 

Art  thou  the  first  who  did  the  coast  ex- 
plore ? 


Did  never  Yahoo  tread  that  ground  before  ? 
Yes,  thousands!  But  in  pity  to  their  kind, 
Or  sway’d  by  envy,  or  thro’  pride  of  mind, 
They  hid  their  knowledge  of  a nobler  race, 
Which  own’d,  would  all  their  sires  and  sons 
disgrace. 

You,  like  the  Samian,  visit  lands  un- 
known, 

And  by  their  wiser  morals  mend  your  own. 
Thus  Orpheus  travell’d  to  reform  his  kind, 
Came  back,  and  tamed  the  brutes  he  left 
behind.  20 

You  went,  you  saw,  you  heard:  with 
virtue  fought, 

Then  spread  those  morals  which  the  Houy- 
hnhnms  taught. 

Our  labours  here  must  touch  thy  gen’rous 
heart, 

To  see  us  strain  before  the  coach  and 
cart; 

Compell’d  to  run  each  knavish  jockey’s 
heat! 

Subservient  to  Newmarket’s  annual  cheat! 
With  what  reluctance  do  we  lawyers  bear, 
To  fleece  their  country  clients  twice  a year! 
Or  managed  in  your  schools,  for  fops  to 
ride, 

How  foam,  how  fret  beneath  a load  of 
pride ! 30 

Yes,  we  are  slaves  — but  yet,  by  reason’s 
force, 

Have  learn’d  to  bear  misfortune  like  a 
horse. 

O would  the  stars,  to  ease  my  bonds 
ordain 

That  gentle  Gulliver  might  guide  my  rein! 
Safe  would  I bear  him  to  his  journey’s  end, 
For ’t  is  a pleasure  to  support  a friend. 

But  if  my  life  be  doom’d  to  serve  the  bad, 
Oh!  mayst  thou  never  want  an  easy  pad! 

Houyhnhnm 


MARY  GULLIVER  TO  CAPTAIN 
LEMUEL  GULLIVER 

AN  EPISTLE 
ARGUMENT 

The  captain,  some  time  after  his  return, 
being  retired  to  Mr.  Sympson’s  in  the  country, 
Mrs.  Gulliver,  apprehending  from  his  late  be- 
haviour some  estrangement  of  his  affections, 
writes  him  the  following  expostulatory,  sooth- 
ing, and  tenderly  complaining  epistle. 


124 


POEMS  WRITTEN  BETWEEN  1718  AND  1727 


Welcome,  thrice  welcome  to  thy  native 
plaee ! 

What,  touch  me  not  ? what,  shun  a wife’s 
embrace  ? 

Have  I for  this  thy  tedious  absence  borne, 

And  waked,  and  wish’d  whole  nights  for 
thy  return  ? 

In  five  long  years  I took  no  second  spouse; 

What  Redriff  wife  so  long  hath  kept  her 
vows  ? 

Your  eyes,  your  nose,  inconstancy  betray; 

Your  nose  you  stop,  your  eyes  you  turn 
away. 

’T  is  said,  that  thou  shouldst  ‘ cleave  unto 
thy  wife ; ’ 

Once  thou  didst  cleave,  and  I could  cleave 
for  life.  10 

Hear,  and  relent  ! hark  how  thy  children 
moan! 

Be  kind  at  least  to  these;  they  are  thy 
own: 

Behold,  and  count  them  all;  secure  to  find 

The  honest  number  that  you  left  behind. 

See  how  they  bat  thee  with  their  pretty 
paws: 

Why  start  you  ? are  they  snakes  ? or  have 
they  claws  ? 

Thy  Christian  seed,  our  mutual  flesh  and 
bone: 

Be  kind  at  least  to  these;  they  are  thy 
own. 

Biddel,  like  thee,  might  farthest  India 
rove ; 

He  changed  his  country,  but  retain’d  his 
love.  20 

There ’s  Captain  Pannel,  absent  half  his 
life, 

Comes  back,  and  is  the  kinder  to  his  wife; 

Yet  Pannel’s  wife  is  brown  compared  to 
me, 

And  Mrs.  Biddel  sure  is  fifty-three. 

Not  touch  me!  never  neighbour  call’d 
me  slut! 

WasFlimnap’s  dame  more  sweet  in  Lilli- 
put  ? 

I ’ve  no  red  hair  to  breathe  an  odious 
fume; 

At  least  thy  Consort ’s  cleaner  than  thy 
Groom. 

Why  then  that  dirty  stable-boy  thy  care  ? 

What  mean  those  visits  to  the  Sorrel 
Mare  ? 30 

Say,  by  what  witchcraft,  or  what  demon 
led, 

Preferr’st  thou  litter  to  the  marriage-bed  ? 


Some  say  the  Devil  himself  is  in  that 
mare: 

If  so,  our  Dean  shall  drive  him  forth  by 
prayer. 

Some  think  you  mad,  some  think  you  are 
possess’d, 

That  Bedlam  and  clean  straw  will  suit  you 
best. 

Vain  means,  alas,  this  frenzy  to  appease! 
That  straw,  that  straw  would  heighten  the 
disease. 

My  bed  (the  scene  of  all  our  former  joys, 
Witness  two  lovely  girls,  two  lovely  boys) 
Alone  I press:  in  dreams  I call  my  dear,  41 
I stretch  my  hand;  no  Gulliver  is  there  ! 

I wake,  I rise,  and  shiv’ring  with  the  frost 
Search  all  the  house;  my  Gulliver  is  lost! 
Forth  in  the  street  I rush  with  frantic  cries; 
The  windows  open,  all  the  neighbours  rise: 
‘ Where  sleeps  my  Gulliver  ? O tell  me 
where.’ 

The  neighbours  answer,  ‘ With  the  Sorrel 
Mare.’ 

At  early  morn  I to  the  market  haste 
(Studious  in  every  thing  to  please  thy 
taste);  50 

A curious  fowl  and  ’sparagus  I chose 
(For  I remember’d  you  were  fond  of  those) ; 
Three  shillings  cost  the  first,  the  last  seven 
groats ; 

Sullen  yon  turn  from  both,  and  call  for  oats. 
Others  bring  goods  and  treasure  to  their 
houses, 

Something  to  deck  their  pretty  babes  and 
spouses: 

My  only  token  was  a cup  like  horn, 

That ’s  made  of  nothing  but  a lady’s  corn. 
’T  is  not  for  that  I grieve ; O,  ’t  is  to  see 
The  Groom  and  Sorrel  Mare  preferr’d  to 
me ! 60 

These,  for  some  moments  when  you  deign 
to  quit, 

And  at  due  distance  sweet  discourse  ad- 
mit, 

’T  is  all  my  pleasure  thy  past  toil  to  know; 
For  pleas’d  remembrance  builds  delight  on 
woe. 

At  ev’ry  danger  pants  thy  consort’s  breast, 
And  gaping  infants  squall  to  hear  the  rest. 
How  did  I tremble,  when  by  thousands 
bound, 

I saw  thee  stretch’d  on  Lilliputian  ground! 
When  scaling  armies  climb’d  up  every 
part, 

Each  step  they  trod  I felt  upon  my  heart. 


"PROLOGUE  12/5 


But  when  thy  torrent  quench’d  the  dreadful 
blaze,  7 1 

King,  Queen,  and  Nation  staring  with 
amaze, 

Full  in  my  view  how  all  my  husband  came; 

And  what  extinguish’d  theirs  increas’d  my 
flame. 

Those  spectacles,  ordain’d  thine  eyes  to 
save, 

Were  once  my  present;  love  that  armour 
gave. 

How  did  I mourn  at  Bolgolam’s  decree! 

For  when  he  sign’d  thy  death,  he  sentenc’d 
me. 

When  folks  might  see  thee  all  the  coun- 
try round 

For  sixpence,  I’d  have  giv’n  a thousand 
pound.  80 

Lord!  when  the  giant  babe  that  head  of 
thine 

Got  in  his  mouth,  my  heart  was  up  in  mine! 

When  in  the  marrow  bone  I see  thee 
ramm’d, 

Or  on  the  housetop  by  the  monkey 
cramm’d, 

The  piteous  images  renew  my  pain, 

And  all  thy  dangers  I weep  o’er  again. 

But  on  the  maiden’s  nipple  when  you  rid, 

Pray  Heav’n,  ’t  was  all  a wanton  maiden 
did! 

Glumdalclitch,  too!  with  thee  I mourn  her 
case, 

Heaven  guard  the  gentle  girl  from  all  dis- 
grace ! 90 


O may  the  king  that  one  neglect  for- 
give, 

And  pardon  her  the  fault  by  which  I live! 

Was  there  no  other  way  to  set  him  free  ? 

My  life,  alas!  I fear  prov’d  death  to 
thee. 

O teach  me,  dear,  new  words  to  speak 
my  flame; 

Teach  me  to  woo  thee  by  thy  best  lov’d 
name! 

Whether  the  style  of  Grildrig  please  thee 
most, 

So  call’d  on  Brobdingnag’s  stupendous 
coast, 

When  on  the  monarch’s  ample  hand  you 
sate,  99 

And  halloo’d  in  his  ear  intrigues  of  state; 

Or  Quinbus  Flestriii  more  endearment 
brings, 

When  like  a mountain  you  look’d  down  on 
kings: 

If  ducal  Nardac,  Lilliputian  peer, 

Or  Glumglum’s  humbler  title  soothe  thy 
ear: 

Nay,  would  kind  Jove  my  organs  so  dis- 
pose, 

To  hymn  harmonious  Houyhnhnm  thro* 
the  nose, 

I ’d  call  thee  Houyhnhnm,  that  high  sound- 
ing name 

Thy  children’s  noses  all  should  twang  the 
same ; 

So  might  I find  my  loving  spouse  of  course 

Endued  with  all  the  virtues  of  a horse,  no 


LATER  POEMS 


ON  CERTAIN  LADIES  7 


When  other  fair  ones  to  the  shades  go 
down, 

Still  Chloe,  Flavia,  Delia,  stay  in  town: 

Those  ghosts  of  beauty  wand’ring  here  re- 
side, 

And  haunt  the  places  where  their  honour 
died. 

CELIA 


Celia,  we  know,  is  sixty-five, 

Yet  Celia’s  face  is  seventeen; 

Thus  winter  in  her  breast  must  live, 
While  summer  in  her  face  is  seen. 


How  cruel  Celia’s  fate,  who  hence 
Our  heart’s  devotion  cannot  try; 
Too  pretty  for  our  reverence, 

Too  ancient  for  our  gallantry! 


PROLOGUE 

TO  A PLAY  FOR  MR.  DENNIS’S  BENEFIT, 
IN  1 733,  WHEN  HE  WAS  OLD,  BLIND, 
AND  IN  GREAT  DISTRESS,  A LITTLE 
BEFORE  HIS  DEATH 

As  when  that  hero,  who  in  each  campaign 
Had  braved  the  Goth,  and  many  a Vandal 
slain, 


126 


LATER  POEMS 


Lay  fortune-struck,  a spectacle  of  woe, 

Wept  by  each  friend,  forgiv’n  by  ev’ry 
foe; 

Was  there  a gen’rous,  a reflecting  mind, 

But  pitied  Belisarius  old  and  blind  ? 

Was  there  a chief  but  melted  at  the  sight  ? 

A common  soldier  but  who  clubb’d  his 
mite  ? 

Such,  such  emotions  should  in  Britons  rise, 

When,  press’d  by  want  and  weakness,  Den- 
nis lies; 

Dennis!  who  long  had  warr’d  with  modern 
Huns, 

Their  quibbles  routed,  and  defied  their 
puns; 

A desp’rate  bulwark,  sturdy,  firm,  and 
fierce, 

Against  the  Gothic  sons  of  frozen  verse. 

How  changed  from  him  who  made  the 
boxes  groan, 

And  shook  the  stage  with  thunders  all  his 
own! 

Stood  up  to  dash  each  vain  pretender’s 
hope, 

Maul  the  French  tyrant,  or  pull  down  the 
Pope! 

If  there ’s  a Briton,  then,  true  bred  and 
born, 

Who  holds  dragoons  and  wooden  shoes  in 
scorn ; 

If  there ’s  a critic  of  distinguish’d  rage; 

If  there ’s  a senior  who  contemns  this  age; 

Let  him  to-night  his  just  assistance  lend, 

And  be  the  Critic’s,  Briton’s,  old  man’s 
friend. 


SONG,  BY  A PERSON  OF 
QUALITY 

WRITTEN  IN  THE  YEAR  1733 

The  public  astonished  Pope  by  taking  this 
burlesque  seriously,  and  praising  it  as  poetry. 

I 

Flutt’ring  spread  thy  purple  Pinions, 
Gentle  Cupid , o’er  my  Heart; 

I a Slave  in  thy  Dominions; 

Nature  must  give  Way  to  Art. 

II 

Mild  Arcadians , ever  blooming,  ' 

Nightly  nodding  o’er  your  Flocks, 

See  my  weary  Days  consuming, 

All  beneath  yon  flow’ry  Bocks. 


III 

Thus  the  Cyprian  Goddess  weeping, 
Mourn’d  A donis,  darling  Youth: 
Him  the  Boar  in  Silence  creeping, 
Gored  with  unrelenting  Tooth. 

IV 

Cynthia , tune  harmonious  Numbers; 

Fair  Discretion , string  the  Lyre; 
Soothe  my  ever-waking  Slumbers: 
Bright  Apollo,  lend  thy  Choir. 

V 

Gloomy  Pluto,  King  of  Terrors, 

Arm’d  in  adamantine  Chains, 

Lead  me  to  the  Crystal  Mirrors, 

Wat  Ting  soft  Elysian  Plains. 

VI 

Mournful  Cypress,  verdant  Willow, 
Gilding  my  Aurelia's  Brows, 
Morpheus  hov’ring  o’er  my  Pillow, 
Hear  me  pay  my  dying  Yows. 

VII 

Melancholy  smooth  Mceander, 

Swiftly  purling  in  a Round, 

On  thy  Margin  Lovers  wander, 

With  thy  flow’ry  Chaplets  crown’d. 

VIII 

Thus  when  Philomela  drooping, 

Softly  seeks  her  silent  Mate, 

See  the  Bird  of  Juno  stooping; 
Melody  resigns  to  Fate. 


VERSES  LEFT  BY  MR.  POPE 

ON  HIS  LYING  IN  THE  SAME  BED  WHICH 
W1LMOT,  THE  CELEBRATED  EARL  OF 
ROCHESTER,  SLEPT  IN  AT  ADDERBURY, 
THEN  BELONGING  TO  THE  DUKE  OF 
ARGYLE,  JULY  9TH,  1 739 

With  no  poetic  ardour  fired 

I press  the  bed  where  Wilmot  lay; 

That  here  he  lov’d,  or  here  expired, 

Begets  no  numbers  grave  or  gay. 

Beneath  thy  roof,  Argyle,  are  bred 

Such  thoughts  as  prompt  the  brave  to 
lie 

Stretch’d  out  in  honour’s  nobler  bed, 
Beneath  a nobler  roof  — the  sky. 


ON  BEAUFORT  HOUSE  GATE  AT  CHISWICK 


127 


Such  flames  as  high  in  patriots  burn, 

Yet  stoop  to  bless  a child  or  wife; 

And  such  as  wicked  kings  may  mourn, 
When  Freedom  is  more  dear  than  Life. 


ON  HIS  GROTTO  AT  TWICKEN- 
HAM 

COMPOSED  OF  MARBLES,  SPARS,  GEMS, 
ORES,  AND  MINERALS 

These  lines  were  enclosed  in  a letter  to  Bo- 

lingbroke,  dated  September  3,  1740. 

Thou  who  shalt  stop  where  Thames’ 
translucent  wave 

Shines  a broad  mirror  thro’  the  shadowy 
cave; 

Where  ling’ring  drops  from  min’ral  roofs 
distil, 

And  pointed  crystals  break  the  sparkling 
rill; 

Unpolish’d  gems  no  ray  on  pride  bestow, 

And  latent  metals  innocently  glow; 

Approach.  Great  Nature  studiously  be- 
hold! 

And  eye  the  mine  without  a wish  for  gold. 

Approach;  but  awful!  lo!  the  iEgerian  grot, 

Where,  nobly  pensive,  St.  John  sate  and 
thought; 

Where  British  sighs  from  dying  Wyndliam 
stole, 

And  the  bright  flame  was  shot  thro’  March- 
mont’s  soul. 

Let  such,  such  only,  tread  this  sacred  floor, 

Who  dare  to  love  their  country,  and  be 
poor. 


ON  RECEIVING  FROM  THE 
RIGHT  HON.  THE  LADY  FRAN- 
CES SHIRLEY  A STANDISH 
AND  TWO  PENS 

Lady  Frances  Shirley  was  daughter  of  Earl 
Ferrers,  a neighbor  of  Pope’s  at  Twickenham. 

Yes,  I beheld  th’  Athenian  Queen 
Descend  in  all  her  sober  charms; 

‘ And  take  ’ (she  said,  and  smiled  serene), 

; ‘ Take  at  this  hand  celestial  arms: 

' Secure  the  radiant  weapons  wield ; 

This  golden  lance  shall  guard  Desert, 


And  if  a Vice  dares  keep  the  field, 

This  steel  shall  stab  it  to  the  heart.’ 

Awed,  on  my  bended  knees  I fell, 

Received  the  weapons  of  the  sky;  10 
And  dipt  them  in  the  sable  well, 

The  fount  of  Fame  or  Infamy. 

‘ What  well  ? what  weapons  ? 1 (Flavia 
cries,) 

‘ A standish,  steel  and  golden  pen! 

It  came  from  Bertrand’s,  not  the  skies; 

I gave  it  you  to  write  again. 

‘But,  Friend,  take  heed  whom  you  at- 
tack; 

You  ’ll  bring  a House  (I  mean  of  Peers) 
Red,  blue,  and  green,  nay  white  and 
black, 

L[ambeth]  and  all  about  your  ears. 

‘ You ’d  write  as  smooth  again  on  glass, 
And  run,  on  ivory,  so  glib, 

As  not  to  stick  at  Fool  or  Ass, 

Nor  stop  at  Flattery  or  Fib. 

‘ Athenian  Queen  ! and  sober  charms! 

I tell  ye,  fool,  there ’s  nothing  in ’t: 

’Tis  Venus,  Venus  gives  these  arms; 

In  Dryden’s  Virgil  see  the  print. 

‘ Come,  if  you  ’ll  be  a quiet  soul, 

That  dares  tell  neither  Truth  nor  Lies, 

I ’ll  lift  you  in  the  harmless  roll 

Of  those  that  sing  of  these  poor  eyes.’ 


ON  BEAUFORT  HOUSE  GATE 
AT  CHISWICK 

The  Lord  Treasurer  Middlesex’s  house  at 
Chelsea,  after  passing  to  the  Duke  of  Beaufort, 
was  called  Beaufort  House.  It  was  afterwards 
sold  to  Sir  Hans  Sloane.  When  the  house  was 
taken  down  in  1740,  its  gateway,  built  by  Inigo 
Jones,  was  given  by  Sir  Hans  Sloane  to  the 
Earl  of  Burlington,  who  removed  it  with  the 
greatest  care  to  his  garden  at  Chiswick,  where 
it  may  be  still  seen.  (Ward.) 

I was  brought  from  Chelsea  last  year, 
Batter’d  with  wind  and  weather; 

Inigo  Jones  put  me  together; 

Sir  Hans  Sloane  let  me  alone; 

Burlington  brought  me  hither. 


t , 

t£ 


i 


128 


LATER  POEMS 


TO  MR.  THOMAS  SOUTHERN 

ON  HIS  BIRTHDAY,  1 742 

Southern  was  invited  to  dine  on  his  birthday 
with  Lord  Orrery,  who  had  prepared  the  enter- 
tainment, of  which  the  bill  of  fare  is  here  set 
down. 

Resign’d  to  live,  prepared  to  die, 

With  not  one  sin  but  poetry, 

This  day  Tom’s  fair  account  has  run 
(Without  a blot)  to  eighty-one. 

Kind  Boyle  before  his  poet  lays 
A table  with  a cloth  of  bays; 

And  Ireland,  mother  of  sweet  singers, 
Presents  her  harp  still  to  his  fingers. 

The  feast,  his  tow’ring  Genius  marks 
In  yonder  wild  goose  and  the  larks  ! 

The  mushrooms  show  his  Wit  was  sudden  ! 
And  for  his  Judgment,  lo,  a pudden  ! 
Roast  beef,  tho’  old,  proclaims  him  stout, 
And  grace,  although  a bard,  devout. 

May  Tom,  whom  Heav’11  sent  down  to 
raise 

The  price  of  Prologues  and  of  Plays, 

Be  ev’ry  birthday  more  a winner, 

Digest  his  thirty-thousandth  dinner, 

Walk  to  his  grave  without  reproach, 

And  scorn  a Rascal  and  a Coach. 


EPIGRAM 

My  Lord  complains  that  Pope,  stark  mad 
with  gardens, 

Has  cut  three  trees,  the  value  of  three 
farthings. 

* But  lie ’s  my  neighbour,’  cries  the  Peer 

polite: 

* And  if  he  visit  me,  I ’ll  waive  the  right.’ 
What  ! on  compulsion,  and  against  my  will, 
A lord’s  acquaintance  ? Let  him  file  his 

bill! 

EPIGRAM 

Explained  by  Carruthers  to  refer  to  the  large 
sums  of  money  given  in  charity  on  account  of 
the  severity  of  the  weather  about  the  year 
1740. 

Yes  ! ’t  is  the  time  (I  cried),  impose  the 
chain, 

Destin’d  and  due  to  wretches  self-en- 
slaved; 


But  when  I saw  such  charity  remain, 

I half  could  wish  this  people  should  be 
saved. 

Faith  lost,  and  Hope,  our  Charity  begins; 

And  ’t  is  a wise  design  in  pitying  Heav’11, 
If  this  can  cover  multitude  of  sins, 

To  take  the  only  way  to  be  forgiv’n. 

1740  : A POEM 

‘ I shall  here,’  says  Dr.  Warton,  ‘ present 
the  reader  with  a valuable  literary  curiosity,  a 
Fragment  of  an  unpublished  Satire  of  Pope, 
entitled,  One  Thousand  Seven  Hundred  and 
Forty ; communicated  to  me  by  the  kindness 
of  the  learned  and  worthy  Dr.  Wilson,  formerly 
fellow  and  librarian  of  Trinity  College,  Dublin  ; 
who  speaks  of  the  Fragment  in  the  following 
terms : — 

‘ “ This  poem  I transcribed  from  a rough 
draft  in  Pope’s  own  hand.  He  left  many  blanks 
for  fear  of  the  Argus  eye  of  those  who,  if  they 
cannot  find,  can  fabricate  treason ; yet,  spite 
of  his  precaution,  it  fell  into  the  hands  of  his 
enemies.  To  the  hieroglyphics  there  are  direct 
allusions,  1 think,  in  some  of  the  notes  on  the 
Dunciad.  It  was  lent  me  by  a grandson  of 
Lord  Chetwynd,  an  intimate  friend  of  the 
famous  Lord  Bolingbroke,  who  gratified  his 
curiosity  by  a boxful  of  the  rubbish  and  sweep- 
ings of  Pope’s  study,  whose  executor  he  was, 
in  conjunction  with  Lord  Marchmont.”  ’ 

O wretched  B[ritain],  jealous  now  of  all, 
What  God,  what  Mortal  shall  prevent  thy 
fall? 

Turn,  turn  thy  eyes  from  wicked  men  in 
place, 

And  see  what  succour  from  the  patriot  race. 
C[ampbell],  his  own  proud  dupe,  thinks 
Monarchs  things 

Made  just  for  him,  as  other  fools  for  Kings; 
Controls,  decides,  insults  thee  ev’ry  hour, 
And  antedates  the  hatred  due  to  power. 
Thro’  clouds  of  passion  P[ulteney]’s 
views  are  clear; 

He  foams  a Patriot  to  subside  a Peer;  20 
Impatient  sees  his  country  bought  and  sold, 
And  damns  the  market  where  he  takes  110 
gold. 

Grave,  righteous  S[andys]  jogs  on  till, 
past  belief, 

He  finds  himself  companion  with  a thief. 
To  purge  and  let  thee  blood  with  fire  and 
sword 

Is  all  the  help  stern  S[hippen]  would  afford. 


174° : A POEM 


129 


That  those  who  bind  and  rob  thee  would 
not  kill, 

Good  C[ornbury]  hopes,  and  candidly  sits 
still. 

Of  Ch[arle]s  W[illiams]  who  speaks  at 
all  ? tg 

No  more  than  of  Sir  Har[r]y  or  Sir  P[aul]: 
Whose  names  once  up,  they  thought  it  was 
not  wrong 

To  lie  in  bed,  but  sure  they  lay  too  long. 

G[owe]r,  C[obha]m,  B[athurs]t,  pay  thee 
due  regards. 

Unless  the  ladies  bid  them  mind  their 
cards. 

with  wit  that  must 

And  C[hesterfiel]d  who  speaks  so  well  and 
writes, 

Whom  (saving  W.)  every  S[harper  bites,] 
must  needs 

Whose  wit  and  . . . equally  provoke  one, 
Finds  thee,  at  best,  the  butt  to  crack  his 
joke  on. 

As  for  the  rest,  each  winter  up  they 
run, 

And  all  are  clear,  that  something  must  be 
done.  3o 

Then  urged  by  C[artere]t,  or  by  C[artere]t 
stopp’d, 

: Inflamed  by  P[ultene]y,  and  by  P[ultene]y 
dropp’d; 

They  follow  rev’rently  each  wondrous 
wight, 

I Amazed  that  one  can  read,  that  one  can 
write 

(So  geese  to  gander  prone  obedience  keep, 
i Hiss  if  he  hiss,  and  if  he  slumber,  sleep) ; 
Till  having  done  whate’er  was  fit  or  fine, 
Ltter’d  a speech,  and  ask’d  their  friends 
to  dine, 

Each  hurries  back  to  his  paternal  ground, 
Content  but  for  five  shillings  in  the  pound,  40 
Yearly  defeated,  yearly  hopes  they  give, 
And  all  agree  Sir  Robert  cannot  live. 

Rise,  rise,  great  W[alpole],  fated  to  ap- 
pear, 

Spite  of  thyself  a glorious  minister  ! 
fSpeak  the  loud  language  princes  . . . 

)And  treat  with  half  the  . . . 

At  length  to  B[ritain]  kind,  as  to  thy  . . . 
lEspouse  the  nation,  you  . . . 

What  can  thy  H[orace]  . . . 

Dress  in  Dutch  ...  5o 

Though  still  he  travels  on  no  bad  pre- 
tence, 
fTo  show  . . . 


Or  those  foul  copies  of  thy  face  and 
tongue, 

Veracious  W[innington]  and  frontless 
Yonge; 

Sagacious  Bub,  so  late  a friend,  and  there 
So  late  a foe,  yet  more  sagacious  H[are]  ? 
Hervey  and  Hervey’s  school,  Ffoxl,  Idfem- 
le]y,  H[into]n, 

Yea,  moral  Ebor,  or  religious  Winton. 

How  ! what  can  0[nslo]w,  what  can  Dela- 
ware], 

The  wisdom  of  the  one  and  other  chair,  60 
Newcastle]  laugh,  or  D[orset]’s  sager 
[sneer], 

Or  thy  dread  truncheon  M[arlboro]’s 
mighty  Peer  ? 

What  help  from  J[ekyl]l’s  opiates  canst 
thou  draw 

Or  H[ardwic]k’s  quibbles  voted  into  law? 

C[ummins],  that  Roman  in  his  nose  alone, 
Who  hears  all  causes,  B[ritain],  but  thy 
own, 

Or  those  proud  fools  whom  nature,  rank, 
and  fate 

Made  fit  companions  for  the  sword  of  state. 
Can  the  light  Packhorse,  or  the  heavy 
Steer,  6g 

The  sowzing  Prelate,  or  the  sweating  Peer, 
Drag  out  with  all  its  dirt  and  all  its 
weight, 

The  lumb’ring  carriage  of  thy  broken 
state  ? 

Alas!  the  people  curse,  the  carman  swears, 
The  drivers  quarrel,  and  the  master  stares. 
The  plague  is  on  thee,  Britain,  and  who 
tries 

To  save  thee,  in  th’  infectious  office  dies. 
The  first  firm  P[ultene]y  soon  resign’d  his 
breath, 

Brave  S[carboro]  loved  thee,  and  was  lied 
to  death. 

Good  M[arch]m[on]t’s  fate  tore  P[olwar]th 
from  thy  side, 

And  thy  last  sigh  was  heard  when  W[ynd- 
ha]m  died.  gQ 

Thy  nobles  sl[ave]s,  thy  se[nate]s  bought 
with  gold, 

Thy  clergy  perjured,  thy  whole  people 
sold, 

An  atheist  a ®'"’s  ad 

Blotch  thee  all  o’er,  and  sink 

Alas!  on  one  alone  our  all  relies, 

Let  him  be  honest,  and  he  must  be  wise. 

Let  him  no  trifler  from  his  school, 

Nor  like  his.  . still  a.  . . . 


POEMS  OF  UNCERTAIN  DATE 


130 


Be  but  a man!  unminister’d,  alone, 

And  free  at  once  the  Senate  and  the 
Throne;  90 

Esteem  the  public  love  his  best  supply, 

A ©’s  true  glory  his  integrity; 

Rich  with  his in  his strong, 


Affect  no  conquest,  but  endure  no  wrong. 
Whatever  his  religion  or  his  blood, 

His  public  Virtue  makes  his  title  good. 
Europe’s  just  balance  and  our  own  may 
stand, 

And  one  man’s  honesty  redeem  the  land. 


POEMS  OF  UNCERTAIN  DATE 
TO  ERINNA 


Tho’  sprightly  Sappho  force  our  love  and 
praise, 

A softer  wonder  my  pleas’d  soul  surveys, 
The  mild  Erinna,  blushing  in  her  bays. 

So,  while  the  sun’s  broad  beam  yet  strikes 
the  sight, 

All  mild  appears  the  moon’s  more  sober 

light; 

Serene,  in  virgin  majesty  she  shines, 

And,  unobserv’d,  the  glaring  sun  declines. 


LINES  WRITTEN  IN  WINDSOR 
FOREST 

Sent  in  an  undated  letter  to  Martha  Blount. 

All  hail,  once  pleasing,  once  inspiring  shade, 

Scene  of  my  youthful  loves,  and  happier 
hours! 

Where  the  kind  Muses  met  me  as  I stray’d, 

And  gently  press’d  my  hand,  and  said, 
‘ Be  ours.’ 

Take  all  thou  e’er  shalt  have,  a constant 
Muse: 

At  Court  thou  mayst  be  liked,  but  nothing 
gain: 

Stocks  thou  mayst  buy  and  sell,  but  always 
lose; 

And  love  the  brightest  eyes,  but  love  in 
vain. 


VERBATIM  FROM  BOILEAU 

FIRST  PUBLISHED  BY  WARBURTON  IN 

1751 

Un  jour,  dit  un  auteur,  etc. 

Once  (says  an  author,  where  I need  not  say) 
Two  travellers  found  an  Oyster  in  their  way: 


Both  fierce,  both  hungry,  the  dispute  grew 
strong, 

While,  scale  in  hand,  daume  Justice  pass’d 
along. 

Before  her  each  with  clamour  pleads  the 
laws, 

Explain’d  the  matter,  and  would  win  the 
cause. 

Dame  Justice  weighing  long  the  doubtful 
right, 

Takes,  opens,  swallows  it  before  their 
sight. 

The  cause  of  strife  remov’d  so  rarely  well, 

‘ There  take  (says  Justice),  take  ye  each  a 
shell. 

We  thrive  at  Westminster  on  fools  like 
you: 

’T  was  a fat  Oyster  — Live  in  peace  — 
Adieu.’ 


LINES  ON  SWIFT’S  ANCESTORS 

Swift  set  up  a plain  monument  to  his  grand- 
father, and  also  presented  a cup  to  the  church 
of  Goodrich,  or  Gotheridge  (in  Herefordshire). 
He  sent  a pencilled  elevation  of  the  monument 
(a  simple  tablet)  to  Mrs.  Howard,  who  returned 
it  with  the  following  lines,  inscribed  on  the 
drawing  by  Pope.  The  paper  is  endorsed,  in 
Swift’s  hand  : * Model  of  a monument  for  my 
grandfather,  with  Pope’s  roguery.’  (Scott’s 
Life  of  Swift.) 

Jonathan  Swift 
Had  the  gift, 

By  fatherige,  motherige, 

And  by  brotherige 
To  come  from  Gotherige, 

But  now  is  spoil’d  clean, 

And  an  Irish  dean; 

In  this  church  he  has  put 
A stone  of  two  foot, 


FROM  THE  GRUB-STREET  JOURNAL 


131 


With  a cup  and  a can,  sir, 

In  respect  to  his  grandsire; 
So,  Ireland,  change  thy  tone, 
And  cry,  0 hone!  O hone! 
For  England  hath  its  own. 


ON  SEEING  THE  LADIES  AT 
CRUX  EASTON  WALK  IN  THE 
WOODS  BY  THE  GROTTO 

EXTEMPORE  BY  MR.  POPE 

Authors  the  world  and  their  dull  brains 
have  traced 

To  fix  the  ground  where  Paradise  was 
placed; 

Mind  not  their  learned  whims  and  idle 
talk; 

Here,  here ’s  the  place  where  these  bright 
angels  walk. 


INSCRIPTION  ON  A GROTTO, 
THE  WORK  OF  NINE  LADIES  v' 

Here,  shunning  idleness  at  once  and  praise, 
This  radiant  pile  nine  rural  sisters  raise; 

The  glitt’ring  emblem  of  each  spotless 
dame, 

Clear  as  her  soul  and  shining  as  her  frame; 


Beauty  which  Nature  only  can  impart, 

And  such  a polish  as  disgraces  Art; 

But  Fate  disposed  them  in  this  humble 
sort, 

And  hid  in  deserts  what  would  charm  a 
Court. 


TO  THE  RIGHT  HON.  THE  EARL 
OF  OXFORD 

UPON  A PIECE  OF  NEWS  IN  MIST  [MIST’S 
JOURNAL]  THAT  THE  REV.  MR.  W.  RE- 
FUSED TO  WRITE  AGAINST  MR.  POPE 
BECAUSE  HIS  BEST  PATRON  HAD  A 
FRIENDSHIP  FOR  THE  SAID  POPE 

Wesley,  if  Wesley  ’tis  they  mean, 

They  say  on  Pope  would  fall, 

Would  his  best  Patron  let  his  Pen 
Discharge  his  inward  gall. 

What  Patron  this,  a doubt  must  be, 
Which  none  but  you  can  clear, 

Or  father  Francis,  ’cross  the  sea, 

Or  else  Earl  Edward  here. 

That  both  were  good  must  be  confess’d, 
And  much  to  both  he  owes; 

But  which  to  him  will  be  the  best 
The  Lord  of  Oxford  knows. 


EPIGRAMS  AND  EPITAPHS 


ON  A PICTURE  OF  QUEEN 
CAROLINE 


DRAWN  BY  LADY  BURLINGTON 

3 

It  is  not  known  who  the  Bishop  was.  The 
l ‘ lying  Dean  ’ refers  to  Dr.  Alured  Clarke,  who 
! preached  a fulsome  sermon  upon  the  Queen’s 
death. 

Peace,  flatt’ring  Bishop!  lying  Dean! 
This  portrait  only  paints  the  Queen! 

EPIGRAM  ENGRAVED  ON  THE 
COLLAR  OF  A DOG  WHICH  I 
GAVE  TO  HIS  ROYAL  HIGH- 
NESS 

r His  Highness  ’ was  Frederick,  Frince  of 
Wales. 


I AM  his  Highness’  dog  at  Kew; 

Pray  tell  me,  Sir,  whose  dog  are  you  ? 

LINES  WRITTEN  IN  EVELYN’S 
BOOK  ON  COINS 

First  printed  in  the  Gentleman's  Magazine 
in  1735. 

Tom  Wood  of  Chiswick,  deep  divine, 

To  Painter  Kent  gave  all  this  coin. 

’T  is  the  first  coin,  I ’m  bold  to  say, 

That  ever  churchman  gave  to  lay. 

FROM  THE  GRUB-STREET 
JOURNAL 

This  Journal  was  established  in  January, 
1730,  and  carried  on  for  eight  years  by  Pope 


132 


EPIGRAMS  AND  EPITAPHS 


and  his  friends,  in  answer  to  the  attacks  pro- 
voked by  the  Dunciad.  It  corresponds  in  some 
measure  to  the  Xenien  of  Goethe  and  Schiller. 
Only  such  pieces  are  here  inserted  as  bear 
Pope’s  distinguishing  signature  A. ; several 
others  are  probably  his.  (Wai’d.) 

I 

EPIGRAM 

Occasioned  by  seeing  some  sheets  of  Dr. 
Bentley’s  edition  of  Milton’s  Paradise  Lost. 

Did  Milton’s  prose,  O Charles,  thy  death 
defend  ? 

A furious  Foe  unconscious  proves  a Friend. 
On  Milton’s  verse  does  Bentley  comment  ? 
— Know 

A weak  officious  Friend  becomes  a Foe. 
While  he  but  sought  his  Author’s  fame  to 
further, 

The  murd’rous  critic  has  avenged  thy 
murder. 

II 

EPIGRAM 

Should  D[enni]s  print,  how  once  you 
robb’d  your  brother, 

Traduced  your  monarch,  and  debauch’d 
your  mother; 

Say,  what  revenge  on  D[enni]s  can  be  had; 
Too  dull  for  laughter,  for  reply  too  mad  ? 
Of  one  so  poor  you  cannot  take  the  law; 

On  one  so  old  your  sword  you  scorn  to 
draw. 

Uncaged  then  let  the  harmless  monster 
rage, 

Secure  in  dulness,  madness,  want,  and  age. 
HI 

MR.  J.  M.  S[MYTH]E 

CATECHISED  ON  HIS  ONE  EPISTLE  TO 
MR.  POPE 

What  makes  you  write  at  this  odd  rate  ? 
Why,  Sir,  it  is  to  imitate. 

What  makes  you  steal  and  trifle  so  ? 
Why,  ’t  is  to  do  as  others  do. 

But  there  5s  no  meaning  to  be  seen. 

Why,  that ’s  the  very  thing  I mean. 


IV 

EPIGRAM 

ON  MR.  M[00]RE’S  GOING  TO  LAW  WITH 
MR.  giliver:  inscribed  to  attorney 

TIBBALD 

Once  in  his  life  M[oo]re  judges  right: 

His  sword  and  pen  not  worth  a straw, 
An  author  that  could  never  write, 

A gentleman  that  dares  not  fight, 

Has  but  one  way  to  tease  — by  law. 
This  suit,  dear  Tibbald,  kindly  hatch; 
Thus  thou  may’st  help  the  sneaking 
elf; 

And  sure  a printer  is  his  match, 

Who ’s  but  a publisher  himself. 

V 

EPIGRAM 

A GOLD  watch  found  on  cinder  whore, 
Or  a good  verse  on  J[emm]y  M[oor]e, 
Proves  but  what  either  should  conceal, 
Not  that  they  ’re  rich,  but  that  they  steal. 


VI 

EPITAPH 

ON  JAMES  MOORE-SMYTHE 

Here  lies  what  had  nor  birth,  nor  shape, 
nor  fame ; 

No  gentleman!  no  man!  no-thing!  no  name! 

For  Jamie  ne’er  grew  James;  and  what 
they  call 

More,  shrunk  to  Smith  — and  Smith’s  no 
name  at  all. 

Yet  die  thou  can’st  not,  phantom,  oddly 
fated: 

For  how  can  no-thing  be  annihilated  ? 

VII 

A QUESTION  BY  ANONYMOUS 

Tell,  if  you  can,  which  did  the  worse, 
Caligula  or  Gr[afto]n’s  Gr[a]ce  ? 

That  made  a Consul  of  a horse, 

And  this  a Laureate  of  an  ass. 


ON  THE  HON.  SIMON  HARCOURT 


i33 


VIII 

EPIGRAM 

The  sting1  of  this  epigram  was  for  Cibber, 
then  Poet  Laureate. 

GREAt  G[eorge]  such  servants  since  thou 
well  canst  lack, 

Oh!  save  the  salary,  and  drink  the  sack. 


IX 

EPIGRAM 

Behold!  ambitious  of  the  British  bays, 

Cibber  and  Duck  contend  in  rival  lays, 

But,  gentle  Colley,  should  thy  verse  pre- 
vail, 

Thou  hast  no  fence,  alas!  against  his  flail: 

Therefore  thy  claim  resign,  allow  his  right: 

For  Duck  can  thresh,  you  know,  as  well  as 
write. 

EPITAPHS 

His  saltern  accumulem  donis,  et  fungar  inani  Munere  ! 

Virg.  [i£n.  vii.  835.] 

ON  CHARLES  EARL  OF  DORSET 

IN  THE  CHURCH  OF  WITHYAM,  SUSSEX 

Dorset,  the  Grace  of  Courts,  the  Muses’ 
Pride, 

Patron  of  Arts,  and  Judge  of  Nature,  died. 

The  scourge  of  Pride,  tho’  sanctified  or 
great, 

Of  Fops  in  Learning,  and  of  Knaves  in 

, State : 

Tet  soft  his  Nature,  tho’  severe  his 
Lay, 

His  Anger  moral,  and  his  Wisdom  gay. 

Bless’d  Satirist!  who  touch’d  the  mean  so 
true, 

A.s  show’d,  Vice  had  his  hate  and  pity 
too. 

Bless’d  Courtier!  who  could  King  and 
Country  please, 

fet  sacred  keep  his  Friendships  and  his 
Ease. 

Bless’d  Peer!  his  great  Forefathers’  ev’ry 
grace 

deflecting,  and  reflected  in  his  race; 


Where  other  Buckhursts,  other  Dorsets 
shine, 

And  Patriots  still,  or  Poets,  deck  the  line. 


ON  SIR  WILLIAM  TRUMBULL 

ONE  OF  THE  PRINCIPAL  SECRETARIES  OF 
STATE  TO  KING  WILLIAM  III 

Who,  having  resigned  his  Place,  died  in  his 

retirement  at  Easthamsted,  in  Berkshire,  1715. 

A pleasing  Form,  a firm,  yet  cautious 
Mind ; 

Sincere,  tho’  prudent;  constant,  yet  re- 
sign’d: 

Honour  unchanged,  a Principle  profest, 

Fix’d  to  one  side,  but  mod’rate  to  the 
rest: 

An  honest  Courtier,  yet  a Patriot  too, 

Just  to  his  Prince,  and  to  his  Country  true: 

Fill’d  with  the  Sense  of  age,  the  Fire  of 
youth, 

A scorn  of  Wrangling,  yet  a zeal  for 
Truth; 

A gen’rous  Faith,  from  superstition  free, 

A love  to  Peace,  and  hate  of  Tyranny; 

Such  this  Man  was,  who  now,  from  earth 
remov’d, 

At  length  enjoys  that  Liberty  he  lov’d. 


ON  THE  HON.  SIMON  HARCOURT 

ONLY  SON  OF  THE  LORD  CHANCELLOR 
HARCOURT 

At  the  Church  of  Stanton-Harcourt,  Oxford- 
shire, 1720. 

To  this  sad  shrine,  whoe’er  thou  art,  draw 
near; 

Here  lies  the  Friend  most  lov’d,  the  Son 
most  dear; 

Who  ne’er  knew  Joy  but  Friendship  might 
divide, 

Or  gave  his  father  grief  but  when  he 
died. 

How  vain  is  Reason,  Eloquence  how  weak! 

If  Pope  must  tell  what  Harcourt  cannot 
speak. 

Oh,  let  thy  once-lov’d  friend  inscribe  thy 
stone, 

And  witli  a father’s  sorrows  mix  his  own! 


EPIGRAMS  AND  EPITAPHS 


134 


ON  JAMES  CRAGGS,  ESQ. 

IN  WESTMINSTER  ABBEY 

JACOBUS  CRAGGS 

REGI  MAGN^E  BRITANNIA  A SECRETIS,  ET 
CONSILIIS  SANCTIORIBUS  : PRINCIPIS  PARI- 
TER  AC  POPULI  AMOR  ET  DELICIA::  VIXIT 
TITULIS  ET  INVIDIA  MAJOR  AN  NOS,  HEU 
PAUCOS,  XXXV.  OB.  FEB.  XIV.  ,MDCCXX. 

Statesman,  yet  Friend  to  Truth!  of  Soul 
sincere, 

In  Action  faithful,  and  in  Honour  clear! 

Who  broke  no  Promise,  served  no  private 
end, 

Who  gain’d  no  Title,  and  who  lost  no 
F riend ; 

Ennobled  by  himself,  by  all  approv’d, 

Prais’d,  wept,  and  honour’d,  by  the  Muse 
he  lov’d. 

ON  MR.  ROWE 

IN  WESTMINSTER  ABBEY 

Thy  reliques,  Rowe  ! to  this  sad  shrine  we 
trust, 

And  near  thy  Shakspeare  place  thy  hon- 
our’d bust, 

Oh,  next  him,  skill’d  to  draw  the  tender 
tear  — 

For  never  heart  felt  passion  more  sincere  — 

To  nobler  sentiment  to  fire  the  brave  — 

For  never  Briton  more  disdain’d  a slave! 

Peace  to  thy  gentle  shade,  and  endless  rest; 

Blest  in  thy  Genius,  in  thy  Love  too  blest! 

And  blest,  that  timely  from  our  scene  re- 
mov’d, 

Thy  soul  enjoys  the  Liberty  it  lov’d. 

To  these,  so  mourn’d  in  death,  so  lov’d 
in  life, 

The  childless  parent  and  the  widow’d  wife 

With  tears  inscribes  this  monumental 
stone, 

That  holds  their  ashes  and  expects  her  own. 
ON  MRS.  CORBET 

WHO  DIED  OF  A CANCER  IN  HER  BREAST 

Here  rests  a Woman,  good  without  pre- 
tence, 

Bless’d  with  plain  Reason  and  with  sober 
Sense: 


No  Conquests  she  but  o’er  herself  desired, 
No  Arts  essay’d  but  not  to  be  admired. 
Passion  and  Pride  were  to  her  soul  un- 
known, 

Convinc’d  that  Virtue  only  is  our  own. 

So  unaffected,  so  composed,  a mind, 

So  firm,  yet  soft,  so  strong,  yet  so  refin’d, 
Heav’n,  as  its  purest  gold,  by  Tortures 
tried: 

The  Saint  sustain’d  it,  but  the  Woman  died. 


ON  THE  MONUMENT  OF  THE 
HON.  R.  DIGBY  AND  OF  HIS 
SISTER  MARY 

ERECTED  BY  THEIR  FATHER,  LORD  DIGBY, 
IN  THE  CHURCH  OF  SHERBORNE,  IN 
DORSETSHIRE,  1727. 

Go!  fair  example  of  untainted  youth, 

Of  modest  Wisdom  and  pacific  Truth: 
Composed  in  Suff’rings,  and  in  Joy  sedate, 
Good  without  noise,  without  pretension 
great: 

Just  of  thy  word,  in  ev’ry  thought  sincere, 
Who  knew  no  wish  but  what  the  world 
might  hear: 

Of  softest  Manners,  unaffected  Mind, 
Lover  of  Peace,  and  Friencl  of  humankind! 
Go  live!  for  Heav’n’s  eternal  year  is  thine; 
Go,  and  exalt  thy  Mortal  to  Divine. 

And  thou,  bless’d  Maid!  attendant  on 
his  doom, 

Pensive  hath  follow’d  to  the  silent  Tomb, 
Steer’d  the  same  course  to  the  same  quiet 
shore, 

Not  parted  long,  and  now  to  part  no  more! 
Go  then,  where  only  bliss  sincere  is  known! 
Go  where  to  love  and  to  enjoy  are  one! 

Yet  take  these  tears,  mortality’s  relief, 
And  till  we  share  your  joys,  forgive  ourj 
grief: 

These  little  rites,  a Stone,  a Verse,  receive; 
’T  is  all  a Father,  all  a Friend  can  give! 


ON  SIR  GODFREY  KNELLER 

IN  WESTMINSTER  ABBEY,  1723 

Kneller,  by  Heav’n,  and  not  a master, 
taught, 

Whose  Art  was  Nature,  and  whose  pic- 
tures thought; 


ON  DR.  FRANCIS  ATTERBURY 


Now  for  two  ages  having  snatch’d  from 
fate 

Wliate’er  was  beauteous,  or  whate’er  was 
great, 

Lies  crown’d  with  Princes’  honours,  Poets’ 
lays, 

Due  to  his  Merit  and  brave  thirst  of  Praise. 

Living,  great  Nature  fear’d  he  might 
outvie 

Her  works;  and,  dying,  fears  herself  may 
die. 


ON  GENERAL  HENRY  WITHERS 

IN  WESTMINSTER  ABBEY,  1 729 

Here,  Withers!  rest;  thou  bravest,  gen- 
tlest mind, 

Thy  Country’s  friend,  but  more  of  Human- 
kind. 

0 born  to  Arms!  O Worth  in  youth  ap- 
prov’d! 

0 soft  Humanity,  in  age  belov’d! 

For  thee  the  hardy  Vet’ran  drops  a tear, 

And  the  gay  Courtier  feels  the  sigh  sincere. 

Withers,  adieu!  yet  not  with  thee  re- 
move 

Thy  martial  spirit  or  thy  social  love! 

i Amidst  Corruption,  Luxury,  and  Rage, 

Still  leave  some  ancient  Virtues  to  our 
age; 

Nor  let  us  say  (those  English  glories  gone) 

The  last  true  Briton  lies  beneath  this  stone. 


ON  MR.  ELIJAH  FENTON 

AT  EASTHAMSTEAD,  BERKS,  1 729 

This  modest  stone,  what  few  vain  marbles 

1 can, 

day  truly  say,  Here  lies  an  Honest  Man; 

1 Poet  bless’d  beyond  the  Poet’s  fate, 

Vhom  Heav’11  kept  sacred  from  the  proud 
and  great; 

i'oe  to  loud  Praise,  and  friend  to  learned 
Ease, 

Content  with  Science  in  the  vale  of  peace. 

Jalmly  he  look’d  on  either  life,  and  here 

•aw  nothing  to  regret,  or  there  to  fear; 

rom  Nature’s  temp’rate  feast  rose  satis- 
fied, 

thank’d  Heav’n  that  he  had  lived,  and  that 
he  died. 


r3S 


ON  MR.  GAY 
IN  WESTMINSTER  ABBEY,  1730 

Op  Manners  gentle,  of  Affections  mild; 

In  Wit  a man;  Simplicity  a child: 

With  native  Humour  temp’ring  virtuous 
Rage, 

Form’d  to  delight  at  once  and  lash  the 
age: 

Above  temptation,  in  a low  estate, 

And  uncorrupted  ev’n  among  the  Great: 

A safe  Companion,  and  an  easy  Friend, 

Unblamed  thro’  life,  lamented  in  thv 
End. 

These  are  thy  Honours  ! not  that  here  thy 
bust 

Is  mix’d  with  Heroes,  or  with  Kings  thy 
dust: 

But  that  the  Worthy  and  the  Good  shall 
say, 

Striking  their  pensive  bosoms  — ‘Here  lies 
Gay!’ 


INTENDED  FOR  SIR  ISAAC 
NEWTON 

IN  WESTMINSTER  ABBEY 

ISAACUS  NEWTONUS 

QUEM  IMMORTALEM  TESTANTUR  TEMPUS, 
NATURA,  CCELUM  : MORTALEM  HOC  MAR. 
MOR  FATETUR 

Nature  and  Nature’s  laws  lay  hid  in 
Night: 

God  said,  Let  Newton  be!  and  all  was 
Light. 


ON  DR.  FRANCIS  ATTERBURY 

BISHOP  OF  ROCHESTER,  WHO  DIED  IN 
EXILE  AT  PARIS,  1 732 

His  only  daughter  having  expired  in  his 
arms  immediately  after  she  arrived  in  France 
to  see  him. 

DIALOGUE 

She.  Yes,  we  have  liv’d  — One  pang, 
and  then  we  part  ! 

May  Heav’n,  dear  Father  ! now  have  all 
thy  heart. 


136 


EPIGRAMS  AND  EPITAPHS 


Yet  ah  ! how  once  we  lov’d,  remember 
still, 

Till  you  are  dust  like  me. 

He.  Dear  Shade  ! I will: 

Then  mix  this  dust  with  thine  — O spotless 
Ghost  ! 

O more  than  Fortune,  Friends,  or  Country 
lost  ! 

Is  there  on  earth  one  care,  one  wish  be- 
side ? 

Yes  — ‘ Save  my  country,  Heav’n  ! ’ he  said, 
and  died. 


ON  EDMUND  DUKE  OF  BUCK- 
INGHAM 

WHO  DIED  IN  THE  NINETEENTH  YEAR 
OF  HIS  AGE,  I735 

If  modest  Youth,  with  cool  Reflection 
crown’d, 

And  ev’ry  opening  Virtue  blooming  round, 

Could  save  a Parent’s  justest  Pride  from 
fate, 

Or  add  one  Patriot  to  a sinking  state, 

This  weeping  marble  had  not  ask’d  thy 
tear, 

Or  sadly  told,  how  many  hopes  lie  here  ! 

The  liv;ng  Virtue  now  had  shone  approv’d; 

The  Senate  heard  him,  and  his  country 
lov’d. 

Yet  softer  honours  and  less  noisy  fame 

Attend  the  shade  of  gentle  Buckingham: 

In  whom  a race,  for  Courage  famed  and 
Art, 

Ends  in  the  milder  merit  of  the  Heart; 

And,  Chiefs  or  Sages  long  to  Britain  giv’n, 

Pays  the  last  tribute  of  a Saint  to  Heav’n. 


FOR  ONE  WHO  WOULD  NOT 
BE  BURIED  IN  WESTMIN- 
STER ABBEY 

Heroes  and  Kings  ! your  distance  keep; 
In  peace  let  one  poor  Poet  sleep, 

Who  never  flatter’d  folks  like  you: 

Let  Horace  blush,  and  Virgil  too. 


ANOTHER  ON  THE  SAME 

Under  this  Marble,  or  under  this  Sill, 

Or  under  this  Turf,  or  ev’n  what  they  will, 


Whatever  an  Heir,  or  a Friend  in  his  stead, 

Or  any  good  creature  shall  lay  o’er  my 
head, 

Lies  one  who  ne’er  cared,  and  still  cares 
not,  a pin 

What  they  said,  or  may  say,  of  the  mortal 
within ; 

But  who,  living  and  dying,  serene,  still  and 
free, 

Trusts  in  God  that  as  well  as  he  was  he 
shall  be. 


ON  TWO  LOVERS  STRUCK 
DEAD  BY  LIGHTNING 

John  Hughes  and  Sarah  Drew.  See  Pope’s 

letter  to  Lady  Mary  written  in  September,  1718. 

I 

When  Eastern  lovers  feed  the  Funeral 
Fire, 

On  the  same  pile  their  faithful  Fair  ex- 
pire; 

Here  pitying  Heav’n  that  Virtue  mutual 
found, 

And  blasted  both,  that  it  might  neither 
wound . 

Hearts  so  sincere  th’  Almighty  saw  well 
pleas’d, 

Sent  his  own  lightning,  and  the  victims 
seiz’d. 

II 

Think  not  by  rig’rous  judgment  seiz’d, 

A pair  so  faithful  could  expire; 

Victims  so  pure  Heav’n  saw  well  pleas’d, 
And  snatch’d  them  in  celestial  fire. 

III 

Live  well,  and  fear  no  sudden  fate: 

When  God  calls  Virtue  to  the  grave, 

Alike ’t  is  Justice,  soon  or  late, 

Mercy  alike  to  kill  or  save. 

Virtue  unmov’d  can  hear  the  call, 

And  face  the  flash  that  melts  the  ball. 


EPITAPH 

The  subject  is  supposed  to  be  John  Gay. 

Well,  then,  poor  G— — lies  underground! 

So  there ’s  an  end  of  honest  Jack  — 

So  little  justice  here  be  found, 

’T  is  ten  to  one  he  ’ll  ne’er  come  back. 


AN  ESSAY  ON  MAN 


•37 


AN  ESSAY  ON  MAN 

IN  FOUR  EPISTLES  TO  LORD  BOLINGBROKE 


The  first  two  epistles  of  the  Essay  on  Man 
were  written  in  1732,  the  third  in  the  year  fol- 

THE  DESIGN 

Having-  proposed  to  write  some  pieces  on 
Human  Life  and  Manners,  such  as,  to  use  my 
Lord  Bacon’s  expression,  ‘ come  home  to  men’s 
business  and  bosoms,’  I thought  it  more  satis- 
• factory  to  begin  with  considering  Man  in  the 
- abstract,  his  nature  and  his  state : since  to 
prove  any  moral  duty,  to  enforce  any  moral 
I precept,  or  to  examine  the  perfection  or  imper- 
fection of  any  creature  whatsoever,  it  is  neces- 
sary first  to  know  what  condition  and  relation 
■ it  is  placed  in,  and  what  is  the  proper  end  and 
purpose  of  its  being. 

The  science  of  Human  Nature  is,  like  all 
other  sciences,  reduced  to  a few  clear  points : 
there  are  not  many  certain  truths  in  this  world. 
It  is  therefore  in  the  anatomy  of  the  mind,  as 
in  that  of  the  body ; more  good  will  accrue  to 
mankind  by  attending  to  the  large,  open,  and 
perceptible  parts,  than  by  studying  too  much 
! such  finer  nerves  and  vessels,  the  conformations 
and  uses  of  which  will  for  ever  escape  our  ob- 
: servation.  The  disputes  are  all  upon  these 
last ; and,  I will  venture  to  say,  they  have  less 
sharpened  the  wits  than  the  hearts  of  men 
against  each  other,  and  have  diminished  the 
practice  more  than  advanced  the  theory  of 
morality.  If  I could  flatter  myself  that  this 
Essay  has  any  merit,  it  is  in  steering  betwixt 
the  extremes  of  doctrines  seemingly  opposite, 
in  passing  over  terms  utterly  unintelligible 
and  in  forming  a temperate,  yet  not  inconsis- 
tent, and  a short,  yet  not  imperfect,  system  of 
ethics. 

This  I might  have  done  in  prose  ; but  I chose 
verse,  and  even  rhyme,  for  two  reasons.  The 
oije  will  appear  obvious;  that  principles,  max- 
ims, or  precepts,  so  written,  both  strike  the 
reader  more  strongly  at  first,  and  are  more 
■easily  retained  by  him  afterwards  : the  other 
may  seem  odd,  but  it  is  true  : I found  I could 
express  them  more  shortly  this  way  than  in 
prose  itself  ; and  nothing  is  more  certain  than 
that  much  of  the  force  as  well  as  grace  of  ar- 
guments or  instructions  depends  on  their  con- 
ciseness. I was  unable  to  treat  this  part  of  my 
subject  more  in  detail  without  becoming  dry 
and  tedious  ; or  more  poetically  without  sacri- 
ficing perspicuity  to  ornament,  without  wander- 
ing from  the  precision,  or  breaking  the  chain 


lowing,  and  the  fourth  in  1734,  when  the  com- 
plete Essay  was  published  as  we  have  it. 

of  reasoning.  If  any  man  can  unite  all  these 
without  diminution  of  any  of  them,  I freely 
confess  he  will  compass  a thing  above  my  ca- 
pacity. 

What  is  now  published  is  only  to  be  consid- 
ered as  a general  Map  of  Man,  marking  out  no 
more  than  the  greater  parts,  their  extent,  their 
limits,  and  their  connexion,  but  leaving  the 
particular  to  be  more  fully  delineated  in  the 
charts  which  are  to  follow  ; consequently  these 
epistles  in  their  progress  (if  I have  health  and 
leisure  to  make  any  progress)  will  be  less  dry, 
and  more  susceptible  of  poetical  ornament.  I 
am  here  only  opening  the  fountains,  and  clear- 
ing the  passage  : to  deduce  the  rivers,  to  fol- 
low them  in  their  course,  and  to  observe  their 
effects,  may  be  a task  more  agreeable. 


EPISTLE  I 

OF  THE  NATURE  AND  STATE  OF  MAN, 
WITH  RESPECT  TO  THE  UNIVERSE 

ARGUMENT 

Of  Man  in  the  abstract.  I.  That  we  can  judge  — 
only  with  regard  to  our  own  system,  being- 
ignorant  of  the  relations  of  systems  and 
things,  verse  17,  etc.  II.  That  Man  is  not  to 
be  deemed  imperfect,  but  a being  suited  to 
his  place  and  rank  in  the  creation,  agreeable 
to  the  general  order  of  things,  and  conform- 
able to  ends  and  relations  to  him  unknown, 
verse  35,  etc.  III.  That  it  is  partly  upon  his 
ignorance  of  future  events,  and  partly  upon 
the  hope  of  a future  state,  that  all  his  happi- 
ness in  the  present  depends,  verse  77,  etc. 

IV . The  pride  of  aiming  at  more  knowledge, 
and  pretending  to  more  perfection,  the  cause 
of  Man’s  error  and  misery.  The  impietv  of  — 
putting  himself  in  the  place  of 'God,  and 
judging  of  the  fitness  or  unfitness,  perfection 
or  imperfection,  justice  or  injustice,  of  his 

dispensations,  verse  113,  etc.  V.  The  absurd-  „ 

ity  of  conceiting  himself  the  final  cause  of 
the  creation,  or  expecting  that  perfection  in 
the  moral  world  which  is  not  in  the  natural, 
verse  131,  etc.  VI.  The  unreasonableness  of 
his  complaints  against  Providence,  while,  on 
the  one  hand,  he  demands  the  perfections  of 


i38 


AN  ESSAY  ON  MAN 


the  angels,  and,  on  the  other,  the  bodily 
qualifications  of  the  brutes ; though  to  pos- 
sess any  of  the  sensitive  faculties  in  a higher 
degree  would  render  him  miserable,  verse 
- 173,  etc.  VII.  That  throughout  the  whole 
visible  world  a universal  order  and  gradation 
in  the  sensual  and  mental  faculties  is  ob- 
served, which  causes  a subordination  of  crea- 
ture to  creature,  and  of  all  creatures  to  man. 
The  gradations  of  Sense,  Instinct,  Thought, 
Reflection,  Reason  : that  Reason  alone  coun- 
tervails all  the  other  faculties,  verse  207,  etc. 
VIII.  How  much  further  this  order  and  sub- 
ordination of  living  creatures  may  extend 
above  and  below  us ; were  any  part  of  which 
broken,  not  that  part  only,  but  the  whole 
connected  creation  must  be  destroyed,  verse 
213,  etc.  IX.  The  extravagance,  madness, 
and  pride  of  such  a desire,  verse  209,  etc. 
X.  The  consequence  of  all,  the  absolute  sub- 
mission due  to  Providence,  both  as  to  our 
present  and  future  state,  verse  281,  etc.,  to 
the  end. 

Awake,  my  St.  John  ! leave  all  meaner 
things 

To  low  ambition  and  the  pride  of  Kings. 

Let  us,  since  life  can  little  more  supply 
Than  just  to  look  about  us  and  to  die, 
Expatiate  free  o’er  all  this  scene  of  man; 

A mighty  maze!  but  not  without  a plan; 

A wild,  where  weeds  and  flowers  promiscu- 
ous shoot, 

Or  garden,  tempting  with  forbidden  fruit. 
Together  let  us  beat  this  ample  field, 

Try  what  the  open,  what  the  covert  yield ; io 
The  latent  tracts,  the  giddy  heights,  ex- 
plore 

Of  all  who  blindly  creep  or  sightless  soar; 
Eye  Nature’s  walks,  shoot  folly  as  it  flies, 
And  catch  the  manners  living  as  they  rise; 
Laugh  where  we  must,  be  candid  where  we 
can, 

But  vindicate  the  ways  of  God  to  man. 

I.  Say  first,  of  God  above  or  Man  be- 
low 

\What  can  we  reason  but  from  what  we 
know  ? 

Of  man  what  see  we  but  his  station  here, 
Eroin  which  to  reason,  or  to  which  refer  ? 20 
Thro’  worlds  unnumber’d  tho’  the  God  be 
\ known, 

\T  is  ours  to  trace  him  only  in  our  own. 

He  who  thro’  vast  immensity  can  pierce, 
See  worlds  on  worlds  compose  one  universe, 
Observe  how  system  into  system  runs, 
What  other  planets  drcle  other  suns, 


What  varied  being  peoples  every  star, 

May  tell  why  Heav’11  has  made  us  as  we 
are; 

But  of  this  frame,  the  bearings  and  the  ties, 
The  strong  connexions,  nice  dependencies, 
Gradations  just,  has  thy  pervading  soul  31 
Look’d  thro’;  or  can  a part  contain  the 
whole  ? 

Is  the  great  chain  that  draws  all  to 
agree, 

And  drawn  supports,  upheld  by  God  or 
thee  ? 

II.  Presumptuous  man  ! the  reason 
wouldst  thou  find, 

Why  form’d  so  weak,  so  little,  and  so 
blind  ? 

First,  if  thou  canst,  the  harder  reason  guess 
Why  form’d  no  weaker,  blinder,  and  no 
less  ! 

Ask  of  thy  mother  earth  why  oaks  are 
made 

Taller  or  stronger  than  the  weeds  they 
shade  ! 40  , 

Or  ask  of  yonder  argent  fields  above 
Why  Jove’s  satellites  are  less  than  Jove  ! ^ 
Of  systems  possible,  if ’t  is  confest 
That  wisdom  infinite  must  form  the  best, 
Where  all  must  fall  or  not  coherent  be, 

And  all  that  rises  rise  in  due  degree; 

Then  in  the  scale  of  reas’ning  life ’t  is  plain 
There  must  be,  somewhere,  such  a rank  as 
Man  ; 

And  all  the  question  (wrangle  e’er  so  long) 
Is  only  this,  — if  God  has  placed  him 
wrong  ? 50 

Respecting  Man,  whatever  wrong  we  call, 
May,  must  be  right,  as  relative  to  all. 

In  human  works,  tho’  labour’d  on  with  pain, 
A thousand  movements  scarce  one  purpose 
gain ; 

In  God’s,  one  single  can  its  end  produce, 

Yet  serve  to  second  too  some  other  use; 

So  man,  who  here  seems  principal  alone, 
Perhaps  acts  second  to  some  sphere  un- 
known, 

Touches  some  wheel,  or  verges  to  some 
goal: 

’T  is  but  a part  we  see,  and  not  a whole.  60 
When  the  proud  steed  shall  know  why 
man  restrains 

His  fiery  course,  or  drives  him  o’er  the 
plains ; 

When  the  dull  ox,  why  now  he  breaks  the 
clod, 

Is  now  a victim,  and  now  Egypt’s  God; 


AN  ESSAY  ON  MAN 


*39 


Then  shall  man’s  pride  and  dulness  com- 
prehend 

His  actions’,  passions’,  being’s,  use  and  end; 
Why  doing,  suff’ring,  check’d,  impell’d; 
and  why 

This  hour  a Slave,  the  next  a Deity. 

Then  say  not  man’s  imperfect,  Heav’n 
in  fault; 

3ay  rather  man’s  as  perfect  as  he  ought;  70 
His  knowledge  measured  to  his  state  and 
place, 

His  time  a moment,  and  a point  his  space, 
[f  to  be  perfect  in  a certain  sphere, 

What  matter  soon  or  late,  or  here  or  there  ? 
The  blest  to-day  is  as  completely  so 
Is  who  began  a thousand  years  ago. 

III.  Heav’n  from  all  creatures  hides  the 
book  of  Fate, 

HI  but  the  page  prescribed,  their  present 
state; 

from  brutes  what  men,  from  men  what 
spirits  know; 

)r  who  could  suffer  being  here  below  ? 80 
The  lamb  thy  riot  dooms  to  bleed  to-day, 
lad  he  thy  reason  would  he  skip  and  play  ? 
^leas’d  to  the  last  he  crops  the  flowery 
food, 

Ind  licks  the  hand  just  rais’d  to  shed  his 
blood. 

) blindness  to  the  future  ! kindly  giv’n, 

-hat  each  may  fill  the  circle  mark’d  bv 
Heav’n; 

Vho  sees  with  equal  eye,  as  God  of  all, 
l hero  perish  or  a sparrow  fall, 
tdoms  or  systems  into  ruin  hurl’d,  89 

ind  now  a bubble  burst,  and  now  a world. 
Hope  humbly  then;  with  trembling  pin- 
ions soar; 

Pait  the  great  teacher  Death,  and  God 
adore. 

Hiat  future  bliss  He  gives  not  thee  to 
know, 

ut  gives  that  hope  to  be  thy  blessing 
; now. 

ope  springs  eternal  in  the  human  breast: 
fan  never  is,  but  always  to  be,  blest, 
he  soul,  uneasy  and  confin’d  from  home, 
ests  and  expatiates  in  a life  to  come. 

Lo,  the  poor  Indian  ! whose  untutor’d 
1 mind 

)es  God  in  clouds,  or  hears  him  in  the 
wind;  IOO 

Js  soul  proud  Science  never  taught  to 
stray 

ir  as  the  solar  walk  or  milky  way; 


. 


Yet  simple  nature  to  his  hope  has  giv’n, 
Behind  the  cloud-topt  hill,  an  humbler 
Heav’n, 

Some  safer  world  in  depth  of  woods  em- 
braced, 

Some  happier  island  in  the  wat’ry  waste, 
Where  slaves  once  more  their  native  land 
behold, 

No  fiends  torment,  no  Christians  thirst  for 
gold. 

To  be,  contents  his  natural  desire;  109 
He  asks  no  Angel’s  wing,  no  Seraph’s  fire; 
But  thinks,  admitted  to  that  equal  sky, 

His  faithful  dog  shall  bear  him  company. 

IV.  Go,  wiser  thou  ! and  in  thy  scale  of 
sense 

Weigh  thy  opinion  against  Providence; 

Call  imperfection  what  thou  fanciest  such; 
Say,  here  he  gives  too  little,  there  too 
much ; 

Destroy  all  creatures  for  thy  sport  or  gust, 
Yet  cry,  if  man ’s  unhappy,  God ’s  unjust; 

If  man  alone  engross  not  Heav’n’s  high 
care,  ng 

Alone  made  perfect  here,  immortal  there: 
Snatch  from  his  hand  the  balance  and  the 
rod, 

Re  judge  his  justice,  be  the  god  of  God. 

In  pride,  in  reas’ning  pride,  our  error  lies; 
All  quit  their  sphere,  and  rush  into  the 
skies! 

Pride  still  is  aiming  at  the  bless’d  abodes, 
Men  would  be  Angels,  Angels  would  be 
Gods. 

Aspiring  to  be  Gods  if  Angels  fell, 

Aspiring  to  be  Angels  men  rebel: 

And  who  but  wishes  to  invert  the  laws 
Of  order,  sins  against  th’  Eternal  Cause.  130 
Y.  Ask  for  what  end  the  heav’nly  bodies 
shine, 

Earth  for  whose  use,  — Pride  answers, 

‘ ’T  is  for  mine: 

For  me  kind  Nature  wakes  her  genial 
power, 

Suckles  each  herb,  and  spreads  out  ev’ry 
flower; 

Annual  for  me  the  grape,  the  rose,  renew 
The  juice  nectareous  and  the  balmy  dew; 
For  me  the  mine  a thousand  treasures 
brings; 

For  me  health  gushes  from  a thousand 
springs; 

Seas  roll  to  waft  me,  suns  to  light  me 
rise; 

My  footstool  earth,  my  canopy  the  skies.’ 


140 


AN  ESSAY 


But  errs  not  Nature  from  this  gracious 
end,  H1 

From  burning  suns  when  livid  deaths  de- 
scend, 

When  earthquakes  swallow,  or  when  tem- 
pests sweep 

Towns  to  one  grave,  whole  nations  to  the 
deep  ? 

« No,’  ’t  is  replied,  ‘ the  first  Almighty  Cause 
Acts  not  by  partial  but  by  gen’ral  laws; 

Tli’  exceptions  few;  some  change  since  all 
began 

And  what  created  perfect  ? ’ — Why  then 
man  ? 

If  the  great  end  be  human  happiness, 

Then  Nature  deviates;  and  can  man  do 
less  ? 150 

As  much  that  end  a constant  course  re- 
quires 

Of  showers  and  sunshine,  as  of  man’s  de- 
sires; 

As  much  eternal  springs  and  cloudless 
skies, 

As  men  for  ever  temp’rate,  calm,  and  wise. 
If  plagues  or  earthquakes  break  not  Hea- 
v’n’s  design, 

Why  then  a Borgia  or  a Catiline  ? 

Who  knows  but  He,  whose  hand  the  light- 
ning forms, 

Who  heaves  old  ocean,  and  who  wings  the 
storms; 

Pours  fierce  ambition  in  a Csesar’s  mind, 

Or  turns  young  Ammon  loose  to  scourge 
mankind  ? 160 

From  pride,  from  pride,  our  very  reas’n- 
ing  springs; 

Account  for  moral  as  for  natural  things: 
Why  charge  we  Heav’11  in  those,  in  these 
acquit  ? 

— In  both,  to  reason  right  is  to  submit. 

Better  for  us,  perhaps,  it  might  appear, 
Were  there  all  harmony,  all  virtue  here; 
That  never  air  or  ocean  felt  the  wind, 

That  never  passion  discomposed  the  mind: 
But  all  subsists  by  elemental  strife; 

— And  passions  are  the  elements  of  life.  170 
The  gen’ral  order,  since  the  whole  began, 
Is  kept  in  Nature,  and  is  kept  in  Man. 
ryi:  What  would  this  Man  ? Now  up- 
ward will  he  soar, 

And  little  less  than  Angel,  would  be  more; 
Now  looking  downwards,  just  as  griev’d 
appears 

To  want  the  strength  of  bulls,  the  fur  of 

bears. 


ON  MAN 


Made  for  his  use  all  creatures  if  he  call, 

Say  what  their  use,  had  he  the  powers  of 
ail  ? 

Nature  to  these  without  profusion  kind,  179 
The  proper  organs,  proper  powers  assign’d; 
Each  seeming  want  compensated  of  course, 
Here  with  degrees  of  swiftness,  there  of 
force; 

All  in  exact  proportion  to  the  state; 
Nothing  to  add,  and  nothing  to  abate; 

Each  beast,  each  insect,  happy  in  its  own: 
Is  Heav’n  unkind  to  man,  and  man  alone  ? 
Shall  he  alone,  whom  rational  we  call, 

Be  pleas’d  with  nothing  if  not  bless’d  with 
all? 

The  bliss  of  man  (could  pride  that  bless- 
ing find) 

Is  not  to  act  or  think  beyond  mankind;  190 
No  powers  of  body  or  of  soul  to  share, 

But  what  his  nature  and  his  state  can  bear. 
Why  has  not  man  a microscopic  eye  ? 

For  this  plain  reason,  man  is  not  a fly. 

Say,  what  the  use,  were  finer  optics  giv’n, 
T’  inspect  a mite,  not  comprehend  the 
Heav’11  ? 

Or  touch,  if  tremblingly  alive  all  o’er, 

To  smart  and  agonize  at  every  pore  ? 

Or  quick  effluvia  darting  thro’  the  brain, 
Die  of  a rose  in  aromatic  pain  ? 20c 

If  Nature  thunder’d  in  his  opening  ears, 
And  stunn’d  him  with  the  music  of  the 
spheres, 

How  would  he  wish  that  Heav’n  had  leff 
him  still 

The  whisp’ring  zephyr  and  the  purling  rill 
Who  finds  not  Providence  all  good  and 
wise, 

Alike Jn  what  it  gives  and  what  denies  ? 

VII.  ^ar  as  creation’s  ample  range  ex 
tends, 

The  scale  of  sensual,  mental  powers  as 
cends. 

Mark  how  it  mounts  to  man’s  imperial  rac« 
From  the  green  myriads  in  the  peopled 
grass : 2 ij 

What  modes  of  sight  betwixt  each  wid< 
extreme, 

The  mole’s  dim  curtain  and  the  lynx’ 
beam : 

Of  smell,  the  headlong  lioness  between 
And  hound  sagacious  on  the  tainted  green 
Of  hearing,  from  the  life  that  fills  th 
flood 

To  that  which  warbles  thro’  the  verna 
wood. 


AN  ESSAY  ON  MAN 


141 


IX.  What  if  the  foot,  ordain’d  the  dust 
to  tread, 

Or  hand  to  toil,  aspired  to  be  the  head  ? 260 
What  if  the  l'.ead,  the  eye,  or  ear  repin’d 
To  serve  mere  engines  to  the  ruling  mind  ? 

Just  as  absurd  for  any  part  to  claim 
To  be  another  in  this  gen’ral  frame; 

Just  as  absurd  to  mourn  the  tasks  or  pains 
The  great  directing  Mind  of  All  ordains. 

All  are  but  parts  of  one  stupendous  — A 
Whole, 

Whose  body  Nature  is,  andjGU>d-the_soul ; ■- 
That  change d~tHro’  all,  and  yet  in  all  the 
same,  269 

Great  in  the  earth  as  in  th’  ethereal  frame, 
Warms  in  the  sun,  refreshes  in  the  breeze, 
Glows  in  the  stars,  and  blossoms  in  the 
trees; 

Lives  thro’  all  life,  extends  thro’  all  extent, 
Spreads  undivided,  operates  unspent; 

Breathes  in  our  soul,  informs  our  mortal 
part, 

As  full,  as  perfect,  in  a hair  as  heart; 

As  full,  as  perfect,  in  vile  man  that  mourns, 

As  the  rapt  Seraph  that  adores  and  burns. 

To  him  no  high,  no  low,  no  great,  no  small; 

He  fills,  he  bounds,  connects,  and  equals  all! 

X.  Cease,  then,  nor  Order  imperfection 
name;  28i 

Our  proper  bliss  depends  on  what  we  blame. 
Know  thy  own  point:  this  kind,  this  due 
degree 

Of  blindness,  weakness,  Heav’n  bestows  on 
thee. 

Submit:  in  this  or  any  other  sphere, 

Secure  to  be  as  bless’d  as  thou  canst  bear; 

Safe  in  the  hand  of  one  disposing  Power, 

^Or  in  the  natal  or  the  mortal  hour. 

All  Nature  is  but  Art  unknown  to  thee ; 

All  chance  direction,  which  thou  canst  not 

S66 ; 290 

All  discord,  harmony  not  understood; 

All  partial  evil,  universal  good : 

And  spite  of  Pride,  in  erring  Reason’s  spite, 

One  truth  is  clear,  Whatever  is,  is  right. 


The  spider’s  touch,  how  exquisitely  fine, 
t Feels  at  each  thread,  and  lives  along  the  line : 
In  the  nice  bee  what  sense  so  subtly  true, 
From  pois’nous  herbs  extracts  the  healing 
dew!  220 

[How  instinct  varies  in  the  grovelling  swine, 
(Compared,  half-reas’ning  elephant,  with 
thine! 

’Twixt  that  and  reason  what  a nice  barrier! 
For  ever  separate,  yet  for  ever  near! 
Remembrance  and  reflection  how  allied! 
What  thin  partitions  Sense  from  Thought 
divide! 

And  middle  natures  how  they  long  to  join, 
Yet  never  pass  th’  insuperable  line! 

Without  this  just  gradation  could  they  be 
Subjected  these  to  those,  or  all  to  thee!  230 
The  powers  of  all  subdued  by  thee  alone, 

[s  not  thy  Reason  all  these  powers  in  one  ? 
VIII.  See  thro’  this  air,  this  ocean,  and 
this  earth 

All  matter  quick,  and  bursting  into  birth: 
Above,  how  high  progressive  life  may  go! 
Around,  how  wide!  how  deep  extend  below! 
Vast  chain  of  being!  which  from  God  be- 
gan; 

Matures  ethereal,  human,  angel,  man, 

Beast,  bird,  fish,  insect,  who  no  eye  can  see, 
No  glass  can  reach;  from  infinite  to  thee; 
-rom  thee  to  nothing.  — On  superior 
1 powers  241 

Ye  re  we  to  press,  inferior  might  on  ours; 

)r  in  the  full  creation  leave  a void, 

Yhere,  one  step  broken,  the  great  scale ’s 
1 destroy’d: 

rrom  Nature’s  chain  whatever  link  you  like, 
Centh,  or  ten  thousandth,  breaks  the  chain 
alike. 

And  if  each  system  in  gradation  roll, 
dike  essential  to  th’  amazing  Whole, 

Jhe  least  confusion  but  in  one,  not  all 
’hat  system  only,  but  the  Whole  must 
fall.  250 

(vet  earth  unbalanced  from  her  orbit  fly, 
Janets  and  stars  run  lawless  thro’  the  sky; 
\et  ruling  angels  from  their  spheres  be 
hurl’d, 

ieing  on  being  wreck’d,  and  world  on 
world ; 

leav’n’s  whole  foundations  to  their  centre 
I nod, 

j.nd  Nature  tremble  to  the  throne  of  God! 
.11  this  dread  order  break  — for  whom  ? 

*'  for  thee  ? 

ile  worm!  — O madness!  pride!  impiety! 


EPISTLE  II 

OF  THE  NATURE  AND  STATE  OF  MAN  WITH 
RESPECT  TO  HIMSELF  AS  AN  INDIVIDUAL 

ARGUMENT 

I.  The  business  of  Man  not  to  pry  into  God,  but 
to  studx-himself.  His  middle  nature  ; Sfns 
powers  and  frailties,  verses  I to  19.  The 


42 


AN  ESSAY  ON  MAN 


limits  of  his  capacity,  verse  19,  etc.  II.  The 
two  principles  of  Man,  Self-love  and  Reason, 
both  necessary.  Self-love  the  stronger,  and 
why.  Their  end  the  same,  verse  81,  etc.  III. 
The  Passions,  and  their  use.  The  predomi- 
nant passion,  and  its  force.  Its  necessity,  in 
directing  men  to  different  purposes.  Its  pro- 
vidential use,  in  fixing  our  principle,  and  as- 
certaining our  virtue,  verse  93,  etc.  IV . Virtue 
and  Vice  joined  in  our  mixed  nature ; the 
limits  near,  yet  the  things  separate  and  evi- 
dent : what  is  the  office  of  Reason,  verse  203, 
etc.  V.  How  odious  Vice  in  itself,  and  how 
we  deceive  ourselves  into  it,  verse  217,  etc. 
VI.  That,  however,  the  ends  of  Providence, 
and  general  goods,  are  answered  in  our  pas- 
sions and  imperfections.  How  usefully  these 
are  distributed  to  all  orders  of  men  : how  use- 
ful they  are  to  Society ; and  to  individuals ; 
in  every  state,  and  every  age  of  life,  verse 
238,  etc.,  to  the  end. 

I.  Know  then  thyself,  presume  not  God  to 
scan, 

The  proper  study  of  mankind  is  Man. 
Placed  on  this  isthmus  of  a middle  state, 

A being  darkly  wise  and  rudely  great: 

With  too  much  knowledge  for  the  Sceptic 
side, 

With  too  much  weakness  for  the  Stoic’s 
pride, 

He  hangs  between,  in  doubt  to  act  or  rest; 
In  doubt  to  deem  himself  a God  or  Beast; 
In  doubt  his  mind  or  body  to  prefer; 

Born  but  to  die,  and  reas’ning  but  to  err;  xo 
Alike  in  ignorance,  his  reason  such, 
Whether  he  thinks  too  little  or  too  much; 
Chaos  of  thought  and  passion,  all  confused ; 
Still  by  himself  abused  or  disabused; 
Created  half  to  rise,  and  half  to  fall; 

Great  lord  of  all  things,  yet  a prey  to 
all; 

Sole  judge  of  truth,  in  endless  error  hurl’d; 
The  glory,  jest,  and  riddle  of  the  world! 

Go,  wondrous  creature!  mount  where 
Science  guides; 

Go,  measure  earth,  weigh  air,  and  state  the 
tides;  20 

Instruct  the  planets  in  what  orbs  to  run, 
Correct  old  Time,  and  regulate  the  sun ; 
Go,  soar  with  Plato  to  th’  empyreal  sphere, 
To  the  first  good,  first  perfect,  and  first 
fair; 

Or  tread  the  mazy  round  his  followers  trod, 
And  quitting  sense  call  imitating  God; 

As  eastern  priests  in  giddy  circles  run, 

And  turn  their  heads  to  imitate  the  sun. 


Go,  teach  Eternal  Wisdom  how  to  rule  — 
Then  drop  into  thyself,  and  be  a fool!  30 

Superior  beings,  when  of  late  they  saw 
A mortal  man  unfold  all  Nature’s  law, 
Admired  such  wisdom  in  an  earthly  shape, 
And  show’d  a Newton  as  we  show  an  ape. 
Could  he,  whose  rules  the  rapid  comet 
bind, 

Describe  or  fix  one  movement  of  his  mind  ? 
Who  saw  its  fires  here  rise,  and  there  de- 
scend, 

Explain  his  own  beginning  or  his  end  ? 

Alas  ! what  wonder  ! Man’s  superior  part 
Uncheck’d  may  rise,  and  climb  from  art  to 
art ; 40 

But  when  his  own  great  work  is  but  begun, 
What  Reason  weaves,  by  Passion  is  un- 
done. 

Trace  Science  then,  with  modesty  thy 
guide ; 

First  strip  off  all  her  equipage  of  pride; 
Deduct  what  is  but  vanity  or  dress, 

Or  learning’s  luxury,  or  idleness, 

Or  tricks  to  show  the  stretch  of  human 
brain, 

Mere  curious  pleasure,  or  ingenious  pain; 
Expunge  the  whole,  or  lop  th’  excrescent 
parts; 

Of  all  our  vices  have  created  arts;  50 

Then  see  how  little  the  remaining  sum, 
Which  serv’d  the  past,  and  must  the  times 
to  come  ! 

II.  Two  principles  in  Human  Nature 
reign, 

Self-love  to  urge,  and  Reason  to  restrain; 
Nor  this  a good,  nor  that  a bad  we  call; 
Each  works  its  end,  to  move  or  govern 
all: 

And  to  their  proper  operation  still 
Ascribe  all  good,  to  their  improper,  ill. 

Self-love,  the  spring  of  motion,  acts  the 
soul ; 

eason’s  comparing  balance  rules  the 
whole.  6c 

Man  but  for  that  no  action  could  attend, 
And  but  for  this  were  active  to  no  end: 
Fix’d  like  a plant  on  his  peculiar  spot, 

To  draw  nutrition,  propagate,  and  rot; 

Or  meteor-like,  flame  lawless  thro’  the 
void, 

Destroying  others,  by  himself  destroy’d. 

Most  strength  the  moving  principle  re- 
quires; 

Active  its  task,  it  prompts,  impels,  inspires 
Sedate  and  quiet  the  comparing  lies, 


AN  ESSAY  ON  MAN 


M3 


Form’d  but  to  check,  delib’rate,  and  ad- 
vise. 70 

Self-love  still  stronger,  as  its  objects  nigh; 
Reason’s  at  distance  and  in  prospect  lie: 
That  sees  immediate  good  by  present  sense; 
Reason,  the  future  and  the  consequence. 
Thicker  than  arguments,  temptations 
throng; 

At  best  more  watchful  this,  but  that  more 
strong. 

The  action  of  the  stronger  to  suspend, 
Reason  still  use,  to  Reason  still  attend. 
Attention  habit  and  experience  gains; 

Each  strengthens  Reason,  and  Self-love  re- 
strains. g0 

Let  subtle  schoolmen  teach  these  friends  to 
fight, 

More  studious  to  divide  than  to  unite; 

And  Grace  and  Virtue,  Sense  and  Reason 
split, 

With  all  the  rash  dexterity  of  Wit. 

Wits,  just  like  fools,  at  war  about  a name, 
Have  full  as  oft  no  meaning,  or  the  same. 
Self-love  and  Reason  to  one  end  aspire, 

Pain  their  aversion,  Pleasure  their  desire; 
But  greedy  that,  its  object  would  devour; 
This  taste  the  honey,  and  not  wound  the 
flower:  go 

Pleasure,  or  wrong  or  rightly  understood, 
Our  greatest  evil  or  our  greatest  good. 

III.  Modes  of  Self-love  the  passions  we 
may  call; 

’T  is  real  good  or  seeming  moves  them 
all: 

But  since  not  every  good  we  can  divide, 

And  Reason  bids  us  for  our  own  provide, 
Passions,  tho’  selfish,  if  their  means  be  fair, 
List  under  Reason,  and  deserve  her  care; 
Those  that  imparted  court  a nobler  aim, 
Exalt  their  kind,  and  take  some  virtue’s 
name.  1QO 

In  lazy  apathy  let  Stoics  boast 
Their  virtue  fix’d;  ’t  is  fix’d  as  in  a frost; 
Contracted  all,  retiring  to  the  breast; 

But  strength  of  mind  is  Exercise,  not  Rest: 
The  rising  tempest  puts  in  act  the  soul, 

Parts  it  may  ravage,  but  preserves  the 
whole. 

On  life’s  vast  ocean  diversely  we  sail, 

Reason  the  card,  but  Passion  is  the  gale; 

Nor  God  alone  in  the  still  calm  we  find, 

He  mounts  the  storm,  and  walks  upon  the 
wind.  1IO 

Passions,  like  elements,  tho’  born  to  fight, 
Yet,  mix’d  and  soften’d,  in  his  work  unite: 


These ’t  is  enough  to  temper  and  employ; 
But  what  composes  man  can  man  destroy  ? 
Suffice  that  Reason  keep  to  Nature’s  road; 
Subject,  compound  them,  follow  her  and 
God. 

Love,  Hope,  and  Joy,  fair  Pleasure’s  smil- 
ing train, 

Hate,  I ear,  and  Grief,  the  family  of  Pain, 
These  mix’d  with  art,  and  to  due  bounds 
confin’d, 

Make  and  maintain  the  balance  of  the 
mind;  I20 

The  lights  and  shades,  whose  well-accorded 
strife 

Gives  all  the  strength  and  colour  of  our  life. 

Pleasures  are  ever  in  our  hands  or  eyes, 
And  when  in  act  they  cease,  in  prospect 
rise: 

Present  to  grasp,  and  future  still  to  find, 
The  whole  employ  of  body  and  of  mind. 

All  spread  their  charms,  but  charm  not  all 
alike; 

On  diff’rent  senses  diff’rent  objects  strike; 
Hence  diff’rent  passions  more  or  less  in- 
flame, 129 

As  strong  or  weak  the  organs  of  the  frame; 
And  hence  one  Master-passion  in  the  breast, 
Like  Aaron’s  serpent,  swallows  up  the  rest. 

As  man,  perhaps,  the  moment  of  his 
breath, 

Receives  the  lurking  principle  of  death, 

The  young  disease,  that  must  subdue  at 
length, 

Grows  with  his  growth,  and  strengthens 
with  his  strength: 

So,  cast  and  mingled  with  his  very  frame, 
The  mind’s  disease,  its  Ruling  Passion, 
came ; 

Each  vital  humour,  which  should  feed  the 
whole, 

Soon  flows  to  this  in  body  and  in  soul;  X4o 
Whatever  warms  the  heart  or  fills  the 
head, 

As  the  mind  opens  and  its  functions  spread, 
Imagination  plies  her  dangerous  art, 

And  pours  it  all  upon  the  peccant  part. 

Nature  its  mother,  Habit  is  its  nurse; 

Wit,  spirit,  faculties,  but  make  it  worse; 
Reason  itself  but  gives  it  edge  and  power, 

As  Heav’n’s  bless’d  beam  turns  vinegar 
more  sour. 

We,  wretched  subjects,  tho’  to  lawful 

r ^•SWay’1  J49 

In  this  weak  queen  some  fav’rite  still 
obey: 


144 


AN  ESSAY  ON  MAN 


Ah  ! if  she  lend  not  arms  as  well  as  rules, 
What  can  she  more  than  tell  us  we  are 
fools  ? 

Teach  us  to  mourn  our  nature,  not  to 
mend, 

A sharp  accuser,  but  a helpless  friend! 

Or  from  a judge  turn  pleader,  to  persuade 
The  choice  we  make,  or  justify  it  made; 
Proud  of  an  easy  conquest  all  along, 

She  but  removes  weak  passions  for  the 
strong: 

So  when  small  humours  gather  to  a gout, 
The  doctor  fancies  he  has  driv’n  them  out. 

Yes,  Nature’s  road  must  ever  be  pre- 
f err’d;  161 

Reason  is  here  no  guide,  but  still  a guard ; 
’T  is  hers  to  rectify,  not  overthrow, 

And  treat  this  passion  more  as  friend  than 
foe: 

A mightier  Power  the  strong  direction 

sends, 

And  sev’ral  men  impels  to  sev’ral  ends: 
Like  varying  winds,  by  other  passions 
toss’d, 

This  drives  them  constant  to  a certain 
coast. 

Let  Power  or  Knowledge,  Gold  or  Glory, 

please, 

Or  (oft  more  strong  than  all)  the  love  of 
ease;  170 

Thro’  life ’t  is  follow’d,  ev’n  at  life’s  ex- 
pense ; 

The  merchant’s  toil,  the  sage’s  indolence, 
The  monk’s  humility,  the  hero’s  pride, 

All,  all  alike,  find  Reason  on  their  side. 

Th’  Eternal  Art  educing  good  from  ill, 
Grafts  on  this  passion  our  best  principle: 

’T  is  thus  the  mercury  of  man  is  fix’d, 
Strong  grows  the  virtue  with  his  nature 
mix’d ; 

The  dross  cements  what  else  were  too  re- 
fin’d, 

And  in  one  int’rest  body  acts  with  mind.  180 
As  fruits  ungrateful  to  the  planter’s  care, 
On  savage  stocks  inserted,  learn  to  bear, 
The  surest  Virtues  thus  from  Passions 
shoot, 

Wild  Nature’s  vigour  working  at  the  root. 
What  crops  of  wit  and  honesty  appear 
From  spleen,  from  obstinacy,  hate,  or  fear! 
See  anger,  zeal,  and  fortitude  supply; 

Ev’n  av’rice  prudenoe,  sloth  philosophy; 
Lust,  thro’  some  certain  strainers  well  re- 
fin’d, _ 189 

Is  gentle  love,  and  charms  all  womankind; 


Envy,  to  which  th’  ignoble  mind ’s  a slave, 
Is  emulation  in  the  learn’d  or  brave; 

Nor  virtue  male  or  female  can  we  name, 

But  what  will  grow  on  pride  or  grow  on 
shame. 

Thus  Nature  gives  us  (let  it  check  our 
pride) 

The  Virtue  nearest  to  our  Vice  allied: 
Reason  the  bias  turns  to  good  from  ill, 

And  Nero  reigns  a Titus  if  he  will. 

The  fiery  soul  abhorr’d  in  Catiline, 

In  Decius  charms,  in  Curtius  is  divine:  200 
The  same  ambition  can  destroy  or  save, 

And  makes  a patriot  as  it  makes  a knave. 

IV.  This  light  and  darkness  in  our  chaos 
join’d, 

What  shall  divide  ? — the  God  within  the 
mind. 

Extremes  in  Nature  equal  ends  produce; 
In  Man  they  join  to  some  mysterious  use; 
Tho’  each  by  turns  the  other’s  bounds  in- 
vade, 

As  in  some  well-wrought  picture  light  and 
shade ; 

And  oft  so  mix,  the  difference  is  too  nice 
Where  ends  the  Virtue  or  begins  the  Vice. 

Fools!  who  from  hence  into  the  notion 
fall  21 1 

That  Vice  or  Virtue  there  is  none  at  all. 

If  white  and  black  blend,  soften,  and  unite 
A thousand  ways,  is  there  no  black  or  white? 
Ask  your  own  heart,  and  nothing  is  so 
plain ; 

’T  is  to  mistake  them  costs  the  time  and 
pain. 

V.  Vice  is  a monster  of  so  frightful 
mT§n, 

As  to  be  hated  needs  but  to  be  seen; 

Yet  seen  too  oft,  familiar  with  her  face, 

We  first  endure,  then  pity,  then  embrace. 
But  where  th’  extreme  of  Vice  was  ne’er 
agreed:  221 

Ask  where ’s  the  north  ? — at  York ’t  is  on 
the  Tweed; 

In  Scotland  at  the  Orcades;  and  there 
At  Greenland,  Zembla,  or  the  Lord  knows  l 
where. 

No  creature  owns  it  in  the  first  degree, 

But  thinks  his  neighbour  farther  gone  than 
he; 

Ev’n  those  who  dwell  beneath  its  very  zone, 
Or  never  feel  the  rage  or  never  own; 

What  happier  natures  shrink  at  with  af- 
fright, 

The  hard  inhabitant  contends  is  right.  230 


AN  ESSAY  ON  MAN 


Virtuous  and  vicious  ev’ry  man  must  be, 
Few  in  tli’  extreme,  but  all  in  the  degree: 
The  rogue  and  fool  by  fits  is  fair  and  wise, 
And  ev’n  the  best  by  fits  what  they  despise. 
’T  is  but  by  parts  we  follow  good  or  ill; 
For  Vice  or  Virtue,  Self  directs  it  still;* 
Each  individual  seeks  a sev’ral  goal; 

But  Heav’n’s  great  view  is  one,  and  that 
the  Whole. 

That  counterworks  each  folly  and  caprice; 
That  disappoints  th’ effect  of  every  vice;  240 
That,  happy  frailties  to  all  ranks  applied, 
Shame  to  the  virgin,  to  the  matron  pride, 
Fear  to  the  statesman,  rashness  to  the 
chief, 

To  kings  presumption,  and  to  crowds  be- 
lief: 

That,  virtue’s  ends  from  vanity  can  raise, 
Which  seeks  no  int’rest,  no  reward  but 
praise ; 

A.nd  build  on  wants,  and  on  defects  of  mind, 
^le  joy,  the  peace,  the  glory  of  mankind. 

Heav’n  forming  each  on  other  to  depend, 

\ master,  or  a servant,  or  a friend,  250 
3ids  each  on  other  for  assistance  call, 
rill  one  man’s  weakness  grows  the  strength 
j of  all. 

Vants,  frailties,  passions,  closer  still  ally 
Che  common  int’rest,  or  endear  the  tie. 

,Lo  these  we  owe  true  friendship,  love  sin- 
« cere, 

^ach  home-felt  joy  that  life  inherits  here; 
^et  from  the  same  we  learn,  in  its  decline, 
i'hose  joys,  those  loves,  those  int’rests  to  re- 
sign ; 

aught,  half  by  Reason,  half  by  mere  de- 
cay, 

o welcome  Death,  and  calmly  pass  away. 
Whate’er  the  passion  — knowledge,  fame 
or  pelf—  26i 

ot  one  will  change  his  neighbour  with 
himself. 

he  learn’d  is  happy  Nature  to  explore, 
he  fool  is  happy  that  he  knows  no  more; 
he  rich  is  happy  in  the  plenty  giv’n, 
he  poor  contents  him  with  the  care  of 
Heav’m 

ie  the  blind  beggar  dance,  the  cripple  sing, 

; ie  sot  a hero,  lunatic  a king,  ° 

ie  starving  chymist  in  his  golden  views 
ipremely  bless’d,  the  poet  in  his  Muse.  270 
See  some  strange  comfort  ev’ry  state 
J attend, 

id  Pride  bestow’d  on  all,  a common 
friend:  | 


US 

See  some  fit  passion  every  age  supply; 
Hope  travels  thro’,  nor  quits  us  when  we 
die. 

Behold  the  child,  by  Nature’s  kindly 
law, 

Pleas’d  with  a rattle,  tickled  with  a* straw: 
Some  livelier  plaything  gives  his  youth 
delight, 

A little  louder,  but  as  empty  quite: 

Scarfs,  garters,  gold,  amuse  his  riper  stage, 
And  beads  and  prayer-books  are  the  toys 
°f  *ge:  280 

Pleas  d with  this  bauble  still,  as  that  be- 
fore, 

Till  tired  he  sleeps,  and  life’s  poor  play  is 
o’er. 

Meanwhile  opinion  gilds  with  varying 
rays 

Those  painted  clouds  that  beautify  our 
^ days; 

Each  want  of  happiness  by  Hope  supplied, 
And  each  vacuity  of  sense  by  Pride: 

These  build  as  fast  as  Knowledge  can  de- 
stroy ; 

In  Folly’s  cup  still  laughs  the  bubble  joy; 
One  prospect  lost,  another  still  we  gain, 

And  not  a vanity  is  giv’n  in  vain:  290 

Ev’n  mean  Self-love  becomes,  by  force 
divine, 

The  scale  to  measure  others’  wants  by 
thine. 

See!  and  confess  one  comfort  still  must 
rise ; 

’T  is  this,  Though  Man  ’ s a fool , yet  God  is 
wise. 


EPISTLE  III 

OF  THE  NATURE  AND  STATE  OF  MAN  WITH 
RESPECT  TO  SOCIETY 

ARGUMENT 

I.  The  whole  Universe  one  system  of  Society. 
Nothing  made  wholly  for  itself,  nor  yet 
wholly  for  another.  The  happiness  of  ani- 
mals mutual,  verse  7,  etc.  II.  Reason  or  In- 
stinct operates  alike  to  the  good  of  each  indi- 
vidual. Reason  or  Instinct  operates  also  to 
Society  in  all  animals,  verse  49,  etc.  III.  How 
far  Society  carried  by  Instinct ; — how  much 
farther  by  reason,  verse  109,  etc.  I Y.  Of  that 
which  is  called  the  state  of  nature.  Reason 
instructed  by  Instinct  in  the  invention  of 
arts  ; and  in  the  forms  of  Society,  verse 
144,  etc.  Y.  Origin  of  political  societies ; — 


146 


AN  ESSAY  ON  MAN 


origin  of  Monarchy;  — patriarchal  govern- 
ment, verse  199,  etc.  VI.  Origin  of  true 
Religion  and  Government,  from  the  same 
principle  of  Love  ; — origin  of  Superstition 
and  Tyranny,  from  the  same  principle  of 
Fear.  The  influence  of  Self-love  operating 
to  the  social  and  public  good.  Restoration 
of  true  Religion  and  Government  on  their 
first  principle.  Mixed  government.  Various 
forms  of  each,  and  the  true  end  of  all,  verse 
215,  etc. 


Here  then  we  rest:  — ‘ The  Universal 
Cause 

Acts  to  one  end,  but  acts  by  various  laws.’ 
In  all  the  madness  of  superfluous  Health, 
The  trim  of  Pride,  the  impudence  of  W ealth, 
Let  this  great  truth  be  present  night  and 
day: 

But  most  be  present,  if  we  preach  or  pray. 
I?  Look  round  our  world;  behold  the 
chain  of  love 

Combining  all  below  and  all  above. 

See  plastic  Nature  working  to  this  end, 

The  single  atoms  each  to  other  tend,  10 
Attract,  attracted  to,  the  next  in  place, 
Form’d  and  imped'd  its  neighbour  to  em- 


brace. 

See  matter  next,  with  various  life  endued, 
Press  to  one  centre  still,  the  gen’ral  good: 
See  dying  vegetables  life  sustain, 

See  life  dissolving  vegetate  again. 

All  forms  that  perish  other  forms  supply 
(By  turns  we  catch  the  vital  breath,  and 
die), 

Like  bubbles  on  the  sea  of  Matter  borne, 
They  rise,  they  break,  and  to  that  sea  re- 
turn. 20 

Nothing  is  foreign;  parts  relate  to  whole; 
One  all-extending,  all-preserving,  soul 
Connects  each  being,  greatest  with  the 


least; 

Made  beast  in  aid  of  man,  and  man  of 


beast; 

All  serv’d,  all  serving:  nothing  stands 
alone ; 

The  chain  holds  on,  and  where  it  ends  un- 
known. 

Has  God,  thou  fooll  work’d  solely  for 
thy  good, 

Thy  joy,  thy  pastime,  thy  attire,  thy  food  ? 

Who  for  thy  table  feeds  the  wanton  fawn, 

For  him  as  kindly  spreads  the  flowery 
lawn.  ( 30 

1 8 it  for  thee  the  lark  ascends  and  sings  ? 

Joy  tunes  his  voice,  joy  elevates  his  wings. 


Is  it  for  thee  the  linnet  pours  his  throat  ? 
Loves  of  his  own  and  raptures  swell  the 
note. 

The  bounding  steed  you  pompously  be- 
stride 

Shares  with  his  lord  the  pleasure  and  the 
pride. 

Is  thine  alone  the  seed  that  strews  the 
plain  ? 

The  birds  of  Heav’n  shall  vindicate  their 
grain. 

Thine  the  full  harvest  of  the  golden  year  ? 
Part  pays,  and  justly,  the  deserving  steer.  40 
The  hog  that  ploughs  not,  nor  obeys  thy 
call, 

Lives  on  the  labours  of  this  lord  of  all. 

Know  Nature’s  children  all  divide  her 
care ; 

The  fur  that  warms  a monarch  warm’d  a 
bear. 

While  Man  exclaims,  ‘ See  all  things  for 
my  use!  ’ 

« See  man  for  mine  ! ’ replies  a pamper’d 
goose: 

And  just  as  short  of  Reason  he  must 
fall, 

Who  thinks  all  made  for  one,  not  one  for 
all. 

Grant  that  the  pow’rful  still  the  weak 
control ; 

Be  Man  the  wit  and  tyrant  of  the  whole:  50 
Nature  that  tyrant  checks ; he  only  knows, 
And  helps,  another  creature’s  wants  and 
woes. 

Say  will  the  falcon,  stooping  from  above, 
Smit  with  her  varying  plumage,  spare  the 
dove  ? 

Admires  the  jay  the  insect’s  gilded  wings  ? 
Or  hears  the  hawk  when  Philomela 
sings  ? — . # 1 

Man  cares  for  all:  to  birds  he  gives  his 
woods, 

To  beasts  his  pastures,  and  to  fish  his 
floods. 

For  some  his  Int’rest  prompts  him  to  pro- 
vide, 

For  more  his  Pleasure,  yet  for  more  his 
Pride:  t 6c 

All  feed  on  one  vain  patron,  and  enjoy 
Th’  extensive  blessing  of  his  luxury. 

That  very  life  his  learned  hunger  craves, 
He  saves  from  famine,  from  the  savagt 
saves; 

Nay.  feasts  the  animal  he  dooms  his  feast, 
And  till  he  ends  the  being  makes  it  blest; 


AN  ESSAY  ON  MAN 


M7 


Which  sees  no  more  the  stroke,  or  feels  the 
pain, 

Than  favour’d  man  by  touch  ethereal  slain. 
The  creature  had  his  feast  of  life  before; 
Thou  too  must  perish  when  thy  feast  is 
o’er ! 7o 

To  each  unthinking  being,  Heav’n,  a 
friend, 

Gives  not  the  useless  knowledge  of  its  end: 
To  man  imparts  it,  but  with  such  a view 
As  while  he  dreads  it,  makes  him  hope  it 
too; 

The  hour  conceal’d,  and  so  remote  the  fear, 
Death  still  draws  nearer,  never  seeming 
near. 

Great  standing  miracle  ! that  Heav’n  as- 
sign’d 

Its' only  thinking  thing  this  turn  of  mind. 

. (IT.  Whether  with  Reason  or  with  In- 
v-"'  stinct  blest, 

Know  all  enjoy  that  power  which  suits  them 
best;  go 

To  bliss  alike  by  that  direction  tend, 

^nd  find  the  means  proportion’d  to  their 
I end. 

Bay,  where  full  Instinct  is  th’  unerring 
guide, 

What  Pope  or  Council  can  they  need  beside  ? 
Reason,  however  able,  cool  at  best, 

Dares  not  for  service,  or  but  serves  when 
• prest, 

3tays  till  we  call,  and  then  not  often  near; 
3ut  honest  Instinct  comes  a volunteer, 

>ure  never  to  o’ershoot,  but  just  to  hit,  89 
While  still  too  wide  or  short  is  human  wit; 
thire  by  quick  Nature  happiness  to  gain, 
Which  heavier  Reason  labours  at  in  vain, 
"his,  too,  serves  always;  Reason,  never 
long; 

)ne  must  go  right,  the  other  may  go 
wrong. 

lee  then  the  acting  and  comparing  powers 
)ne  in  their  nature,  which  are  two  in  ours; 
ind  Reason  raise  o’er  Instinct  as  you  can, 
in  this ’t  is  God  directs,  in  that ’t  is  Man. 

Who  taught  the  nations  of  the  field  and 
i wood 

’o  shun  their  poison  and  to  choose  their 
food  ? 100 

rescient,  the  tides  or  tempests  to  with- 
stand, 

ruild  on  the  wave,  or  arch  beneath  the 
sand  ? 

/ho  made  the  spider  parallels  design, 
ure  as  Demoivre,  without  rule  or  line  ? I 


Who  bade  the  stork,  Columbus-like,  ex- 
plore 

Heav’ns  not  his  own,  and  worlds  unknown 
before  ? 

Who  calls  the  council,  states  the  certain 
day, 

Who  forms  the  phalanx,  and  who  points 
the  way  ? 

III.  God  in  the  nature  of  each  being 
founds  io9 

Its  proper  bliss,  and  sets  its  proper  bounds; 
But  as  he  framed  a whole  the  whole  to 
bless, 

On  mutual  wants  built  mutual  happiness: 
So  from  the  first  eternal  order  ran, 

And  creature  link’d  to  creature,  man  to 
man. 

Whate’er  of  life  all-quick’ning  ether  keeps, 
Or  breathes  thro’  air,  or  shoots  beneath  the 
deeps, 

Or  pours  profuse  on  earth,  one  Nature  feeds 
The  vital  flame,  and  swells  the  genial 
seeds. 

Not  man  alone,  but  all  that  roam  the  wood, 
Or  wing  the  sky,  or  roll  along  the  flood,  120 
Each  loves  itself,  but  not  itself  alone, 

Each  sex  desires  alike,  till  two  are  one. 

Nor  ends  the  pleasure  with  the  fierce  em- 
brace : 

They  love  themselves  a third  time  in  their 
race. 

Thus  beast  and  bird  their  common  charge 
attend, 

The  mothers  nurse  it,  and  the  sires  defend; 
The  young  dismiss’d  to  wander  earth  or  air-, 
There  stops  the  instinct,  and  there  ends  the 
care ; 

The  link  dissolves,  each  seeks  a fresh  em- 
brace, 

Another  love  succeeds,  another  race.  i3G 
A longer  care  man’s  helpless  kind  de- 
mands; 

That  longer  care  contracts  more  lasting 
bands : 

Reflection,  Reason,  still  the  ties  improve, 

At  once  extend  the  int’rest  and  the  love; 
With  choice  we  fix,  with  sympathy  we 
burn ; 

Each  virtue  in  each  passion  takes  its  turn; 
And  still  new  needs,  new  helps,  new  habits 
rise, 

That  graft  benevolence  on  charities. 

Still  as  one  brood  and  as  another  rose, 

These  natural  love  maintain’d,  habitual 
those:  ,40 


148 


AN  ESSAY  ON  MAN 


The  last,  scarce  ripen’d  into  perfect  man, 
Saw  helpless  him  from  whom  their  life  be- 
gan: 

Mem’rv  and  forecast  just  returns  engage, 
That  pointed  back  to  youth,  this  on  to  age; 
While  pleasure,  gratitude,  and  hope,  com- 
bin’d, 

Still  spread  the  int’rest,  and  preserv’d  the 
kind. 

IV.  Nor  think  in  Nature’s  state  they 
blindly  trod; 

The  state  of  Nature  was  the  reign  cf  God: 
Self-love  and  Social  at  her  birth  began, 
Union  the  bond  of  all  things,  and  of  Man; 
Pride  then  was  not,  nor  arts,  that  pride  to 
aid:  *5* 

Man  walk’d  with  beast,  joint  tenant  of  the 
shade; 

The  same  his  table,  and  the  same  his  bed; 
No  murder  clothed  him,  and  no  murder  fed. 
In  the  same  temple,  the  resounding  wood, 
All  vocal  beings  hymn’d  their  equal  God: 
The  shrine  with  gore  unstain’d,  with  gold 
undrest, 

Unbribed,  unbloody,  stood  the  blameless 
priest: 

Heav’n’s  attribute  was  universal  care, 

And  man’s  prerogative  to  rule,  but  spare.  160 
Ah  ! how  unlike  the  man  of  times  to  come  ! 
Of  half  that  live  the  butcher  and  the  tomb; 
Who,  foe  to  Nature,  hears  the  gen’ral  groan, 
Murders  their  species,  and  betrays  his  own. 
But  just  disease  to  luxury  succeeds, 

And  ev’ry  death  its  own  avenger  breeds; 
The  fury-passions  from  that  blood  began, 
And  turn’d  on  man  a fiercer  savage,  man. 

See  him  from  Nature  rising  slow  to  Art ! 
To  copy  Instinct  then  was  Reason’s  part:  170 
Thus  then  to  man  the  voice  of  Nature 
spake  — 

‘Go,  from  the  creatures  thy  instructions 
take : 

Learn  from  the  birds  what  food  the  thick- 
ets yield, 

Learn  from  the  beasts  the  physic  of  the 
field; 

Thy  arts  of  building  from  the  bee  receive; 
Learn  of  the  mole  to  plough,  the  worm  to 
weave; 

Learn  of  the  little  nautilus  to  sail, 

Spread  the  thin  oar,  and  catch  the  driving 
gale. 

Here  too  all  forms  of  social  union  find, 

And  hence  let  Reason  late  instruct  man- 
kind. 180 


Here  subterranean  works  and  cities  see; 
There  towns  aerial  on  the  waving  tree; 
Learn  each  small  people’s  genius,  policies, 
The  ants’  republic,  and  the  realm  of  bees: 
How  those  in  common  all  their  wealth  be= 
stow, 

And  anarchy  without  confusion  know; 

And  these  for  ever,  tho’  a monarch  reign, 
Their  sep’rate  cells  and  properties  maintain. 
Mark  what  unvaried  laws  preserve  each 
state,  189 

Laws  wise  as  Nature,  and  as  fix’d  as  Fate. 
In  vain  thy  Reason  finer  webs  shall  draw, 
Entangle  justice  in  her  net  of  law, 

And  right,  too  rigid,  harden  into  wrong, 
Still  for  the  strong  too  weak,  the  weak  too 
strong. 

Yet  go!  and  thus  o’er  all  the  creatures 
sway, 

Thus  let  the  wiser  make  the  rest  obey; 

And  for  those  arts  mere  Instinct  could  af- 
ford, 

Be  crown’d  as  Monarchs,  or  as  Gods 
ador’d.’ 

Y.  Great  Nature  spoke;  observant  man 
obey’d; 

Cities  were  built,  societies  were  made:  200 
Here  rose  one  little  state;  another  near 
Grew  by  like  means,  and  join’d  thro’  love 
or  fear. 

Did  here  the  trees  with  ruddier  burdens 
bend, 

And  there  the  streams  in  purer  rills  de- 
scend ? 

What  war  could  ravish,  commerce  could 
bestow, 

And  he  return’d  a friend  who  came  a foe. 
Converse  and  love  mankind  might  strongly 
draw, 

When  Love  was  liberty,  and  Nature  law. 
Thus  states  were  form’d,  the  name  of  King 
unknown, 

Till  common  int’rest  placed  the  sway  in 
one.  2IC 

’T  was  Virtue  only  (or  in  arts  or  arms, 
Diffusing  blessings,  or  averting  harms),  , 
The  same  which  in  a sire  the  sons  obey’d, 
A prince  the  father  of  a people  made. 

VI.  Till  then,  by  Nature  crown’d,  each 
patriarch  sate 

King,  priest,  and  parent  of  his  growing 
state ; 

On  him,  their  second  Providence,  they) 
hung, 

Their  law  his  eye,  their  oracle  his  tongue. 


AN  ESSAY  ON  MAN 


149 


He  from  the  wond’ring  furrow  call’d  the 
food, 

Taught  to  command  the  fire,  control  the 
flood,  220 

Draw  forth  the  monsters  of  th’  abyss  pro- 
found, 

Or  fetch  th’  aerial  eagle  to  the  ground; 

Till  drooping,  sick’ning,  dying,  they  began 
Whom  they  revered  as  God  to  mourn  as 
Man: 

Then,  looking  up  from  sire  to  sire,  explor’d 
One  great  first  Father,  and  that  first  ador’d: 
Or  plain  tradition  that  this  all  begun, 
Convey’d  unbroken  faith  from  sire  to  son; 
The  worker  from  the  work  distinct  was 
known, 

And  simple  Reason  never  sought  but  one. 
Ere  Wit  oblique  had  broke  that  steady 

light,  231 

Man,  like  his  Maker,  saw  that  all  was 
right ; 

To  virtue  in  the  paths  of  pleasure  trod, 

And  own’d  a father  when  he  own’d  a God. 
Love  all  the  faith,  and  all  th’  allegiance 
then, 

For  Nature  knew  no  right  divine  in  men; 
No  ill  could  fear  in  God,  and  understood 
A sov’reign  being  but  a sov’reign  good; 
True  faith,  true  policy,  united  ran; 

That  was  but  love  of  God,  and  this  of 
Man.  240 

Who  first  taught  souls  enslaved,  and 
realms  undone, 

Th’  enormous  faith  of  many  made  for  one; 
That  proud  exception  to  all  Nature’s  laws, 
T’  invert  the  world,  and  counterwork  its 
cause  ? 

Force  first  made  conquest,  and  that  con- 
quest law; 

Till  Superstition  taught  the  tyrant  awe, 

- Then  shared  the  tyranny,  then  lent  it  aid, 
And  Gods  of  conquerors,  Slaves  of  subjects 
made. 

She,  ’midst  the  lightning’s  blaze  and  thun- 
der’s sound, 

When  rock’d  the  mountains,  and  when 
groan’d  the  ground,  250 

She  taught  the  weak  to  bend,  the  proud  to 
pray, 

To  Power  unseen,  and  mightier  far  than 
they: 

She,  from  the  rending  earth  and  bursting 
skies, 

Saw  Gods  descend,  and  Fiends  infernal 
rise: 


Here  fix’d  the  dreadful,  there  the  bless’d 
abodes; 

Fear  made  her  Devils,  and  weak  hope  her 
Gods; 

Gods,  partial,  changeful,  passionate,  un- 
just, 

Whose  attributes  were  rage,  revenge,  or 
lust; 

Such  as  the  souls  of  cowards  might  con- 
ceive, 

And,  form’d  like  tyrants,  tyrants  would  be- 
lieve. 260 

Zeal  then,  not  Charity,  became  the  guide, 
And  Hell  was  built  011  spite,  and  Heav’n  od 
pride: 

Then  sacred  seem’d  th’  ethereal  vault  no 
more; 

Altars  grew  marble  then,  and  reek’d  with 
gore : 

Then  first  the  flamen  tasted  living  food. 
Next  his  grim  idol  smear’d  with  human 
blood ; 

With  Heav’n’s  own  thunders  shook  the 
world  below, 

And  play’d  the  God  an  engine  on  his  foe. 

So  drives  Self-love  thro’  just  and  thro’ 
unjust,  269 

To  one  man’s  power,  ambition,  lucre,  lust: 
The  same  Self-love  in  all  becomes  the  cause 
Of  what  restrains  him,  government  and 
laws. 

For,  what  one  likes  if  others  like  as  well, 
What  serves  one  will,  when  many  wills  re- 
bel ? 

How  shall  he  keep  what,  sleeping  or  awake, 
A weaker  may  surprise,  a stronger  take  ? 
His  safety  must  his  liberty  restrain: 

All  join  to  guard  what  each  desires  to  gain. 
Forc’d  into  virtue  thus  by  self-defence, 
Ev’n  kings  learn’d  justice  and  benevo- 
lence: 28c 

Self-love  forsook  the  path  it  first  pursued, 
And  found  the  private  in  the  public  good. 

’T  was  then  the  studious  head,  or  gen’- 
rous  mind 

Follower  of  God,  or  friend  of  human  kind, 
Poet  or  patriot,  rose  but  to  restore 
The  faith  and  moral  Nature  gave  before; 
Relumed  her  ancient  light,  not  kindled 
new; 

If  not  God’s  image,  yet  his  shadow  drew; 
Taught  power’s  due  use  to  people  and  to 
kings, 

Taught  nor  to  slack  nor  strain  its  tender 
strings,  290 


c;/ 


Vi* 

fc* 


J 

t 

€% 

■Cf: 


AN  ESSAY  ON  MAN 


*50 


The  less  or  greater  set  so  justly  true, 

That  touching  one  must  strike  the  other  too; 
Till  jarring  int’rests  of  themselves  create 
TV  according  music  of  a well-mix’d  state. 
Such  is  the  world's  great  harmony,  that 
springs 

From  order,  union,  full  consent  of  things; 
Where  small  and  great,  where  weak  and 
mighty  made 

To  serve,  not  suffer,  strengthen,  not  invade; 
More  powerful  each  as  needful  to  the  rest, 
And,  in  proportion  as  it  blesses,  blest;  300 
Draw  to  one  point,  and  to  one  centre  bring 
Beast,  man,  or  angel,  servant,  lord,  or  king. 
For  forms  of  government  let  fools  contest; 
Whate’er  is  best  administer’d  is  best: 

For  modes  of  faith  let  graceless  zealots 
fight; 

His  can’t  be  wrong  whose  life  is  in  the 
right. 

In  Faith  and  Hope  the  world  will  disagree, 
But  all  mankind’s  concern  is  Charity: 

All  must  be  false  that  thwart  this  one 
great  end, 

And  all  of  God  that  bless  mankind  or 
mend.  310 

Man,  like  the  gen’rous  vine,  supported 
lives; 

The  strength  he  gains  is  from  th’  embrace 
he  gives. 

On  their  own  axis  as  the  planets  run, 

Yet  make  at  once  their  circle  round  the 
sun; 

So  two  consistent  motions  act  the  soul, 

And  one  regards  itself,  and  one  the  Whole. 
Thus  God  and  Nature  link’d  the  gen’ral 
frame, 

And  bade  Self-love  and  Social  he  the 
same. 

EPISTLE  IV 

OF  THE  NATURE  AND  STATE  OF  MAN,  WITH 
RESPECT  TO  HAPPINESS 

ARGUMENT 

I.  False  notions  of  Happiness,  philosophical 
and  popular,  answered,  from  verses  19  to  26. 
II.  It  is  the  end  of  all  men,  and  attainable 
by  all.  God  intends  Happiness  to  be  equal ; 
and,  to  be  so.  it  must  be  social,  since  all  par- 
ticular Happiness  depends  on  general,  and 
since  he  governs  by  general,  not  particular 
laws.  A^  it  is  necessary  for  order,  and  the 
peace  and  welfare  of  Society,  that  external 


goods  should  be  unequal,  Happiness  is  not 
made  to  consist  in  these.  But  notwithstand- 
ing that  inequality,  the  balance  of  Happiness 
among  mankind  is  kept  even  by  Providence, 
by  the  two  passions  of  Hope  and  Fear,  verse 
2V>,  etc  III.  What  the  Happiness  of  indi- 
viduals is,  as  far  as  is  consistent  with  the 
constitution  of  this  world  ; and  that  the  good 
man  has  here  the  advantage.  The  error  of 
imputing  to  virtue  what  are  only  the  calam- 
ities of  Nature,  or  of  Fortune,  verse  77,  etc. 
IV.  The  folly  of  expecting  that  God  should 
alter  his  general  laws  in  favour  of  particu- 
lars, verse  123,  etc.  V.  That  we  are  not 
judges  who  are  good ; but  that  whoever 
they  are,  they  must  be  happiest,  verse  131, 
etc.  VI.  That  external  goods  are  not  the 
proper  rewrards,  but  often  inconsistent  with, 
or  destructive  of  Virtue.  That  even  these 
can  make  no  man  happy  without  Virtue: 
— instanced  in  Riches  ; Honours  ; Nobility ; 
Greatness;  Fame;  Superior  Talents,  with 
pictures  of  human  infelicity  in  men  possessed 
of  them  all,  verse  149.  etc.  VII.  That  Vir- 
tue only  constitutes  a Happiness,  whose  ob- 
ject is  universal,  and  whose  prospect  eternal. 
That  the  perfection  of  Virtue  and  Happiness 
consists  in  a conformity  to  the  Order  of  Pro- 
vidence here,  and  a resignation  to  it  here 
and  hereafter,  verse  327,  etc. 

O Happiness!  our  being’s  end  and  aim! 

Good,  Pleasure,  Ease,  Content!  whate’er 
thy  name, 

That  something  still  which  prompts  th’ 
eternal  sigh, 

For  which  we  bear  to  live,  or  dare  to 
die; 

Which  still  so  near  us,  yet  beyond  us  lies, 

O’erlook’d,  seen  double,  by  the  fool  and 
wise: 

Plant  of  celestial  seed!  if  dropt  below, 

Say  in  what  mortal  soil  thou  deign’st  to 
grow  ? 

Fair  opening  to  some  court’s  propitious 
shine, 

Or  deep  with  diamonds  in  the  flaming 
mine  ? io 

Twin’d  with  the  wreaths  Parnassian  laurels 
yield, 

Or  reap’d  in  iron  harvests  of  the  field  ? 

Where  grows  ? — where  grows  it  not  ? If 
vain  our  toil, 

We  ought  to  blame  the  culture,  not  the 
soil : 

Fix’d  to  no  spot  is  Happiness  sincere; 

’T is  nowhere  to  be  found,  or  ev’ry  where* 


AN  ESSAY  ON  MAN 


».5i 


'T  is  never  to  be  bought,  but  always  free, 
And  fled  from  monarchs,  St.  John! 
dwells  with  thee. 

I.  Ask  of  the  Learn’d  the  way  ? the 

Learn’d  are  blind, 

This  bids  to  serve,  and  that  to  shun  man- 
kind : 20 

Some  place  the  bliss  in  Action,  some  in 
Ease, 

Those  call  it  Pleasure,  and  Contentment 
these; 

Some  sunk  to  beasts,  find  pleasure  end  in 
Pain ; 

Some  swell’d  to  Gods,  confess  ev’n  Virtue 
vain; 

Or  indolent,  to  each  extreme  they  fall, 

To  trust  in  everything,  or  doubt  of  all. 

Who  thus  define  it,  say  they  more  or  less 
Than  this,  that  happiness  is  happiness  ? 

II.  Take  Nature’s  path  and  mad  Opin- 
ion’s leave; 

All  states  can  reach  it,  and  all  heads  con- 
ceive; 3o 

Obvious  her  goods,  in  no  extreme  they 
dwell; 

There  needs  but  thinking  right  and  mean- 
ing well: 

And,  mourn  our  various  portions  as  we 
please, 

Equal  is  common  sense  and  common  ease. 

Remember,  Man,  ‘ the  Universal  Cause 
Acts  not  by  partial  but  by  gen’ral  laws,’ 
And  makes  what  Happiness  we  justly  call 
Subsist  not  in  the  good  of  one,  but  all. 
There  ’s  not  a blessing  individuals  find, 

But  some  way  leans  and  hearkens  to  the 
kind;  4o 

No  bandit  fierce,  no  tyrant  mad  with  pride, 
No  cavern’d  hermit,  rests  self-satisfied; 

Who  most  to  shun  or  hate  mankind  pretend, 
Seek  an  admirer,  or  would  fix  a friend. 
Abstract  what  others  feel,  what  others  think, 
All  pleasures  sicken,  and  all  glories  sink: 
Each  has  his  share;  and  who  would  more 
obtain, 

Shall  find  the  pleasure  pays  not  half  the 
pain. 

Order  is  HeavVs  first  law;  and,  this 

^ confest, 

Some  are  and  must  be  greater  than  the 

1 rest,  go 

More  rich,  more  wise:  but  who  infers  from 
hence 

Thai  such  are  happier,  shocks  all  common 
sense. 


Heav’n  to  mankind  impartial  we  confess, 

If  all  are  equal  in  their -happiness: 

But  mutual  wants  this  happiness  increase; 
All  Nature’s  diif’rence  keeps  all  Nature’s 
peace. 

Condition,  circumstance,  is  not  the  thing; 
Bliss  is  the  same  in  subject  or  in  king, 

In  who  obtain  defence,  or  who  defend,  59 
I11  him  who  is,  or  him  who  finds  a friend: 
Heav’n  breathes  thro’  every  member  of  the 
whole 

One  common  blessing,  as  one  common  soul. 
But  Fortune’s  gifts,  if  each  alike  possest, 
And  each  were  equal,  must  not  all  contest  ? 
If  then  to  all  men  happiness  was  meant, 
God  in  externals  could  not  place  content. 

Fortune  her  gifts  may  variously  dispose, 
And  these  be  happy  call’d,  unhappy  those; 
But  HeavVs  just  balance  equal  will  appear, 
While  those  are  placed  in  hope  and  these 
in  fear:  ?0 

Not  present  good  or  ill  the  joy  or  curse, 
But  future  views  of  better  or  of  worse. 

O sons  of  earth  ! attempt  ye  still  to  rise 
By  mountains  piled  on  mountains  to  the 
skies  ? 

Heav’n  still  with  laughter  the  vain  toil  sur- 
veys, 

And  buries  madmen  in  the  heaps  they  raise. 

Know  all  the  good  that  individuals  find, 
Or  God  and  Nature  meant  to  mere  man- 
kind, 

Reason’s  whole  pleasure,  all  the  joys  of 
sense, 

Lie  in  three  words  — Health,  Peace,  and 
Competence.  80 

But  health  consists  with  temperance  alone, 
And  peace,  O Virtue  ! peace  is  all  thy  own. 
The  good  or  bad  the  gifts  of  fortune  gain; 
But  these  less  taste  them  as  they  worse  ob- 
tain. 

Say,  in  pursuit  of  profit  or  delight, 

Who  risk  the  most,  that  take  wrong  means 
or  right  ? 

Of  vice  or  virtue,  whether  blest  or  curst, 
Which  meets  contempt,  or  which  compas- 
sion first  ? 

Count  all  th’  advantage  prosp’rous  vice  at- 
tains, 

’T  is  but  what  virtue  flies  from  and  dis- 
dains : 9o 

And  grant  the  bad  what  happiness  they 
would, 

One  they  must  want,  which  is,  to  pass  for 
good. 


AN  ESSAY  ON  MAN 


*5* 


O blind  to  truth  and  God’s  whole  scheme 
below, 

Who  fancy  bliss  to  vice,  to  virtue  woe  ! 
Who  sees  and  follows  that  great  scheme 
the  best, 

Best  knows  the  blessing,  and  will  most  be 
blest. 

But  fools  the  good  alone  unhappy  call, 

For  ills  or  accidents  that  chance  to  all. 

See  Falkland  dies,  the  virtuous  and  the 
just ! 99 

See  Godlike  Turenne  prostrate  on  the  dust  ! 
See  Sidney  bleeds  amid  the  martial 
strife  ! — 

Was  this  their  virtue,  or  contempt  of  life  ? 
Say,  was  it  virtue,  more  tho’  Heav’n  ne’er 
gave, 

Lamented  Digby  ! sunk  thee  to  the  grave  ? 
Tell  me,  if  virtue  made  the  son  expire, 
Why  full  of  days  and  honour  lives  the  sire  ? 
Why  drew  Marseilles’  good  bishop  purer 
breath 

When  Nature  sicken’d,  and  each  gale  was 
death  ? 

Or  why  so  long  (in  life  if  long  can  be)  109 
Lent  Heav’n  a parent  to  the  poor  and 
me  ? 

What  makes  all  physical  or  moral  ill  ? 
There  deviates  Nature,  and  here  wanders 

Will. 

God  sends  not  ill,  if  rightly  understood, 

Or  partial  ill  is  universal  good, 

Or  change  admits,  or  Nature  lets  it  fall, 
Short  and  but  rare  till  man  improv’d  it  all. 
We  just  as  wisely  might  of  Heav’n  com- 
plain 

That  Righteous  Abel  was  destroy’d  by 
Cain, 

As  that  the  virtuous  son  is  ill  at  ease 
When  his  lewd  father  gave  the  dire  dis- 
ease. 120 

Think  we,  like  some  weak  prince,  th’  Eter- 
nal Cause 

Prone  for  his  fav’rites  to  reverse  his  laws  ? 

IY.  Shall  burning  iEtna,  if  a sage  re- 
quires, 

Forget  to  thunder,  and  recall  her  fires  ? 

On  air  or  sea  new  motions  be  imprest, 

O blameless  Bethel  ! to  relieve  thy  breast  ? 
When  the  loose  mountain  trembles  from  on 
high, 

Shall  gravitation  cease  if  you  go  by  ? 

Or  some  old  temple,  nodding  to  its  fall, 
For  Chartres’  head  reserve  the  hanging 
wall  ? 130 


Y.  But  still  this  world,  so  fitted  for  the 
knave, 

Contents  us  not.  — A better  shall  we  have  ? 
A kingdom  of  the  just  then  let  it  be ; 

But  first  consider  how  those  just  agree. 
The  good  must  merit  God’s  peculiar  care; 
But  who  but  God  can  tell  us  who  they  are  ? 
One  thinks  on  Calvin  Heav’n’s  own  spirit 
fell; 

Another  deems  him  instrument  of  Hell: 

If  Calvin  feel  Heav’n’s  blessing  or  its  rod, 
This  cries  there  is,  and  that,  there  is  no 
God.  140 

What  shocks  one  part  will  edify  the  rest; 
Nor  with  one  system  can  they  all  be  blest. 
The  very  best  will  variously  incline, 

And  what  rewards  your  virtue  punish  mine. 
Whatever  is,  is  right.  — This  world,  ’t  is  true, 
Was  made  for  Ca>sar — but  for  Titus  too: 
And  which  more  bless’d  ? who  chain’d  his 
country,  say, 

Or  he  whose  virtue  sigh’d  to  lose  a day  ? 

YI.  ‘ But  sometimes  Virtue  starves  while 
Vice  is  fed.’  149 

What  then  ? is  the  reward  of  virtue  bread  ? 
That  vice  may  merit;  ’t  is  the  price  of  toil; 
The  knave  deserves  it  when  he  tills  the  soil, 
The  knave  deserves  it  when  he  tempts  the 
main, 

Where  Folly  fights  for  kings  or  dives  for 
gain. 

The  good  man  may  be  weak,  be  indolent; 
Nor  is  his  claim  to  plenty  but  content. 

But  grant  him  riches,  your  demand  is  o’er. 
‘ No:  shall  the  good  want  health,  the  good 
want  power  ? ’ 

Add  health  and  power,  and  every  earthly 
thing. 

‘ Why  bounded  power  ? why  private  ? why 
no  king  ? 160 

Nay,  why  external  for  internal  giv’n  ? 

Why  is  not  man  a God,  and  earth  9 
Heav’n  ? ’ 

Who  ask  and  reason  thus  will  scarce  con- 
ceive 

God  gives  enough  while  he  has  more  to 
give: 

Immense  the  power,  immense  were  the 
demand ; 

Say  at  what  part  of  Nature  will  they 
stand  ? 

What  nothing  earthly  gives  or  can  de- 
stroy, 

The  soul’s  calm  sunshine  and  the  heartfelt 

j°y> 


AN  ESSAY  ON  MAN 


*53 


Is  Virtue’s  prize.  A better  would  you  fix  ? 
Then  give  humility  a coach  and  six,  170 
Justice  a conqueror’s  sword,  or  truth  a 
gown, 

Or  public  spirit  its  great  cure,  a crown. 
Weak,  foolish  man!  will  Heav’n  reward  us 
there 

With  the  same  trash  mad  mortals  wish  for 
here  ? 

The  boy  and  man  an  individual  makes, 

Yet  sigh’st  thou  now  for  apples  and  for 
cakes  ? 

Go,  like  the  Indian,  in  another  life 
Expect  thy  dog,  thy  bottle,  and  thy  wife; 
As  well  as  dream  such  trifles  are  assign’d, 
As  toys  and  empires,  for  a godlike  mind:  180 
Rewards,  that  either  would  to  Virtue  bring 
No  joy,  or  be  destructive  of  the  thing: 

How  oft  by  these  at  sixty  are  undone 
The  virtues  of  a saint  at  twenty-one! 

To  whom  can  Riches  give  repute  or  trust, 
Content  or  pleasure,  but  the  good  and  just  ? 
Judges  and  senates  have  been  bought  for 
gold, 

Esteem  and  Love  were  never  to  be  sold. 

0 fool!  to  think  God  hates  the  worthy 

mind, 

The  lover  and  the  love  of  humankind,  190 
Whose  life  is  healthful,  and  whose  con- 
science clear, 

Because  he  wants  a thousand  pounds  a 
year. 

Honour  and  shame  from  no  condition  rise; 
Act  well  your  part:  there  all  the  honour  lies. 
Fortune  in  men  has  some  small  diff’rence 
made; 

One  flaunts  in  rags,  one  flutters  in  brocade, 
The  cobbler  apron’d,  and  the  parson  gown’d ; 
The  friar  hooded,  and  the  monarch  crown’d. 

‘ What  differ  more,’  you  cry,  ‘ than  crown 
and  cowl  ? ’ 

1 ’ll  tell  you,  friend!  a wise  man  and  a 

| fool.  200 

You  ’ll  find,  if  once  the  monarch  acts  the 
monk, 

Or,  cobbler-like,  the  parson  'will  be  drunk, 
Worth  makes  the  man,  and  want  of  it  the 
fellow, 

The  rest  is  all  but  leather  or  prunella. 

Stuck  o’er  with  titles,  and  hung  round 
with  strings, 

j That  thou  mayst  be  by  kings,  or  whores  of 
kings, 

1 Boast  the  pure  blood  of  an  illustrious  race, 
Iu  quiet  flow  from  Lucrece  to  Lucrece: 


But  by  your  fathers’  worth  if  yours  you 
rate, 

Count  me  those  only  who  were  good  and 
great.  2 10 

Go!  if  your  ancient  but  ignoble  blood 
Has  crept  thro’  scoundrels  ever  since  the 
flood, 

Go!  and  pretend  your  family  is  young, 

Nor  own  your  fathers  have  been  fools  so 
long. 

What  can  ennoble  sots,  or  slaves,  or  cow- 
ards ? 

Alas!  not  all  the  blood  of  all  the  Howards. 

Look  next  on  Greatness:  say  where 
Greatness  lies. 

‘ Where  but  among  the  heroes  and  the 
wise  ? ’ 

Heroes  are  much  the  same,  the  point ’s 
agreed,  219 

From  Macedonia’s  madman  to  the  Swede; 
The  whole  strange  purpose  of  their  lives  to 
find, 

Or  make,  an  enemy  of  all  mankind! 

Not  one  looks  backward,  onward  still  he 
goes, 

Yet  ne’er  looks  forward  further  than  his 
nose. 

No  less  alike  the  politic  and  wise; 

All  sly  slow  things  with  circumspective 
eyes: 

Men  in  their  loose  unguarded  hours  they 
take, 

Not  that  themselves  are  wise,  but  others 
weak. 

But  grant  that  those  can  conquer,  these  can 
cheat:  229 

’T  is  phrase  absurd  to  call  a villain  great. 
Who  wickedly  is  wise,  or  madly  brave, 

Is  but  the  more  a fool,  the  more  a knave. 
Who  noble  ends  by  noble  means  obtains, 

Or  failing,  smiles  in  exile  or  in  chains, 

Like  good  Aurelius  let  him  reign,  or  bleed 
Like  Socrates:  — that  man  is  great  in- 
deed! 

What ’s  fame  ? a fancied  life  in  others’ 
breath ; 

A thing  beyond  us,  ev’n  before  our  death. 
Just  what  you  hear  you  have;  and  what’s 
unknown 

The  same,  my  lord,  if  Tully’s  or  your 
own.  24< 

All  that  we  feel  of  it  begins  and  ends 
In  the  small  circle  of  our  foes  or  friends; 
To  all  beside  as  much  an  empty  shade, 

An  Eugene  living  as  a Caesar  dead; 


iS4 


AN  ESSAY  ON  MAN 


Alike  or  when  or  where,  they  shone  or 
shine, 

Or  on  the  Rubicon  or  on  the  Rhine. 

A Wit’s  a feather,  and  a Chief  a rod; 

An  Honest  Man ’s  the  noblest  work  of  God. 
Fame  but  from  death  a villain’s  name  can 
save,  249 

As  Justice  tears  his  body  from  the  grave; 
When  what  t’  oblivion  better  were  resign’d 
Is  hung  on  high,  to  poison  half  mankind. 
All  fame  is  foreign  but  of  true  desert, 
Plays  round  the  head,  but  comes  not  to  the 
heart: 

One  self-approving  hour  whole  years  out- 
weighs 

Of  stupid  starers  and  of  loud  huzzas: 

And  more  true  joy  Marcellus  exiled  feels 
Than  Csesar  with  a senate  at  his  heels. 

I11  Parts  superior  what  advantage  lies  ? 
Tell  (for  you  can)  what  is  it  to  be  wise  ? 260 
’T  is  but  to  know  how  little  can  be  known, 
To  see  all  others’  faults,  and  feel  our  own: 
Condemn’d  in  bus’ness  or  in  arts  to  drudge, 
Without  a second,  or  without  a judge. 
Truths  would  you  teach,  or  save  a sinking 
land  ? 

All  fear,  none  aid  you,  and  few  understand. 
Painful  preeminence!  yourself  to  view 
Above  life’s  weakness,  and  its  comforts  too. 
Bring  then  these  blessings  to  a strict 
account; 

Make  fair  deductions;  see  to  what  they 
mount;  270 

How  much  of  other- each  is  sure  to  cost; 
How  each  for  other  oft  is  wholly  lost; 

How  inconsistent  greater  goods  with  these; 
How  sometimes  life  is  risk’d,  and  always 
ease. 

Think,  and  if  still  the  things  thy  envy  call, 
Say,  wouldst  thou  be  the  man  to  whom 
they  fall  ? 

To  sigh  for  ribands  if  thou  art  so  silly, 
Mark  how  they  graoe  Lord  Umbra  or  Sir 
Billy. 

Is  yellow  dirt  the  passion  of  thy  life  ? 

Look  but  on  Gripus  or  on  Gripus’  wife.  380 
If  parts  allure  thee,  think  howBacon  shined, 
The  wisest,  brightest,  meanest  of  mankind! 
Or,  ravish’d  with  the  whistling  of  a name, 
See  Cromwell  damn’d  to  everlasting  fame! 
If  all  united  thy  ambition  call, 

From  ancient  story  learn  to  scorn  them  all: 
There  in  the  rich,  the  honour’d,  famed,  and 
great, 

See  the  false  scale  of  Happiness  complete! 


In  hearts  of  Kings  or  arms  of  Queens  who 
lay, 

How  happy  those  to  ruin,  these  betray.  290 
Mark  by  what  wretched  steps  their  glory 
grows, 

From  dirt  and  sea-weed,  as  proud  Venice 
rose ; 

In  each  how  guilt  and  greatness  equal  ran, 
And  all  that  rais’d  the  Hero  sunk  the  Man: 
Now  Europe’s  laurels  on  their  brows  be- 
hold, 

But  stain’d  with  blood,  or  ill-exchanged 
for  gold; 

Then  see  them  broke  with  toils,  or  sunk  in 
ease, 

Or  infamous  for  plunder’d  provinces. 

O wealth  ill-fated!  which  no  act  of  fame 
E’er  taught  to  shine,  or  sanctified  from 
shame ! 3oo 

What  greater  bliss  attends  their  close  of 
life? 

Some  greedy  minion,  or  imperious  wife, 
The  trophied  arches,  storied  halls  invade, 
And  haunt  their  slumbers  in  the  pompous 
shade. 

Alas!  not  dazzled  with  their  noontide  ray, 
Compute  the  morn  and  ev’ning  to  the 
day; 

The  whole  amount  of  that  enormous  fame, 
A tale  that  blends  their  glory  with  their 
shame ! 

VII.  Know  then  this  truth  (enough  for 
man  to  know), 

‘ Virtue  alone  is  happiness  below;’  310 
The  only  point  where  human  bliss  stands 
still, 

And  tastes  the  good  without  the  fall  to  ill; 
Where  only  merit  constant  pay  receives, 

Is  bless’d  in  what  it  takes  and  what  it 
gives ; 

The  joy  uuequall’d  if  its  end  it  gain, 

And,  if  it  lose,  attended  with  no  pain; 
Withont  satiety,  tlio’  e’er  so  bless’d, 

And  but  more  relish’d  as  the  more  dis- 
tress’d : 

The  broadest  mirth  unfeeling  Folly  wears, 
Less  pleasing  far  than  Virtue’s  very  tears: 
Good  from  each  object,  from  each  place 
acquired,  321 

For  ever  exercised,  yet  never  tired; 

Never  elated  while  one  man ’s  oppress’d; 
Never  dejected  while  another’s  bless’d: 
And  where  no  wants,  no  wishes  can  re- 
main, 

Since  but  to  wish  more  virtue  is  to  gain. 


AN  ESSAY  ON  MAN 


See  the  sole  bliss  Heav’n  could  on  all  be- 
stow! 

Which  who  but  feels  can  taste,  but  thinks 
can  know: 

Yet  poor  with  fortune,  and  with  learning 
blind, 

The  bad  must  miss,  the  good  untaught  will 
find : 330 

Slave  to  no  sect,  who  takes  no  private 
road, 

But  looks  thro’  Nature  up  to  Nature’s 
God; 

Pursues  that  chain  which  links  th’  immense 
design, 

Joins  Heav’n  and  earth,  and  mortal  and 
divine; 

Sees  that  no  being  any  bliss  can  know, 

But  touches  some  above  and  some  below; 
Learns  from  this  union  of  the  rising  whole 
The  first,  last  purpose  of  the  human  soul; 
And  knows  where  faith,  law,  morals,  all 
began, 

All  end,  in  love  of  God  and  love  of  Man. 

For  him  alone  Hope  leads  from  goal  to 
goal,  341 

And  opens  still  and  opens  on  his  soul, 

Till  lengthen’d  on  to  faith,  and  unconfin’d, 
It  pours  the  bliss  that  fills  up  all  the  mind. 
He  sees  why  Nature  plants  in  man  alone 
Hope  of  known  bliss,  and  faith  in  bliss  un- 
known 

(Nature,  whose  dictates  to  no  other  kind 
Are  giv’n  in  vain,  but  what  they  seek  they 
find): 

Wise  is  her  present;  she  connects  in  this 
His  greatest  virtue  with  his  greatest  bliss; 
At  once  his  own  bright  prospect  to  be 
blest,  351 

And  strongest  motive  to  assist  the  rest. 

Self-love  thus  push’d  to  social,  to  Divine, 
Gives  thee  to  make  thy  neighbour’s  bless- 
ing thine. 

Is  this  too  little  for  the  boundless  heart  ? 
Extend  it,  let  thy  enemies  have  part: 

Grasp  the  whole  world  of  reason,  life,  and 
sense, 

In  one  close  system  of  benevolence: 

Happier  as  kinder,  in  whate’er  degree, 

And  height  of  Bliss  but  height  of  Charity. 

God  loves  from  whole  to  parts:  but  hu- 
man SOul  361 

Must  rise  from  individual  to  the  whole. 


*55 


Self-love  but  serves  the  virtuous  mind  to 
wake, 

As  the  small  pebble  stirs  the  peaceful  lake; 
The  centre  mov’d,  a circle  straight  suc- 
ceeds, 

Another  still,  and  still  another  spreads; 
Friends,  parent,  neighbour,  first  it  will  em- 
brace ; 

His  country  next;  and  next  all  human  race; 
Wide  and  more  wide,  th’  o’erflo  wings  of  the 
mind 

Take  ev’ry  creature  in  of  ev’ry  kind:  370 
Earth  smiles  around,  with  boundless  bounty 
blest. 

And  Heav’n  beholds  its  image  in  his  breast. 

Come  then,  my  Friend!  my  Genius! 
come  along, 

O master  of  the  poet  and  the  song! 

And  while  the  Muse  now  stoops,  or  now 
ascends, 

To  man’s  low  passions,  or  their  glorious 
ends, 

Teach  me,  like  thee,  in  various  nature  wise, 
To  fall  with  dignity,  with  temper  rise: 
Form’d  by  thy  converse,  happily  to  steer 
From  grave  to  gay,  from  lively  to  severe; 
Correct  with  spirit,  eloquent  with  ease,  381 
Intent  to  reason,  or  polite  to  please. 

O!  while  along  the  stream  of  time  thy 
name 

Expanded  flies,  and  gathers  all  its  fame, 
Say,  shall  my  little  bark  attendant  sail, 
Pursue  the  triumph,  and  partake  the  gale  ? 
When  statesmen,  heroes,  kings,  in  dust  re- 
pose, 

Whose  sons  shall  blush  their  fathers  were 
thy  foes, 

Shall  then  this  verse  to  future  age  pretend 
Thou  wert  my  guide,  philosopher,  and 
friend  ? 39o 

That,  urged  by  thee,  I turn’d  the  tuneful 
art 

From  sounds  to  things,  from  fancy  to  the 
heart: 

For  Wit’s  false  mirror  held  up  Nature’s 
light, 

Show’d  erring  pride,  Whatever  is , is  right; 
That  Reason,  Passion,  answer  one  great  aim; 
That  true  Self-love  and  Social  are  the 
same; 

That  Virtue  only  makes  our  bliss  below, 
And  all  our  knowledge  is,  ourselves  to  know. 


MORAL  ESSAYS 


rtf 


MORAL  ESSAYS 


Bat  brevitate  opus,  ut  currat  sententia,  neu  se 
Impediat  verbis  lassas  onerantibus  aures  : 

Et  sermone  opus  est  modo  tristi,  stepe  jocoso, 
Defendente  vicem  modo  rlietoris  atque  poetae, 
Interdum  urbani,  parcentis  viribus,  atque 
Extenuautie  eas  consulto. 

Horace. 


The  present  order  of  the  Moral  Essays  is  very- 
different  from  that  of  their  original  publication. 
The  fifth  epistle  (to  Addison)  was  written  in 
1715,  and  published  five  years  later  in  Tickell’s 
edition  of  Addison’s  works.  The  fourth  epis- 
tle (to  the  Earl  of  Burlington)  was  published 
in  1731,  under  the  title  Of  Taste.  The  third 
epistle  (to  Lord  Bathurst)  was  published  in 
1732,  and  followed  in  1733  by  the  first  epistle 
(to  Lord  Cobham).  The  second  epistle  (to  a 

ADVERTISEMENT 
BY  DR.  WARBURTON 

The  Essay  on  Man  was  intended  to  be  com- 
prised in  four  books  : — 

The  first  of  which  the  author  has  given  us 
under  that  title  in  four  epistles. 

The  second  was  to  have  consisted  of  the  same 
number  : 1.  Of  the  extent  and  limits  of  human 
reason.  2.  Of  those  arts  and  sciences,  and  of 
the  parts  of  them,  which  are  useful,  and  there- 
fore attainable  ; together  with  those  which  are 
unuseful,  and  therefore  unattainable.  3.  Of 
the  nature,  ends,  use,  and  application  of  the 
different  capacities  of  men.  4.  Of  the  use  of 
learning ; of  the  science  of  the  world ; and  of 
wit ; concluding  with  a satire  against  the  mis- 
application of  them,  illustrated  by  pictures, 
characters,  and  examples. 

The  third  book  regarded  civil  regimen,  or 
the  science  of  politics ; in  which  the  several 
forms  of  a republic  were  to  be  examined  and 
explained  ; together  with  the  several  modes  of 
religious  worship,  as  far  forth  as  they  affect 
society  : between  which  the  author  always  sup- 
posed there  was  the  most  interesting  relation 
and  closest  connection.  So  that  this  part  would 
have  treated  of  civil  and  religious  society  in 
their  full  extent. 

The  fourth  and  last  book  concerned  private 
ethics,  or  practical  morality,  considered  in  all 
the  circumstances,  orders,  professions,  and  sta- 
tions of  human  life. 

The  scheme  of  all  this  had  been  maturely 
digested,  and  communicated  to  Lord  Boling- 
broke,  Dr.  Swift,  and  one  or  two  more ; and 
was  intended  for  the  only  work  of  his  riper 


Lady)  was  published  in  1735.  The  whole  se- 
ries appeared  in  their  present  order,  under  the 
direction  of  Warburton,  after  Pope’s  death. 

Though  it  is  doubtful  how  far  it  suggests 
Pope’s  primary  intention,  Warburton’s  Adver- 
tisement is  here  printed  because  Pope  undoubt- 
edly wished  it,  with  its  flattering  implication  of 
his  philosophical  breadth,  to  be  accepted  as  a 
true  statement  of  a plan  which  was  plainly 
broader  than  its  execution. 

years;  hut  was,  partly  through  ill  health, 
partly  through  discouragements  from  the  de- 
pravity of  the  times ; and  partly  on  prudential 
and  other  considerations,  interrupted,  post- 
poned, and  lastlj7,  in  a manner,  laid  aside. 

But  as  this  was  the  author’s  favourite  work, 
which  more  exactly  reflected  the  image  of  his 
strong  capacious  mind,  and  as  we  can  have  but 
a very  imperfect  idea  of  it  from  the  disjecta 
membra  poet ce  that  now  remain,  it  may  not  be 
amiss  to  be  a little  more  particular  concerning 
each  of  these  projected  books. 

The  first,  as  it  treats  of  man  in  the  abstract, 
and  considers  him  in  general  under  every  one 
of  his  relations,  becomes  the  foundation,  and 
furnishes  out  the  subjects  of  the  three  follow- 
ing : so  that  — 

The  second  book  was  to  take  up  again  the 
first  and  second  epistles  of  the  first  book,  and 
to  treat  of  man  in  his  intellectual  capacity  at 
large,  as  has  been  explained  above.  Of  this 
only  a small  part  of  the  conclusion  (which, 
as  we  said,  was  to  have  contained  a satire 
against  the  misapplication  of  wit  and  learning) 
may  be  found  in  the  fourth  book  of  the  Dun- 
ciad ; and  up  and  down,  occasionally,  in  the 
other  three. 

The  third  book,  in  like  manner,  was  to  reas- 
sume the  subject  of  the  third  epistle  of  the 
first,  which  treats  of  man  in  his  social,  political, 
and  religious  capacity.  But  this  part  the  poet 
afterwards  conceived  might  be  best  executed  in 
an  epic  poem,  as  the  action  wmuld  make  it  more 
animated,  and  the  fable  less  invidious  ; in  which 
all  the  great  principles  of  true  and  false  gov- 
ernments and  religions  should  be  chiefly  de- 
livered in  feigned  examples. 

The  fourth  and  last  book  was  to  pursue  the 


MORAL  ESSAYS 


iS7 


subject  of  the  fourth  epistle  of  the  first,  and  to 
treat  of  ethics,  or  practical  morality ; and  would 
have  consisted  of  many  members,  of  which  the 
four  following1  epistles  are  detached  portions; 
the  two  first,  on  the  characters  of  men  and  wo- 
men, being  the  introductory  part  of  this  con- 
cluding book. 

EPISTLE  I 

TO  SIR  RICHARD  TEMPLE,  LORD  COBHAM 

OF  THE  KNOWLEDGE  AND  CHARACTERS 
OF  MEN 

ARGUMENT 

I.  That  it  is  not  sufficient  for  this  knowledge  to 
consider  Man  in  the  abstract ; Books  will  not 
serve  the  purpose,  nor  yet  our  own  Experi- 
ence singly.  General  maxims,  unless  they 
be  formed  upon  both,  will  be  but  notional. 
Some  peculiarity  in  every  man,  characteristic 
to  himself,  yet  varying  from  himself.  Diffi- 
culties arising  from  our  own  Passions,  Fan- 
cies, Faculties,  &c.  The  shortness  of  Life 
to  observe  in,  and  the  uncertainty  of  the 
Principles  of  action  in  men  to  observe  by. 
Our  own  Principle  of  action  often  hid  from 
ourselves.  Some  few  Characters  plain,  but 
in  general  confounded,  dissembled,  or  incon- 
sistent. The  same  man  utterly  different  in 
different  places  and  seasons.  Unimaginable 
weaknesses  in  the  greatest.  Nothing  constant 
and  certain  but  God  and  Nature.  No  judg- 
ing of  the  Motives  from  the  actions ; the 
same  actions  proceeding  from  contrary  Mo- 
tives, and  the  same  Motives  influencing  con- 
trary actions.  II.  Yet  to  form  Characters 
we  can  only  take  the  strongest  actions  of  a 
| man’s  life,  and  try  to  make  them  agree  : the 
utter  uncertainty  of  this,  from  Nature  itself, 
and  from  Policy.  Characters  given  accord- 
: ing  to  the  rank  of  men  of  the  world  ; and 

some  reason  for  it.  Education  alters  the  Na- 
: ture,  or  at  least  the  Character,  of  many.  Ac- 

( tions.  Passions,  Opinions,  Manners,  Humours, 

I or  Principles,  all  subject  to  change.  No 
judging  by  Nature.  III.  It  only  remains  to 
, find  (if  we  can)  his  Ruling  Passion : that 
will  certainly  influence  all  the  rest,  and  can 
reconcile  the  seeming  or  real  inconsistency 
of  all  his  actions.  Instanced  in  the  extra- 
ordinary character  of  Clodio.  A caution 
against  mistaking  second  qualities  for  first, 
which  will  destroy  all  possibility  of  the  know- 
! ledge  of  mankind.  Examples  of  the  strength 
of  the  Ruling  Passion,  and  its  continuation 
to  the  last  breath. 


Yes,  you  despise  the  man  to  books  con- 
fin’d, 

Who  from  his  study  rails  at  humankind; 
Tho’  what  he  learns  he  speaks,  and  may 
advance 

Some  gen’ral  maxims,  or  be  right  by 
chance. 

The  coxcomb  bird,  so  talkative  and  grave, 
That  from  his  cage  cries  cuckold,  whore, 
and  knave, 

Tho’  many  a passenger  he  rightly  call, 

You  hold  him  no  philosopher  at  all. 

And  yet  the  fate  of  all  extremes  is  such, 
Men  may  be  read,  as  well  as  books,  too 
much.  io 

To  observations  which  ourselves  we  make, 
We  grow  more  partial  for  th’  observer’s 
sake; 

To  written  wisdom,  as  another’s,  less: 
Maxims  are  drawn  from  Notions,  those 
from  Guess. 

There ’s  some  peculiar  in  each  leaf  and 
grain, 

Some  un mark’d  fibre,  or  some  varying  vein. 
Shall  only  man  be  taken  in  the  gross  ? 
Grant  but  as  many  sorts  of  mind  as  moss. 

That  each  from  other  differs,  first  confess; 
Next,  that  he  varies  from  himself  no  less: 
And  Nature’s,  Custom’s,  Reason’s,  Pas- 
sion’s strife,  21 

And  all  Opinion’s  colours  cast  on  life. 

Our  depths  who  fathoms,  or  our  shallows 
finds, 

Quick  whirls  and  shifting  eddies  of  our 
minds  ? 

On  human  actions  reason  tho’  you  can, 

It  may  be  Reason,  but  it  is  not  Man: 

His  Principle  of  action  once  explore, 

That  instant ’t  is  his  Principle  no  more. 
Like  following  life  thro’  creatures  you  dis- 
sect, 

You  lose  it  in  the  moment  you  detect.  30 

Yet  more;  the  diff’rence  is  as  great  be- 
tween 

The  optics  seeing  as  the  objects  seen. 

All  Manners  take  a tincture  from  our  own, 
Or  come  discolour’d  thro’  our  Passions 
shown; 

Or  Fancy’s  beam  enlarges,  multiplies, 
Contracts,  inverts,  and  gives  ten  thousand 
dyes. 

Nor  will  life’s  stream  for  observation 
stay, 

It  hurries  all  too  fast  to  mark  their  way: 


>58 


MORAL  ESSAYS 


In  vain  sedate  reflections  we  would  make, 
When  half  our  knowledge  we  must  snatch, 
not  take.  4o 

Oft  in  the  Passions’  wide  rotation  toss’d, 
Our  spring  of  action  to  ourselves  is  lost: 
Tired,  not  determin’d,  to  the  last  we  yield, 
And  what  comes  then  is  master  of  the  field. 
As  the  last  image  of  that  troubled  heap, 
When  Sense  subsides,  and  Fancy  sports  in 
sleep 

(Tho’  past  the  recollection  of  the  thought), 
Becomes  the  stuff  of  which  our  dream  is 
wrought: 

Something  as  dim  to  our  internal  view  49 
Is  thus,  perhaps,  the  cause  of  most  we  do. 

True,  some  are  open,  and  to  all  men 
known; 

Others  so  very  close  they  ’re  hid  from  none 
(So  darkness  strikes  the  sense  no  less  than 
light): 

Thus  gracious  Chandos  is  belov’d  at  sight; 
And  ev’ry  child  hates  Shylock,  tho’  his 
soul 

Still  sits  at  squat,  and  peeps  not  from  its 
hole. 

At  half  mankind  when  gen’rous  Manly 
raves, 

All  know  ’t  is  virtue,  for  he  thinks  them 
knaves: 

When  universal  homage  Umbra  pays, 

All  see ’t  is  vice,  and  itch  of  vulgar  praise. 
When  Flatt’ry  glares,  all  hate  it  in  a 
Queen,  61 

While  one  there  is  who  charms  us  with  his 
spleen. 

But  these  plain  Characters  we  rarely 
find ; 

Tho’  strong  the  bent,  yet  quick  the  turns 
of  mind: 

Or  puzzling  contraries  confound  the  whole; 
Or  affectations  quite  reverse  the  soul. 

The  dull  flat  falsehood  serves  for  policy; 
And  in  the  cunning  truth  itself  *s  a lie: 
Unthought-of  frailties  cheat  us  in  the  wise: 
The  fool  lies  hid  in  inconsistencies.  70 

See  the  same  man,,  in  vigour,  in  the  gout; 
Alone,  in  company,  in  place,  or  out; 

Early  at  bus’ness,  and  at  hazard  late, 

Mad  at  a fox-chase,  wise  at  a debate, 

Drunk  at  a Borough,  civil  at  a Ball, 
Friendly  at  Hackney,  faithless  at  White- 
hall! 

Catius  is  ever  moral,  ever  grave, 

Thinks  who  endures  a knave  is  next  a 
knave, 


Save  just  at  dinner  — then  prefers,  no 
doubt, 

A rogue  with  ven’son  to  a saint  without.  8c 
Who  would  not  praise  Patricio’s  high 
desert, 

His  hand  unstain’d,  his  uncorrupted  heart, 
His  comprehensive  head?  all  int’rests 
weigh’d, 

All  Europe  saved,  yet  Britain  not  betray’d! 
He  thanks  you  not,  his  pride  is  in  Piquet, 
Newmarket  fame,  and  judgment  at  a bet. 
What  made  (say,  Montaigne,  or  more 
sage  Charron) 

Otho  a warrior,  Cromwell  a buffoon  ? 

A perjured  prince  a leaden  saint  revere, 

A godless  regent  tremble  at  a star  ? ga 
The  throne  a bigot  keep,  a genius  quit, 
Faithless  thro’  piety,  and  duped  thro’  wit  ? 
Europe  a woman,  child,  or  dotard,  rule; 
And  just  her  wisest  monarch  made  a fool  ? 
Know,  God  and  Nature  only  are  the 
same: 

In  man  the  judgment  shoots  at  flying  game; 
A bird  of  passage!  gone  as  soon  as  found; 
Now  in  the  moon,  perhaps  now  under 
ground. 

In  vain  the  sage,  with  retrospective  eye, 
Would  from  th’  apparent  What  conclude 
the  "W  hy,  IOO 

Infer  the  Motive  from  the  Deed,  and  show 
That  what  we  chanced  was  what  we  meant 
to  do. 

Behold!  if  Fortune  or  a Mistress  frowns, 
Some  plunge  in  bus’ness,  others  shave  their 
crowns: 

To  ease  the  soul  of  one  oppressive  weight, 
This  quits  an  empire,  that  embroils  a state. 
The  same  adust  complexion  has  impell’d 
Charles  to  the  convent,  Philip  to  the  field. 
Not  always  Actions  show  the  man:  we 
find  I09 

Who  does  a kindness  is  not  therefore  kind; 
Perhaps  Prosperity  becalm’d  his  breast; 
Perhaps  the  wind  just  shifted  from  the 
east : 

Not  therefore  humble  he  who  seeks  retreat; 
Pride  guides  his  steps,  and  bids  him  shun 
the  great: 

Who  combats  bravely  is  not  therefore 
brave; 

He  dreads  a death-bed  like  the  meanest 
slave: 

Who  reasons  wisely  is  not  therefore  wise; 
His  pride  in  reas’ning,  not  in  acting,  lies. 


MORAL  ESSAYS 


*59 


But  grant  that  Actions  best  discover 
man ; 

Take  the  most  strong,  and  sort  them  as  you 
can:  I20 

The  few  that  glare  each  character  must 
mark ; 

You  balance  not  the  many  in  the  dark. 
What  will  you  do  with  such  as  disagree  ? 
Suppress  them,  or  miscall  them  Policy  ? 
Must  then  at  once  (the  character  to  save) 
The  plain  rough  hero  turn  a crafty  knave  ? 
Alas!  in  truth  the  man  but  changed  his 
mind ; 

Perhaps  was  sick,  in  love,  or  had  not  din’d. 
Ask  why  from  Britain  Csesar  would  re- 
treat ? 129 

Cffisar  himself  might  whisper  he  was  beat. 
Why  risk  the  world’s  great  empire  for  a 
punk  ? 

Caesar  perhaps  might  answer,  he  was 
drunk. 

But,  sage  historians!  ’t  is  your  task  to  prove 
One  action,  Conduct,  one,  heroic  Love. 

’T  is  from  high  life  high  characters  are 
drawn; 

A saint  in  crape  is  twice  a saint  in  lawn ; 

A judge  is  just,  a chancellor  juster  still; 

A gownman  learn’d;  a bishop  what  you 
will; 

Wise  if  a minister;  but  if  a king, 

More  wise,  more  learn’d,  more  just,  more 
ev’ry  thing.  r4o 

Court-virtues  bear,  like  gems,  the  highest 
rate, 

Born  where  Heav’n’s  influence  scarce  can 
penetrate. 

In  life’s  low  vale,  the  soil  the  virtues  like, 
They  please  as  beauties,  here  as  wonders 
strike. 

Tho’  the  same  sun,  with  all-diffusive 
rays, 

Blush  in  the  rose,  and  in  the  diamond 
blaze, 

We  prize  the  stronger  effort  of  his  power, 
And  justly  set  the  gem  above  the  flower. 

’T  is  education  forms  the  common  mind; 
Just  as  the  twig  is  bent  the  tree ’s  inclin’d. 
Boastful  and  rough,  your  first  son  is  a 
Squire;  I51 

The  next  a Tradesman,  meek,  and  much  a 
liar; 

Tom  struts  a Soldier,  open,  bold,  and 
brave ; 

Will  sneaks  a Scriv’ner,  an  exceeding 
knave. 


Is  he  a Churchman  ? then  he’s  fond  of'] 
power: 

A Quaker  ? sly:  a Presbyterian  ? sour: 

A smart  Free-thinker  ? all  things  in  an  I 
hour.  J 

Ask  men’s  opinions!  Scoto  now  shall  tell 
How  trade  increases,  and  the  world  goes 
well: 

Strike  off  his  pension  by  the  setting  sun,  160 
And  Britain,  if  not  Europe,  is  undone. 

That  gay  Free-thinker,  a fine  talker  once, 
What  turns  him  now  a stupid  silent  dunce  ? 
Some  god  or  spirit  he  has  lately  found, 

Or  chanced  to  meet  a Minister  that 
frown’d. 

Judge  we  by  Nature  ? Habit  can  efface, 
Int’rest  o’ercome,  or  Policy  take  place: 

By  Actions  ? those  Uncertainty  divides: 

By  Passions?  these  Dissimulation  hides: 
Opinions  ? they  still  take  a wider  range: 
Find,  if  you  can,  in  what  you  cannot 
change.  i7l 

Manners  with  Fortunes,  Humours  turn 
with  Climes, 

Tenets  with  Books,  and  Principles  with 
Times. 

Search  then  the  Ruling  Passion:  there 
alone, 

The  wild  are  constant,  and  the  cunning 
known; 

The  fool  consistent,  and  the  false  sincere; 
Priests,  princes,  women,  no  dissemblers 
here. 

This  clue  once  found  unravels  all  the  rest, 
The  prospect  clears,  and  Wharton  stands 
contest: 

Wharton!  the  scorn  and  wonder  of  our 
days,  t t8o 

Whose  Ruling  Passion  was  the  lust  of 
praise: 

Born  with  whate’er  could  win  it  from  the 
wise, 

Women  and  fools  must  like  him,  or  he  dies: 
Tho’  wond’ring  Senates  hung  on  all  he 
spoke, 

The  Club  must  hail  him  master  of  the  joke. 
Shall  parts  so  various  aim  at  nothing  new  ? 
He  ’ll  shine  a Tully  and  a Wilmot  too: 

Then  turns  repentant,  and  his  God  adores 
With  the  same  spirit  that  he  drinks  and 
whores ; 

Enough  if  all  around  him  but  admire,  190 
And  now  the  Punk  applaud,  and  now  the 
Friar. 


4* 

f '*» 


? 

« 


Iff." 


i6o 


MORAL  ESSAYS 


Thus  with  each  gift  of  Nature  and  of  Art, 
And  wanting  nothing  but  an  honest  heart; 
Grown  all  to  all,  from  no  one  vice  exempt, 
And  most  contemptible,  to  shun  contempt; 
His  passion  still  to  covet  gen’ral  praise; 

His  life,  to  forfeit  it  a thousand  ways; 

A constant  bounty  which  no  friend  has 
made; 

An  angel  tongue  which  no  man  can  per- 
suade ! 

A fool  with  more  of  wit  than  half  man- 
kind, 200 

Too  rash  for  thought,  for  action  too  refin’d; 
A tyrant  to  the  wife  his  heart  approves; 

A rebel  to  the  very  king  he  loves  — 

He  dies,  sad  outcast  of  each  church  and 
state, 

And,  harder  still!  flagitious,  yet  not  great! 
Ask  you  why  Wharton  broke  thro’  ev’ry 
rule  ? 

’T  was  all  for  fear  the  Knaves  should  call 
him  Fool. 

Nature  well  known,  no  prodigies  remain; 
Comets  are  regular,  and  Wharton  plain. 

Yet  in  this  search  the  wisest  may  mis- 
take, 210 

If  second  qualities  for  first  they  take. 

When  Catiline  by  rapine  swell’d  his  store, 
When  Csesar  made  a noble  dame  a whore, 
In  this  the  Lust,  in  that  the  Avarice 
Were  means,  not  ends;  Ambition  was  the 
vice. 

That  very  C?esar,  born  in  Scipio’s  days, 
Had  aim’d,  like  him,  by  chastity  at  praise, 
Lucullus,  when  Frugality  could  charm, 

Had  roasted  turnips  in  the  Sabine  farm. 

In  vain  th’  observer  eyes  the  builder’s  toil, 
But  quite  mistakes  the  scaffold  for  the 
pile.  221 

In  this  one  passion  man  can  strength  en- 

joy? 

As  fits  give  vigour  just  when  they  destroy. 
Time,  that  on  all  things  lays  his  lenient 
hand, 

Yet  tames  not  this;  it  sticks  to  our  last 
sand. 

Consistent  in  our  follies  and  our  sins, 

Here  honest  Nature  ends  as  she  begins. 

Old  politicians  chew  on  wisdom  past, 
And  totter  on  in  bus’ness  to  the  last; 

As  weak,  as  earnest,  and  as  gravely  out  230 
As  sober  Lanesb’row  dancing  in  the  gout. 

Behold  a rev’rend  sire,  whom  want  of 
grace 

Has  made  the  father  of  a nameless  race, 


Shov’d  from  the  wall  perhaps,  or  rudely 
press’d 

By  his  own  son,  that  passes  by  unbless’d; 

Still  to  his  wench  he  crawls  on  knocking 
knees, 

And  envies  ev’ry  sparrow  that  he  sees. 

A salmou’s  belly,  Helluo,  was  thy  fate; 

The  doctor  call’d,  declares  all  help  too 
late. 

‘ Mercy!  ’ cries  Helluo,  ‘ mercy  on  my  soul! 

Is  there  no  hope? — Alas!  — then  bring 
the  jowl.’  241 

The  frugal  crone,  whom  praying  priests 
attend, 

Still  strives  to  save  the  hallow’d  taper’s 
end, 

Collects  her  breath,  as  ebbing  life  retires, 

For  one  puff  more,  and  in  that  puff  ex- 
pires. 

‘Odious!  in  woollen!  ’t  would  a saint 
provoke  ’ 

(Were  the  last  words  that  poor  Narcissa 
spoke) ; 

‘ No,  let  a charming  chintz  and  Brussels 
lace 

Wrap  my  cold  limbs,  and  shade  my  life- 
less face: 

One  would  not,  sure,  be  frightful  when 
one ’s  dead  — 250 

And  — Betty  — give  this  cheek  a little  red.’ 

The  courtier  smooth,  who  forty  years 
had  shined 

An  humble  servant  to  all  humankind, 

Just  brought  out  this,  when  scarce  his 
tongue  could  stir:  — 

‘If  — where  I’m  going  — I could  serve 
you,  sir  ? ’ 

‘ I give  and  I devise  (old  Euclio  said, 

And  sigh’d)  my  lands  and  tenements  to 
Ned.’ 

‘Your  money,  sir?’  — ‘My  money,  sir! 
what,  all  ? 

Why  — if  I must  — - (then  wept)  I give  it 
Paul.’ 

‘The  manor,  sir?’  — ‘The  manor!  hold,’ 
he  cried,  260 

‘ Not  that  — I cannot  part  with  that  ! ’ — 
and  died, 

And  you,  brave  Cobham!  to  the  latest 
breath 

Shall  feel  your  Ruling  Passion  strong  in 
death; 

Such  in  those  moments  as  in  all  the  past, 

‘0  save  my  country,  Heav’u!’  shall  be 
your  last. 


MORAL  ESSAYS 


161 


EPISTLE  II 

TO  A LADY 

OF  THE  CHARACTERS  OF  WOMEN 
ARGUMENT 

That  the  particular  Characters  of  women  are 
not  so  strongly  marked  as  those  of  men,  gel- 
dom  so  fixed,  and  still  more  inconsistent  with 
themselves.  Instances  of  contrarieties  given, 
even  from  such  Characters  as  are  more 
strongly  marked,  and  seemingly,  therefore, 
most  consistent : as,  1.  In  the  affected.  2.  In 
the  sof  t-natured.  3.  In  the  cunning  and  art- 
ful. 4 In  the  whimsical.  5.  In  the  lewd 
and  vicious.  6.  In  the  witty  and  refined. 
7.  In  the  stupid  and  simple.  The  former 
part  having  shown  that  the  particular  char- 
acters of  women  are  more  various  than  those 
of  men,  it  is  nevertheless  observed  that  the 
general  characteristic  of  the  sex,  as  to  the 
J Ruling  Passion , is  more  uniform.  This  is 
occasioned  partly  by  their  Nature,  partly  by 
their  Education,  and  in  some  degree  by  Ne- 
cessity. What  are  the  aims  and  the  fate  of 
this  sex : 1.  As  to  Power.  2.  As  to  Plea- 
sure. Advice  for  their  true  interest.  The 
picture  of  an  estimable  woman,  with  the 
best  kind  of  contrarieties. 

Nothing  so  true  as  what  you  once  let 
fall, 

* Most  women  have  no  Characters  at  all  : ’ 
Matter  too  soft  a lasting  mark  to  bear, 

And  best  distinguish’d  by  black,  brown,  or 
fair. 

How  many  pictures  of  one  nymph  we 
view, 

And  how  unlike  each  other,  all  how  true! 
Arcadia’s  countess  here,  in  ermined  pride, 
Is  there,  Pastora  by  a fountain  side: 

Here  Fannia,  leering  on  her  own  good  man, 
And  there  a naked  Leda  with  a swan.  io 
Let  then  the  fair  one  beautifully  cry, 

In  Magdalen’s  loose  hair  and  lifted  eye; 

Or  drest  in  smiles  of  sweet  Cecilia  shine, 
With  simp’ring  angels,  palms,  and  harps 
divine ; 

Whether  the  charmer  sinner  it,  or  saint  it, 
If  folly  grow  romantic,  I must  paint  it. 
Come,  then,  the  colours  and  the  ground 
prepare; 

Dip  in  the  rainbow,  trick  her  off  in  air; 
Choose  a firm  cloud  before  it  fall,  and  in  it 
Catch,  ere  she  change,  the  Cynthia  of  this 
minute.  20 


Rufa,  whose  eye  quick  glancing  o’er  the 
park, 

Attracts  each  light  gay  meteor  of  a spark, 
Agrees  as  ill  with  Rufa  studying  Locke, 

As  Sappho’s  diamonds  with  her  dirtv  smock, 
Or  Sappho  at  her  toilet’s  greasy  task, 

With  Sappho  fragrant  at  an  ev’ning 
Masque: 

So  morning  insects,  that  in  muck  begun, 
Shine,  buzz,  and  fly-blow  in  the  setting  sun. 

How  soft  is  Silia!  fearful  to  offend; 

The  frail  one’s  advocate,  the  weak  one’s 
friend.  30 

To  her  Calista  proved  her  conduct  nice, 
And  good  Simplicius  asks  of  her  advice. 
Sudden  she  storms!  she  raves!  you  tip  the 
wink : 

But  spare  your  censure;  Silia  does  not 
drink. 

All  eyes  may  see  from  what  the  change 
arose ; 

All  eyes  may  see  — a Pimple  on  her  nose. 

Papillia,  wedded  to  her  am’rous  spark, 
Sighs  for  the  shades  — ‘ How  charming  is 
a park!  ’ 

A park  is  purchased;  but  the  Fair  he  sees 
All  bathed  in  tears  — * Oh,  odious,  odious 
trees! ’ 40 

Ladies,  like  variegated  tulips,  show; 

’T  is  to  their  changes  half  their  charms  we 
owe: 

Fine  by  defect,  and  delicately  weak, 

Their  happy  spots  the  nice  admirer  take. 

’T  was  thus  Calypso  once  each  heart 
alarm’d, 

Awed  without  virtue,  without  beauty 
charm’d; 

Her  tongue  bewitch’d  as  oddly  as  her  eyes; 
Less  Wit  than  Mimic,  more  a Wit  than 
wise. 

Strange  graces  still,  and  stranger  flights, 
she  had, 

Was  just  not  ngly,  and  was  just  not  mad;  50 
Yet  ne’er  so  sure  our  passion  to  create, 

As  when  she  touch’d  the  brink  of  all  we 
hate. 

Narcissa’s  nature,  tolerably  mild, 

To  make  a wash  would  hardly  stew  a 
child; 

Has  ev’n  been  prov’d  to  grant  a lover’s 
prayer, 

And  paid  a tradesman  once  to  make  him 
stare ; 

Gave  alms  at  Easter  in  a Christian  trim, 
And  made  a widow  happy  for  a whim. 


i62 


MORAL  .ESSAYS 


Why  then  declare  Good-nature  is  her 
scorn,  59 

When  ’t  is  by  that  alone  she  can  be  borne  ? 
Why  pique  all  mortals,  yet  affect  a name  ? 
A fool  to  Pleasure,  yet  a slave  to  Fame: 
Now  deep  in  Taylor  and  the  Book  of  Mar- 
tyrs, 

Now  drinking  citron  with  his  Grace  and 
Chartres: 

Now  conscience  chills  her,  and  now  passion 
burns, 

And  atheism  and  religion  take  their  turns: 
A very  heathen  in  the  carnal  part, 

Yet  still  a sad  good  Christian  at  her  heart. 

See  Sin  in  state,  majestically  drunk, 
Proud  as  a peeress,  prouder  as  a punk;  70 
Chaste  to  her  husband,  frank  to  all  beside, 
A teeming  mistress,  but  a barren  bride. 
What  then  ? let  blood  and  body  bear  the 
fault; 

Her  head ’s  untouch’d,  that  noble  seat  of 
Thought: 

Such  this  day’s  doctrine  — in  another  fit 
She  sins  with  poets  thro’  pure  love  of  Wit. 
What  has  not  fired  her  bosom  or  her  brain  ? 
Caesar  and  Tall-boy,  Charles  and  Charle- 
magne. 

As  Helluo,  late  dictator  of  the  feast, 

The  nose  of  Hautgout,  and  the  tip  of  Taste, 
Critiqued  your  wine,  and  analyzed  your 
meat,  81 

Yet  on  plain  pudding  deign’d  at  home  to 
eat: 

So  Philomede,  lecturing  all  mankind 
On  the  soft  passion,  and  the  taste  refin’d, 
The  address,  the  delicacy  — stoops  at  once, 
And  makes  her  hearty  meal  upon  a dunce. 

Flavia ’s  a Wit,  has  too  much  sense  to 
pray; 

To  toast  our  wants  and  wishes  is  her  way; 
Nor  asks  of  God,  but  of  her  stars,  to  give 
The  mighty  blessing  ‘ while  we  live  to 
live.’  90 

Then  all  for  death,  that  opiate  of  the 
soul  ! 

Lucretia’s  dagger,  Rosamonda’s  bowl. 

Say,  what  can  cause  such  impotence  of 
mind  ? 

A Spark  too  fickle,  or  a Spouse  too  kind. 
Wise  wretch!  with  pleasures  too  refin’d  to 
please; 

With  too  much  spirit  to  be  e’er  at  ease; 
With  too  much  quickness  ever  to  be  taught; 
With  too  much  thinking  to  have  common 
thought: 


You  purchase  Pain  with  all  that  Joy  can 
give, 

And  die  of  nothing  but  a rage  to  live.  100 
Turn  then  from  Wits,  and  look  on  Simo’s 
mate, 

No  ass  so  meek,  no  ass  so  obstinate: 

Or  her  that  owns  her  faults  but  never 
mends, 

Because  she ’s  honest,  and  the  best  of 
friends: 

Or  her  whose  life  the  church  and  scandal 
share, 

For  ever  in  a Passion  or  a Prayer: 

Or  her  who  laughs  at  Hell,  but  (like  her 
Grace) 

Cries,  ‘Ah!  how  charming  if  there’s  no 
such  place!’ 

Or  who  in  sweet  vicissitude  appears  109 
Of  Mirth  and  Opium,  Ratifie  and  Tears; 
The  daily  anodyne  and  nightly  draught, 

To  kill  those  foes  to  fair  ones,  Time  and 
Thought. 

Woman  and  fool  are  two  hard  things  to 
hit; 

For  true  No-meaning  puzzles  more  than 
Wit. 

But  what  are  these  to  great  Atossa’s 
mind  ? 

Scarce  once  herself,  by  turns  all  woman- 
kind ! 

Who  with  herself,  or  others,  from  her 
birth 

Finds  all  her  life  one  warfare  upon  earth; 
Shines  in  exposing  knaves  and  painting 
fools, 

Yet  is  whate’er  she  hates  and  ridicules;  120 
No  thought  advances,  but  her  eddy  brain 
Whisks  it  about,  and  down  it  goes  again. 
Full  sixty  years  the  World  has  been  her 
Trade, 

The  wisest  fool  much  time  has  ever  made: 
From  loveless  youth  to  unrespected  age, 

No  passion  gratified  except  her  rage: 

So  much  the  Fury  still  outran  the  Wit, 

The  pleasure  miss’d  her,  and  the  scandal 
hit. 

Who  breaks  with  her  provokes  revenge 
from  Hell, 

But  he ’s  a bolder  man  who  dares  be  well. 
Her  ev’ry  turn  with  violence  pursued,  131 
Nor  more  a storm  her  hate  than  gratitude: 
To  that  each  Passion  turns  or  soon  or 
late; 

Love,  if  it  makes  her  yield,  mus^t  make  her 
hate. 


MORAL  ESSAYS 


Superiors  ? death!  and  equals  ? what  a 
curse! 

But  an  inferior  not  dependent  ? worse. 
Offend  her,  and  she  knows  not  to  forgive; 
Oblige  her,  and  she  ’ll  hate  you  while  you 
live: 

But  die,  and  she’ll  adore  you — then  the 
bust 

And  temple  rise  — then  fall  again  to  dust. 
Last  night  her  lord  was  all  that  ’sgood  and 
great;  I4I 

A knave  this  morning,  and  his  will  a 
cheat. 

Strange!  by  the  means  defeated  of  the 
ends, 

By  Spirit  robb’d  of  power,  by  Warmth  of 
friends, 

By  Wealth  of  foll’wers!  without  one  dis- 
tress, 

Sick  of  herself  thro’  very  selfishness! 
Atossa,  curs’d  with  ev’ry  granted  prayer, 
Childless  with  all  her  children,  wants  an 
heir: 

To  heirs  unknown  descends  th’  unguarded 
store, 

Or  wanders,  Heav’n-directed,  to  the  poor. 

Pictures  like  these,  dear  Madam!  to  de- 
sign, i5 1 

Asks  no  firm  hand  and  no  unerring  line ; 
Some  wand’ring  touches,  some  reflected 
light, 

Some  flying  stroke,  alone  can  hit  ’em  right: 
For  how  should  equal  colours  do  the  knack  ? 
Chameleons  who  can  paint  in  white  and 
black  ? 

‘ Yet  Chloe  sure  was  form’d  without  a 
spot.’ 

Nature  in  her  then  err’d  not,  but  forgot. 

‘ With  ev’ry  pleasing,  ev’ry  prudent  part, 
Say,  what  can  Chloe  want?’  — She  wants 
a Heart,  ^ 

She  speaks,  behaves,  and  acts  just  as  she 
ought, 

But  never,  never  reach’d  one  gen’rous 
thought. 

Virtue  she  finds  too  painful  an  endeavour, 
Content  to  dwell  in  decencies  for  ever. 

So  very  reasonable,  so  unmov’d, 

As  never  yet  to  love  or  to  be  lov’d. 

She,  while  her  lover  pants  upon  her  breast, 
Can  mark  the  figures  on  an  Indian  chest; 
And  when  she  sees  her  friend  in  deep  de- 
spair, 

Observes  how  much  a chintz  exceeds  mo- 
hair. I70 


163 


Forbid  it,  Heav’11!  a favour  or  a debt 
She  e’er  should  cancel!  — but  she  may  for- 
get. 

Safe  is  your  secret  still  in  Chloe’s  ear; 

But  none  of  Chloe’s  shall  you  ever  hear. 

Of  all  her  Dears  she  never  slander’d  one, 
But  cares  not  if  a thousand  are  undone. 
Would  Chloe  know  if  you  ’re  alive  or  dead  ? 
She  bids  her  footman  put  it  in  her  head. 
Chloe  is  prudent  — Would  you  too  be  wise  ? 
Then  never  break  your  heart  when  Chloe 
dies.  180 

One  certain  portrait  may  (I  grant)  be 
seen, 

Which  Heav’n  has  varnish’d  out  and  made 
a queen; 

The  same  for  ever!  and  described  by  all 
With  truth  and  goodness,  as  with  crown 
and  ball. 

Poets  heap  virtues,  painters  gems,  at  will, 
And  show  their  zeal,  and  hide  their  want  of 
skill. 

’Tis  well  — but,  artists!  who  can  paint  or 
write, 

To  draw  the  naked  is  your  true  delight. 
That  robe  of  Quality  so  struts  and  swells, 
None  see  what  parts  of  Nature  it  conceals: 
Th’  exactest  traits  of  body  or  of  mind,  i9r 
We  owe  to  models  of  an  humble  kind. 

If  Queensbury  to  strip  there ’s  no  compel- 
ling, 

’T  is  from  a handmaid  we  must  take  a 
Helen. 

From  peer  or  bishop ’t  is  no  easy  thing 
To  draw  the  man  who  loves  his  God  or 
king. 

Alas!  I copy  (or  my  draught  would  fail) 
From  honest  Mah’met  or  plain  parson  Hale. 
But  grant,  in  public,  men  sometimes  are 
shown; 

A woman’s  seen  in  private  life  alone  : 200 

Our  bolder  talents  in  full  light  display’d; 
Your  virtues  open  fairest  in  the  shade. 

Bred  to  disguise,  in  public ’t  is  you  hide; 
There  none  distinguish  ’twixt  your  shame 
or  pride, 

Weakness  or  delicacy;  all  so  nice, 

That  each  may  seem  a Virtue  or  a Vice. 

In  men  we  various  Ruling  Passions  find; 
I11  women  two  almost  divide  the  kind; 
Those  only  fix’d,  they  first  or  last  obey, 

The  love  of  Pleasure,  and  the  love  of  Swav. 
That  Nature  gives;  and  where  the  lesson 
taught  2 r t 

Is  but  to  please,  can  Pleasure  seem  a fault  ? 


164 


MORAL  ESSAYS 


Experience  this:  by  man’s  oppression  curst, 
They  seek  the  second  not  to  lose  the  first. 

Men  some  to  bus’ness,  some  to  pleasure 
take; 

But  ev’ry  woman  is  at  heart  a rake: 

Men  some  to  quiet,  some  to  public  strife; 
But  ev’ry  lady  would  be  queen  for  life. 

Yet  mark  the  fate  of  a whole  sex  of 
queens! 

Power  all  their  end,  but  Beauty  all  the 
means.  220 

In  youth  they  conquer  with  so  wild  a rage, 
As  leaves  them  scarce  a subject  in  their 
age: 

For  foreign  glory,  foreign  joy  they  roam; 
No  thought  of  peace  or  happiness  at  home. 
But  wisdom’s  triumph  is  well-timed  retreat, 
As  hard  a science  to  the  Fair  as  Great! 
Beauties,  like  tyrants,  old  and  friendless 
grown, 

Yet  hate  repose,  and  dread  to  be  alone; 
Worn  out  in  public,  weary  ev’ry  eye, 

Nor  leave  one  sigh  behind  them  when  they 
die.  230 

Pleasures  the  sex,  as  children  birds,  pur- 
sue, 

Still  out  of  reach,  yet  never  out  of  view; 
Sure,  if  they  catch,  to  spoil  the  toy  at 
most, 

To  covet  flying,  and  regret  when  lost: 

At  last  to  follies  youth  could  scarce  de- 
fend, 

It  grows  their  age’s  prudence  to  pretend; 
Ashamed  to  own  they  gave  delight  before, 
Reduced  to  feign  it  when  they  give  no  more. 
As  hags  hold  Sabbaths  less  for  joy  than 
spite, 

So  these  their  merry  miserable  night;  240 
Still  round  and  round  the  Ghosts  of  Beauty 
glide, 

And  haunt  the  places  where  their  Honour 
died. 

See  how  the  world  its  veterans  rewards! 
A youth  of  frolics,  an  old  age  of  cards; 
Fair  to  no  purpose,  artful  to  no  end, 

Young  without  lovers,  old  without  a friend; 
A Fop  their  passion,  but  their  prize  a Sot, 
Alive  ridiculous,  and  dead  forgot! 

Ah!  friend!  to  dazzle  let  the  vain  design; 
To  raise  the  thought  and  touch  the  heart  he 
thine!  250 

That  charm  shall  grow,  while  what  fatigues 
the  Ring 

Flaunts  and  goes  down  an  unregarded 
thing. 


So  when  the  sun’s  broad  beam  has  tired  the 
sight, 

All  mild  ascends  the  moon’s  more  sober 

light, 

Serene  in  virgin  modesty  she  shines, 

And  unobserv’d  the  glaring  orb  declines. 

0!  blest  with  temper,  whose  un- 
clouded ray  257 

Can  make  to-morrow  cheerful  as  to-day; 
She  who  can  love  a sister’s  charms,  or  hear 
Sighs  for  a daughter  with  un wounded  ear; 
She  who  ne’er  answers  till  a husband  cools, 
Or,  if  she  rules  him,  never  shows  she  rules; 
Charms  by  accepting,  by  submitting  sways, 
Yet  has  her  humour  most  when  she  obeys; 
Let  Fops  or  Fortune  fly  which  way  they 
will, 

Disdains  all  loss  of  tickets  or  Codille; 
Spleen,  Vapours,  or  Smallpox,  above  them 
all, 

And  mistress  of  herself,  tho’  china  fall. 

And  yet  believe  me,  good  as  well  as  ill, 
Woman ’s  at  best  a contradiction  still.  270 
Heav’11  when  it  strives  to  polish  all  it  can 
Its  last  best  work,  but  forms  a softer 
Man ; 

Picks  from  each  sex  to  make  the  fav’rite 
blest, 

Your  love  of  pleasure,  our  desire  of  rest; 
Blends,  in  exception  to  all  gen’ral  rules, 
Your  taste  of  follies  with  our  scorn  of  fools; 
Reserve  with  Frankness,  Art  with  Truth 
allied, 

Courage  with  Softness,  Modesty  with  Pride; 
Fix’d  principles,  with  fancy  ever  new:  279 
Shakes  all  together,  and  produces  — You. 

Be  this  a woman’s  fame;  with  this  un- 
blest, 

Toasts  live  a scorn,  and  Queens  may  die  a 
jest. 

This  Phcebus  promis’d  (I  forget  the  year) 
When  those  blue  eyes  first  open’d  on  the 
sphere ; 

Ascendant  Phcebus  watch’d  that  hour  with 
care, 

Averted  half  your  parents’  simple  prayer, 
And  gave  you  beauty,  but  denied  the  pelf 
That  buys  your  sex  a tyrant  o’er  itself. 

The  gen’rous  God,  who  wit  and  gold  re- 
fines, 

And  ripens  spirits  as  he  ripens  mines,  290 
Kept  dross  for  Duchesses,  the  world  shall 
know  it, 

To  you  jrave  Sense,  Good-humour,  and  a 
Poet. 


MORAL  ESSAYS 


EPISTLE  III 

TO  ALLEN,  LORD  BATHURST 
OF  THE  USE  OF  RICHES 
ARGUMENT 

That  it  is  known  to  few,  most  falling1  into  one 
of  the  extremes,  Avarice  or  Profusion.  The 
point  discussed,  whether  the  invention  of 
money  has  been  more  commodious  or  perni- 
cious to  mankind.  That  Riches,  either  to  the 
Avaricious  or  the  Prodigal,  cannot  afford 
happiness,  scarcely  necessaries.  That  Ava- 
rice is  an  absolute  frenzy,  without  an  end  or 
purpose.  Conjectures  about  the  motives  of 
avaricious  men.  That  the  conduct  of  men, 
with  respect  to  Riches,  can  only  be  accounted 
for  by  the  Order  of  Providence,  which  works 
the  general  good  out  of  extremes,  and  brings 
all  to  its  great  end  by  perpetual  revolutions. 
How  a Miser  acts  upon  principles  which  ap- 
pear to  him  reasonable.  How  a Prodigal 
does  the  same.  The  due  medium  and  true 
use  of  riches.  The  Man  of  Ross.  The  fate 
of  the  Profuse  and  the  Covetous,  in  two  ex- 
amples ; both  miserable  in  life  and  in  death. 

‘ The  story  of  Sir  Balaam. 

P.  Who  shall  decide  when  doctors  dis- 
agree, 

And  soundest  casuists  doubt,  like  you  and 
me  ? 

You  hold  the  word  from  Jove  to  Momus 
giv’n, 

That  Man  was  made  the  standing  jest  of 
Heav’n, 

And  gold  but  sent  to  keep  the  fools  in 
play, 

For  some  to  heap,  and  some  to  throwaway. 
But  I,  who  think  more  highly  of  our 
kind 

(And  surely  Heav’n  and  I are  of  a mind), 

Opine  that  Nature,  as  in  duty  bound, 

Deep  hid  the  shining  mischief  under 
ground:  to 

But  when  by  man’s  audacious  labour  won, 

Flamed  forth  this  rival  to  its  sire  the  sun, 

Then  careful  Heav’n  supplied  two  sorts  of 
men, 

To  squander  these,  and  those  to  hide  again. 
Like  doctors  thus,  when  much  dispute 
has  past, 

We  find  our  tenets  just  the  same  at  last: 

Both  fairly  owning  riches,  in  effect, 

No  grace  of  Heav’n,  or  token  of  th’  elect; 


i65 


Giv’n  to  the  fool,  the  mad,  the  vain,  the  evil, 
To  Ward,  to  Waters,  Chartres,  and  the 
Devil.  20 

B . What  Nature  wants,  commodious 
gold  bestows; 

’T  is  thus  we  eat  the  bread  another  sows. 

P.  But  how  unequal  it  bestows,  observe; 
’T  is  thus  we  riot,  while  who  sow  it  starve. 
What  Nature  wants  (a  phrase  I much  dis- 
trust) 

Extends  to  luxury,  extends  to  lust. 

Useful  I grant,  it  serves  what  life  requires, 
But  dreadful  too,  the  dark  assassin  hires. 
B.  Trade  it  may  help,  Society  extend. 

P.  But  lures  the  pirate,  and  corrupts 
the*friend.  30 

B.  It  raises  armies  in  a nation’s  aid. 

P.  But  bribes  a senate,  and  the  land ’s 
betray’d. 

In  vain  may  heroes  fight  and  patriots  rave, 
If  secret  gold  sap  on  from  knave  to  knave. 
Once,  we  confess,  beneath  the  patriot’s 
cloak, 

From  the  crack’d  bag  the  dropping  guinea 
spoke, 

And  jingling  down  the  back-stairs,  told  the 
crew . 

‘ Old  Cato  is  as  great  a rogue  as  you.’ 

Blest  paper-credit  ! last  and  best  supply  1 
That  lends  Corruption  lighter  wings  to 

40 

Gold  imp’d  by  thee,  can  compass  hardest 
things, 

Can  pocket  states,  can  fetch  or  carry  kings; 
A single  leaf  shall  waft  an  army  o’er, 

Or  ship  off  senates  to  some  distant  shore; 

A leaf,  like  Sibyl’s,  scatter  to  and  fro 
Our  fates  and  fortunes  as  the  winds  shall 
blow; 

Pregnant  with  thousands  flits  the  scrap  un- 
seen, 

And  silent  sells  a King  or  buys  a Queen. 
Oh,  that  such  bulky  bribes  as  all  might 
see, 

Still,  as  of  old,  incumber’d  villany  ! 50 

Could  France  or  Rome  divert  our  brave  de- 
signs 

With  all  their  brandies  or  with  all  their 
wines  ? 

What  could  they  more  than  Knights  and 
Squires  confound, 

Or  water  all  the  Quorum  ten  miles  round  ? 
A statesman’s  slumbers  how  this  speech 
would  spoil, 

* Sir,  Spain  has  sent  a thousand  jars  of  oil- 


i66 


MORAL  ESSAYS 


Huge  bales  of  British  cloth  blockade  the 
door; 

A hundred  oxen  at  your  levee  roar.’ 

Poor  Avarice  one  torment  more  would 
find,  59 

Nor  could  Profusion  squander  all  in  kind. 
Astride  his  cheese  Sir  Morgan  might  we 
meet; 

And  Worldly  crying  coals  from  street  to 
street, 

Whom  with  a wig  so  wild  and  mien  so 
’mazed, 

Pity  mistakes  for  some  poor  tradesman 
crazed. 

Had  Colepepper’s  whole  wealth  been  hops 
and  hogs, 

Could  he  himself  have  sent  it  to  the  dogs  ? 
His  Grace  will  game:  to  White’s  a bull  be 
led, 

With  spurning  heels  and  with  a butting 
head. 

To  White’s  be  carried,  as  to  ancient  games, 
Fair  coursers,  vases,  and  alluring  dames.  70 
Shall  then  Uxorio,  if  the  stakes  he  sweep, 
Bear  home  six  whores,  and  make  his  lady 
weep  ? 

Or  soft  Adonis,  so  perfumed  and  fine, 

Drive  to  St.  James’s  a whole  herd  of 
swine  ? 

Oh,  filthy  check  on  all  industrious  skill, 

To  spoil  the  nation’s  last  great  trade,  — 
Quadrille! 

Since  then,  my  lord,  on  such  a world  we 
fall, 

What  say  you  ? B.  Say  ? Why,  take  it, 
gold  and  all. 

P.  What  Riches  give  us  let  us  then  in- 
quire : 

Meat,  Fire,  and  Clothes.  B.  What  more  ? 

P.  Meat,  Clothes,  and  Fire.  80 

Is  this  too  little  ? would  you  more  than 
live  ? 

Alas!  ’t  is  more  than  Turner  finds,  they 
give. 

Alas!  ’t  is  more  than  (all  his  visions  past) 
Unhappy  Wharton  waking  found  at  last! 
What  can  they  give  ? To  dying  Hopkins, 
heirs  ? 

To  Chartres,  vigour?  Japhet,  nose  and 
ears  ? 

Can  they  in  gems  bid  pallid  Hippia  glow  ? 
In  Fulvia’s  buckle  ease  the  throbs  below  ? 
Or  heal,  old  Narses,  thy  obscener  ail, 

With  all  th’  embroidery  plaster’d  at  thy 
tail  ? 9° 


They  might  (were  Harpax  not  too  wise  to 
spend) 

Give  Harpax’  self  the  blessing  of  a friend; 

Or  find  some  doctor  that  would  save  the 
life 

Of  wretched  Shylock,  spite  of  Shylock’s 
wife. 

But  thousands  die  without  or  this  or  that, 

Die,  and  endow  a College  or  a Cat. 

To  some  indeed  Heav’n  grants  the  happier 
fate 

T’  enrich  a bastard ; or  a son  they  hate. 

Perhaps  you  think  the  poor  might  have 
their  part  ? 

Bond  damns  the  poor,  and  hates  them  from 
his  heart:  100 

The  grave  Sir  Gilbert  holds  it  for  a rule 

That  ev’ry  man  in  want  is  knave  or  fool. 

‘ God  cannot  love  (says  Blunt,  with  tearless 
eyes) 

The  wretch  he  starves  ’ — and  piously  de- 
nies: 

But  the  good  bishop,  with  a meeker  air, 

Admits,  and  leaves  them,  Providence’s 
care. 

Yet,  to  be  just  to  these  poor  men  of 
pelf, 

Each  does  but  hate  his  neighbour  as  him- 
self: 

Damn’d  to  the  mines,  an  equal  fate  betides 

The  slave  that  digs  it  and  the  slave  that 
hides.  no 

B.  Who  suffer  thus,  mere  charity  should 
own, 

Must  act  on  motives  powerful  tho’  un- 
known. 

P.  Some  war,  some  plague  or  famine, 
they  foresee, 

Some  revelation  hid  from  you  and  me. 

Why  Shylock  wants  a meal  the  cause  is 
found; 

He  thinks  a loaf  will  rise  to  fifty  pound. 

What  made  directors  cheat  in  South-sea 
year  ? 

To  live  on  ven’son,  when  it  sold  so  dear. 

Ask  you  why  Phryne  the  whole  auction 
buys  ? 

Phryne  foresees  a general  excise.  120 

Why  she  and  Sappho  raise  that  monstrous 
sum  ? 

Alas!  they  fear  a man  will  cost  a plum. 

Wise  Peter  sees  the  world’s  respect  for 
gold, 

And  therefore  hopes  this  nation  may  be 
sold. 


MORAL  ESSAYS 


167 


Glorious  ambition!  Peter,  swell  thy  store, 
And  be  what  Rome’s  great  Didius  was 
before. 

The  crown  of  Poland,  venal  twice  an  age, 
To  just  three  millions  stinted  modest  Gage. 
Pput  nobler  scenes  Maria’s  dreams  unfold, 
Hereditary  realms,  and  worlds  of  gold.  130 
Congenial  souls  ! whose  life  one  av’rice 
joins, 

And  one  fate  buries  in  th’  Asturian  mines. 

Much-injured  Blunt!  why  bears  he  Brit- 
ain’s hate  ? 

A wizard  told  him  in  these  words  our 
fate: 

* At  length  Corruption,  like  a gen’ral  flood 
(So  long  by  watchful  ministers  withstood), 
Shall  deluge  all;  and  Av’rice,  creeping  on, 
Spread  like  a low-born  mist  and  blot  the 
sun; 

Statesman  and  Patriot  ply  alike  the  stocks, 
Peeress  and  Butler  share  alike  the  Box,  140 
And  judges  job,  and  bishops  bite  the  town, 
And  mighty  Dukes  pack  cards  for  half  a 
crown: 

See  Britain  sunk  in  lucre’s  sordid  charms, 
}And  France  revenged  of  Anne’s  and  Ed- 
ward’s arms!  ’ 

'T  was  no  court-badge,  great  Scriv’ner!  fired 
thy  brain, 

Nor  lordly  luxury,  nor  city  gain: 

No,  ’t  was  thy  righteous  end,  ashamed  to 
, see 

Senates  degen’rate,  patriots  disagree, 

And  nobly  wishing  party-rage  to  cease, 

To  buy  both  sides,  and  give  thy  country 
peace.  I5o 

, ‘ All  this  is  madness,’  cries  a sober  sage: 
But  who,  my  friend,  has  Reason  in  liis 
rage  ? 

Ahe  Ruling  Passion,  be  it  what  it  will, 

The  Ruling  Passion  conquers  Reason  still.’ 
^ess  mad  the  wildest  whimsy  we  can 
frame 

Than  ev’n  that  Passion,  if  it  has  no  aim; 

Tor  tho’  such  motives  folly  you  may  call, 

Che  folly ’s  greater  to  have  none  at  all. 

Hear  then  the  truth:  — ‘ ’T  is  Heav’n 
each  Passion  sends,  x59 

bid  diff’rent  men  directs  to  diff’rent  ends. 
Extremes  in  Nature  equal  good  produce; 
Extremes  in  Man  concur  to  gen’ral  use.’ 

Ask  me  what  makes  one  keep,  and  one  be- 
stow ? 

L’hat  power  who  bids  the  ocean  ebb  and 
flow, 

i '[ 


Bids  seed-time,  harvest,  equal  course  main- 
tain, 

Thro’  reconciled  extremes  of  drought  and 
rain ; 

Builds  life  on  death,  on  change  duration 
founds, 

And  gives  th’  eternal  wheels  to  know  their 
rounds. 

Riches,  like  insects,  when  conceal’d  they 
lie,  169 

Wait  but  for  wings,  and  in  their  season  fly. 
Who  sees  pale  Mammon  pine  amidst  his 
store, 

Sees  but  a backward  steward  for  the  poor; 
This  year  a reservoir  to  keep  and  spare; 
The  next  a fountain  spouting  thro’ his  heir 
In  lavish  streams  to  quench  a country’s 
thirst, 

And  men  and  dogs  shall  drink  him  till  they 
burst. 

Old  Cotta  shamed  his  fortune  and  his 
birth, 

Yet  was  not  Cotta  void  of  wit  or  worth. 
What  tho’  (the  use  of  barb’rous  spits  for- 

. sot) 

His  kitchen  vied  in  coolness  with  his  grot  ? 
His  court  with  nettles,  moats  with  cresses 
stor’d,  j8i 

With  soups  unbought,  and  salads,  bless’d 
his  board; 

If  Cotta  lived  on  pulse,  it  was  no  more 
Than  Bramins,  Saints, and  Sages  did  before; 
To  cram  the  rich  was  prodigal  expense, 

And  who  would  take  the  poor  from  Provi- 
dence ? 

Like  some  lone  Chartreux  stands  the  good 
old  hall, 

Silence  without,  and  fasts  within  the  wall; 
No  rafter’d  roofs  with  dance  and  tabor 
sound, 

No  noontide  bell  invites  the  country  round; 
Tenants  with  sighs  the  smokeless  towers 
survey,  I9I 

And  turn  th’  unwilling  steeds  another  way; 
Benighted  wanderers,  the  forest  o’er, 

Curse  the  saved  candle  and  unopening  door; 
While  the  gaunt  mastiff,  growling  at  the 
gate, 

Affrights  the  beggar  whom  he  longs  to  eat. 

Not  so  his  son;  he  mark’d  this  oversight, 
And  then  mistook  reverse  of  wrong  for 
right : 

(For  what  to  shun  will  no  great  knowledge 
need 

But  what  to  follow  is  a task  indeed!) 


200 


MORAL  ESSAYS 


1 68 


Yet  sure,  of  qualities  deserving  praise, 

More  go  to  ruin  fortunes  than  to  raise. 

What  slaughter’d  hecatombs,  what  floods 
of  wine, 

Fill  the  capacious  Squire  and  deep  Divine! 

Yet  no  mean  motive  this  profusion  draws; 

His  oxen  perish  in  his  country’s  cause; 

'Tis  George  and  Liberty  that  crowns  the 
cup, 

And  zeal  for  that  great  House  which  eats 
him  up. 

The  woods  recede  around  the  naked  seat, 

The  sylvans  groan  — no  matter— for  the 
fleet;  210 

Next  goes  his  wool  — to  clothe  our  valiant 
bands; 

Last,  for  his  country’s  love,  he  sells  his 
lands. 

To  town  he  comes,  completes  the  nation’s 
hope, 

And  heads  the  bold  train-bands,  and  burns 
a pope. 

And  shall  not  Britain  now  reward  his  toils, 


Britain,  that  pays  her  patriots  with  her 
spoils  ? 

In  vain  at  court  the  bankrupt  pleads  his 

cause; 

His  thankless  country  leaves  him  to  her  laws. 

The  sense  to  value  Riches,  with  the  art 

T’  enjoy  them,  and  the  virtue  to  impart; 

Not  meanly  nor  ambitiously  pursued,  221 

Not  sunk  bv  sloth,  nor  raised  by  servitude; 

To  balance  fortune  by  a just  expense, 

Join  with  economy  magnificence; 

With  splendour  charity,  with  plenty  health; 

O teach  us,  Bathurst!  yet  unspoiPd  by 
wealth, 

That  secret  rare,  between  th’  extremes  to 
move 

Of  mad  Good-nature  and  of  mean  Self-love. 

B . To  worth  or  want  well  weigh’d  be 
bounty  giv’n 

And  ease  or  emulate  the  care  of  Heav’n 

(Whose  measure  full  o’erflows  on  human 
race);  231 

Mend  Fortune’s  fault,  and  justify  her  grace. 

Wealth  in  the  gross  is  death,  but  life  dif- 
fused, 

As  poison  heals  in  just  proportion  used: 

In  heaps,  like  ambergris,  a stink  it  lies, 

But  well  dispers’d  is  incense  to  the  skies. 

P.  Who  starves  by  nobles,  or  with  nobles 
eats  ? 

The  wretch  that  trusts  them,  and  the  rogue 
that  cheats. 


Is  there  a lord  who  knows  a cheerful  noon 
Without  a fiddler,  flatt’rer,  or  buffoon  ? 240 
Whose  table  Wit  oy  modest  Merit  share, 
Unelbow’d  by  a gamester,  pimp,  or  player  ? 
Who  copies  yours  or  Oxford’s  better  part, 
To  ease  th’  oppress’d,  and  raise  the  sinking 
heart  ? 

Where’er  he  shines,  O Fortune!  gild  the 
scene, 

And  angels  guard  him  in  the  golden  mean! 
There  English  bounty  yet  a while  may 
stand, 

And  honour  linger  ere  it  leaves  the  land. 

But  all  our  praises  why  should  Lords  en- 
gross ? 

Rise,  honest  Muse!  and  sing  the  Man  of 
Ross:  250 

Pleas’d  Vaga  echoes  thro’  her  winding 
bounds, 

And  rapid  Severn  hoarse  applause  resounds. 
Who  hung  with  woods  yon  mountain’s  sul-i 
try  brow  ? 

From  the  dry  rock  who  bade  the  waters 
flow  ? 

Not  to  the  skies' in  useless  columns  tost, 

Or  in  proud  falls  magnificently  lost, 

But  clear  and  artless,  pouring  thro’  the 
plain 

Health  to  the  sick,  and  solace  to  the  swain. 
Whose  causeway  parts  the  vale  with  shady 
rows  ? 

Whose  seats  the  weary  traveller  repose  ? 26c 
Who  taught'  that  Heav’n-directed  spire  tc 
rise  ? 

The  Man  of  Ross,  each  lisping  babe  replies 
Behold  the  market-place  with  poor  o’er- 
spread ! 

The  Man  of  Ross  divides  the  weekly  bread 
He  feeds  yon  almshouse,  neat,  but  void  oj 
state, 

Where  age  and  want  sit  smiling  at  the 
gate : 

Him  portion’d  maids,  apprenticed  orphan; 
blest, 

The  young  who  labour,  and  the  old  wh< 
rest. 

Is  any  sick  ? the  Man  of  Ross  relieves, 
Prescribes,  attends,  the  medicine  make; 

and  gives:  27 

Is  there  a variance  ? enter  but  bis  door, 
Balk’d  are  the  courts,  and  contest  is  n< 
more : 

Despairing  quacks  with  curses  fled  tin 
place, 

And  vile  attorneys,  now  a useless  race. 


MORAL  ESSAYS 


169 


B.  Thrice  happy  man!  enabled  to  pursue 
Vliat  all  so  wish,  but  want  the  power  to 
do! 

)h  say,  what  sums  that  gen’rous  hand 
supply  ? 

What  mines  to  swell  that  boundless 
charity  ? 

P.  Of  debts  and  taxes,  wife  and  children 
clear, 

,'his  man  possess’d — five  hundred  pounds 
a year.  280 

flush,  Grandeur,  blush!  proud  courts,  with- 
draw your  blaze! 

re  little  stars,  hide  your  diminish’d  rays! 

B.  And  what?  no  monument,  inscrip- 
tion, stone, 

[is  race,  his  form,  his  name  almost  un- 
known ? 

P.  Who  builds  a church  to  God,  and  not 
to  Fame, 

rill  never  mark  the  marble  with  his  name: 
0,  search  it  there,  where  to  be  born  and 
die, 

»f  rich  and  poor  makes  all  the  history; 
nough  that  Virtue  fill’d  the  space  be- 
tween, 

rov’d  by  the  ends  of  being  to  have  been. 
Tfien  Hopkins  dies,  a thousand  lights  at- 
1 tend  2gi 

he  wretch  who  living  saved  a candle’s 
end : 

liould’ring  God’s  altar  a vile  image  stands, 
'elies  his  features,  nay,  extends  his  hands; 
hat  livelong  wig,  which  Gorgon’s  self 
might  own, 

ternal  buckle  takes  in  Parian  stone. 

Behold  what  blessings  Wealth  to  life  can 
1 lend ! 

nd  see  what  comfort  it  affords  our  end. 

I11  the  worst  inn’s  worst  room,  with  mat 
( half-hung, 

he  floors  of  plaster,  and  the  walls  of  dung, 
n once  a flock-bed,  but  repair’d  with 
straw,  30I 

ith  tape-tied  curtains,  never  meant  to 
draw, 

le  George  and  Garter  danglingfrom  that 
1 bed 

here  tawdry  yellow  strove  with  dirty  red, 
’eat  Villiers  lies — alas!  how  changed 
1 from  him, 

iat  life  of  pleasure  and  that  soul  of 
whim! 

diant  and  gay,  in  Cliveden’s  proud  alcove, 
ie  bower  of  wanton  Shrewsbury  and  Love; 


Or  just  as  gay  at  council,  in  a ring 
Of  mimic  statesmen  and  their  merry  King. 
No  Wit  to  flatter,  left  of  all  his  store — 3n 
No  Fool  to  laugh  at,  which  he  valued 
more  — 

There,  victor  of  his  health,  of  fortune, 
friends, 

And  fame,  this  lord  of  useless  thousands 
ends! 

His  Grace’s  fate  sage  Cutler  could  fore- 
see, 

And  well  (he  thought  ) advised  him,  ‘ Live 
like  me.’ 

And  well  his  Grace  replied,  ‘ Like  you, 
Sir  John  ? 

That  I can  do  when  all  I have  is  gone  ! ’ 
Resolve  me,  Reason,  which  of  these  is  worse, 
Want  with  a full  or  with  an  empty  purse? 
Thy  life  more  wretched,  Cutler!  was  con- 
fess’d; 32I 

Arise,  and  tell  me,  was  thy  death  more 
bless’d  ? 

Cutler  saw  tenants  break  and  houses  fall, 
For  very  want;  he  could  not  build  a wall: 
His  only  daughter  in  a stranger’s  power, 
For  very  want;  he  could  not  pay  a dower: 

A few  gray  hairs  his  rev’rend  temples 
crown’d; 

’T  was  very  want  that  sold  them  for  two 
pound. 

What  ev’n  denied  a cordial  at  his  end, 
Banish’d  the  doctor,  and  expell’d  the 
friend  ? 33Q 

What  but  a want,  which  you  perhaps  think 
mad, 

Yet  numbers  feel,  — the  want  of  what  he 
had! 

Cutler  and  Brutus  dying  both  exclaim, 
‘Virtue!  and  wealth!  what  are  ye  but  a 
name ! ’ 

Say,  for  such  worth  are  other  worlds 
prepared  ? 

Or  are  they  both  in  this  their  own  reward  ? 
A knotty  point!  to  which  we  now  proceed. 
But  you  are  tired  — I’ll  tell  a tale — B. 
Agreed. 

P . Where  London’s  column,  pointing  at 
the  skies, 

Like  a tall  bully,  lifts  the  head  and  lies,  340 
There  dwelt  a citizen  of  sober  fame, 

A plain  good  man,  and  Balaam  was  his 
name. 

Religious,  punctual,  frugal,  and  so  forth, 

His  word  would  pass  for  more  than  he  was 
worth; 


MORAL  ESSAYS 


170 


One  solid  dish  his  week-day  meal  affords, 
An  added  pudding  solemnized  the  Lord’s; 
Constant  at  Church  and  ’Change;  his  gains 
were  sure, 

His  givings  rare,  save  farthings  to  the  poor. 

The  Devil  was  piqued  such  saintship  to 
behold, 

And  long’d  to  tempt  him  like  good  Job  of 
old;  350 

But  Satan  now  is  wiser  than  of  yore, 

And  tempts  by  making  rich,  not  making 
poor. 

Rous’d  by  the  Prince  of  Air,  the  whirl- 
winds sweep 

The  surge,  and  plunge  his  father  in  the 
deep; 

Then  full  against  his  Cornish  lands  they 
roar, 

And  two  rich  shipwrecks  bless  the  lucky 
shore. 

Sir  Balaam  now,  he  lives  like  other  folks, 
He  takes  his  chirping  pint,  and  cracks  his 
jokes. 

‘Live  like  yourself,’  was  soon  my  lady’s 
word ; 

And  lo!  two  puddings  smoked  upon  the 
board.  360 

Asleep  and  naked  as  an  Indian  lay, 

An  honest  factor  stole  a gem  away: 

He  pledg’d  it  to  the  knight;  the  knight  had 
wit, 

So  kept  the  diamond,  and  the  rogue  was  bit. 
Some  scruple  rose,  but  thus  he  eas’d  his 
thought: 

‘ I ’ll  now  give  sixpence  where  I gave  a 
groat ; 

Where  once  I went  to  church  I’ll  now  go 
twice  — 

And  am  so  clear  too  of  all  other  vice.’ 

The  tempter  saw  his  time;  the  work  he 
plied; 

Stocks  and  subscriptions  pour  on  ev’ry 
side,  370 

Till  all  the  demon  makes  his  full  descent 
In  one  abundant  shower  of  cent  per  cent, 
Sinks  deep  within  him,  and  possesses  whole, 
Then  dubs  Director,  and  secures  his  soul. 

Behold  Sir  Balaam,  now  a man  of  Spirit, 
Ascribes  his  gettings  to  his  parts  and  merit; 
What  late  he  call’d  a blessing  now  was  wit, 
And  God’s  good  providence  a lucky  hit. 
Things  change  their  titles  as  our  manners 
turn, 

His  counting-house  employ’d  the  Sunday 
morn:  380 


Seldom  at  church  (’t  was  such  a busy 
life), 

But  duly  sent  his  family  and  wife. 

There  (so  the  Devil  ordain’d)  one  Christ- 
mas-tide 

My  good  old  lady  catch’d  a cold  and  died. 

A nymph  of  quality  admires  our  knight; 

He  marries,  bows  at  court,  and  grows  po- 
lite; 

Leaves  the  dull  cits,  and  joins  (to  please 
the  fair) 

The  well-bred  cuckolds  in  St.  James’s  air: 

First  for  his  son  a gay  commission  buys, 

Who  drinks,  whores,  fights,  and  in  a duel 
dies;  39c 

His  daughter  flaunts  a viscount’s  tawdry 
wife; 

She  bears  a coronet  and  p — x for  life. 

In  Britain’s  senate  he  a seat  obtains, 

And  one  more  pensioner  St.  Stephen 
gains. 

My  lady  falls  to  play ; so  bad  her  chance, 

He  must  repair  it;  takes  a bribe  from 
France: 

The  house  impeach  him;  Coningsby  ha- 
rangues; 

The  court  forsake  him,  and  Sir  Balaam 
hangs. 

Wife,  son,  and  daughter,  Satan  ! are  thj 
own, 

His  wealth,  yet  dearer,  forfeit  to  the 
crown : 40c 

The  Devil  and  the  King  divide  the  prize, 

And  sad  Sir  Balaam  curses  God  and  dies. 


EPISTLE  IV 

TO  RICHARD  BOYLE,  EARL • OF  BURLINGTON 
OF  THE  USE  OF  RICHES 
ARGUMENT 

The  vanity  of  Expense  in  people  of  wealth  am 
quality.  The  abuse  of  the  word  Taste.  Tha, 
the  first  principle  and  foundation  in  this,  a 
in  every  thing-  else,  is  Good  Sense.  The  chit* 
proof  of  it  is  to  follow  Nature,  even  in  work 
of  mere  luxury  and  elegance.  Instanced  ii 
Architecture  and  Gardening,  where  all  mus 
be  adapted  to  the  genius  and  use  of  th< 
place,  and  the  beauties  not  forced  into  it 
hut  resulting  from  it.  Hoav  men  are  dis 
appointed  in  their  most  expensive  undertak 
ings  for  want  of  this  true  foundation,  withou 
which  nothing  can  please  long,  if  at  all ; am 


MORAL  ESSAYS 


the  best  examples  and  rules  will  but  be  per- 
verted into  something’  burdensome  and  ridic- 
culous.  A description  of  the  false  taste  of 
Magnificence  ; the  first  grand  error  of  which 
is  to  imagine  that  greatness  consists  in  the 
size  and  dimension,  instead  of  the  proportion 
and  harmony,  of  the  whole  ; and  the  second, 
either  in  joining  together  parts  incoherent, 
or  too  minutely  resembling,  or,  in  the  repeti- 
tion of  the  same  too  frequently.  A word  or 
two  of  false  taste  in  books,  in  music,  in  paint- 
ing, even  in  preaching  and  prayer,  and  lastly 
in  entertainments.  Yet  Providence  is  justi- 
fied in  giving  wealth  to  be  squandered  in  this 
manner,  since  it  is  dispersed  to  the  poor  and 
laborious  part  of  mankind.  [Recurring  to 
what  is  laid  down  in  the  first  book,  ep.  ii. 
and  in  the  epistle  preceding  this.]  What  are 
the  proper  objects  of  Magnificence,  and  a 
proper  field  for  the  expense  of  great  men. 
And,  finally,  the  great  and  public  works 
which  become  a Prince. 

'Tis  strange  the  Miser  should  his  cares 
employ 

To  gain  those  riches  he  can  ne’er  enjoy: 

Is  it  less  strange  the  Prodigal  should  waste 

His  wealth  to  purchase  what  he  ne’er  can 
taste  ? 

Not  for  himself  he  sees,  or  hears,  or  eats; 

Artists  must  choose  his  pictures,  music, 
meats: 

He  buys  for  Topham  drawings  and  designs; 

For  Pembroke’  statues,  dirty  gods,  and 
coins; 

Rare  monkish  manuscripts  for  Hearne 
alone, 

And  books  for  Mead,  and  butterflies  for 
Sloane.  lo 

Think  we  all  these  are  for  himself?  no 
more 

Than  his  fine  wife,  alas  ! or  finer  whore. 

For  what  has  Virro  painted,  built,  and 
planted  ? 

Only  to  show  how  many  tastes  he  wanted. 

W hat  brought  Sir  Visto’s  ill-got  wealth  to 
waste  ? 

‘Some  demon  whisper’d,  ‘ Visto  ! have  a 
Taste.’ 

Heav’n  visits  with  a Taste  the  wealthy  fool, 

And  needs  no  rod  but  Ripley  with  a rule. 

See  ! sportive  Fate,  to  punish  awkward 
pride, 

Bids  Bubo  build,  and  sends  him  such  a 
ffnide: 

A standing  sermon  at  each  year’s  expense, 

That  never  coxcomb  reach’d  Magnificence  ! I 


171 


You  show  us  Rome  was  glorious,  not 
profuse, 

And  pompous  buildings  once  were  things 
of  use; 

Yet  shall,  my  Lord,  your  just,  your  noble 
rules 

Fill  half  the  land  with  imitating  fools; 
Who  random  drawings  from  your  sheets 
shall  take, 

And  of  one  Beauty  many  Blunders  make* 
Load  some  vain  church  with  old  theatric 
state, 

Turn  arcs  of  triumph  to  a garden  gate;  30 
Reverse  your  ornaments,  and  hang  them  all 
On  some  patch’d  dog-hole  eked  with  ends 
of  wall, 

Then  clap  four  slices  of  pilaster  on ’t, 

That  laced  with  bits  of  rustic  makes  a front; 
Shall  call  the  winds  thro’  long  arcades  to 
roar, 

Proud  to  catch  cold  at  a Venetian  door: 
Conscious  they  act  a true  Palladian  part, 
And  if  they  starve,  they  starve  by  rules  of 
Art. 

Oft  have  you  hinted  to  your  brother  peer 
A certain  truth,  which  many  buy  too  dear: 
Something  there  is  more  needful  than  ex- 
pense,  4I 

And  something  previous  ev’n  to  Taste 

’tis  Sense; 

Good  Sense,  which  only  is  the  gift  of 
Heav’n, 

And  tho5  no  science,  fairly  worth  thesev’n; 
A light  which  in  yourself  you  must  per- 
ceive; 

Jones  and  Le  Notre  have  it  not  to  give. 

To  build,  to  plant,  whatever  you  intend, 
To  rear  the  column,  or  the  arch  to  bend, 

To  swell  the  terrace,  or  to  sink  the  grot, 

In  all,  let  Nature  never  be  forgot.  5o 

But  treat  the  Goddess  like  a modest  Fair, 
Nor  overdress,  nor  leave  her  wholly  bare; 
Let  not  each  beauty  everywhere  be  spied, 
Where  half  the  skill  is  decently  to  hide. 

He  gains  all  points  who  pleasingly  con- 
founds, 

Surprises,  varies,  and  conceals  the  bounds. 

Consult  the  genius  of  the  place  in  all; 

That  tells  the  waters  or  to  rise  or  fall; 

Or  helps  th  ambitious  hill  the  heav’ns  to 
scale, 

Or  scoops  in  circling  theatres  the  vale,  60 
Calls  in  the  country,  catches  opening  glades, 
Joins  willing  woods,  and  varies  shades  from 
shades, 


C 


rnhSlr 

r- 

IV; 


CSS 


fir’iU 

«!JC 


172 


MORAL  ESSAYS 


Now  breaks,  or  now  directs,  th’  intending 
lines; 

Paints  as  you  plant,  and  as  you  work  de- 
signs. 

Still  follow  Sense,  of  every  art  the  soul; 
Parts  answering  parts  shall  slide  into  a 
whole, 

Spontaneous  beauties  all  around  advance, 
Start  ev’n  from  difficulty,  strike  from 
chance : 

Nature  shall  join  you;  time  shall  make  it 
grow 

A work  to  wonder  at  — perhaps  a Stowe.  70 

Without  it,  proud  Versailles!  thy  glory 
falls, 

And  Nero’s  terraces  desert  their  walls: 

The  vast  parterres  a thousand  hands  shall 
make, 

Lo!  Cobhain  comes,  and  floats  them  with 
a lake; 

Or  cut  wide  views  thro’  mountains  to  the 
plain, 

You  ’ll  wish  your  hill  or  shelter’d  seat 
again. 

Ev’n  in  an  ornament  its  place  remark, 

Nor  in  a hermitage  set  Or.  Clarke. 

Behold  Villario’s  ten  years’  toil  com- 
plete: 

His  quincunx  darkens,  his  espaliers  meet, 
The  wood  supports  the  plain,  the  parts 
unite,  81 

And  strength  of  shade  contends  with 
strength  of  light; 

A waving  glow  the  bloomy  beds  display, 
Blushing  in  bright  diversities  of  day, 

With  silver  quiv’ ring  rills  meander’d  o’er  — 
Enjoy  them,  yon!  Villario  can  no  more: 
Tired  of  the  scene  parterres  and  fountains 
yield, 

He  finds  at  last  he  better  likes  a field. 

Thro’  his  young  woods  how  pleased 
Sabinus  stray’d, 

Or  sat  delighted  in  the  thick’ning  shade,  90 
With  annual  joy  the  redd’ning  shoots  to 
greet, 

Or  see  the  stretching  branches  long  to  meet. 
His  son’s  fine  Taste  an  opener  vista  loves, 
Foe  to  the  dryads  of  his  father’s  groves; 
One  boundless  green  or  flourish’d  carpet 
views, 

With  all  the  mournful  family  of  yews; 

The  thriving  plants,  ignoble  broomsticks 
made, 

Now  sweep  those  alleys  they  were  born  to 
shade. 


At  Timon’s  villa  let  us  pass  a day, 

Where  all  cry  out,  ‘ What  sums  are  thrown 
away ; ’ 100  | 

So  proud,  so  grand;  of  that  stupendous  [ 
air, 

Soft  and  agreeable  come  never  there; 
Greatness  with  Timon  dwells  in  such  a 
draught 

As  brings  all  Brobdingnag  before  your 
thought. 

To  compass  this,  his  building  is  a town, 

His  pond  an  ocean,  his  parterre  a down: 
Who  but  must  laugh,  the  master  when  he 

sees, 

A puny  insect  shiv’ring  at  a breeze!  108 
Lo,  what  huge  heaps  of  littleness  around! 
The  whole  a labour’d  quarry  above  ground. 
Two  Cupids  squirt  before:  a lake  behind 
Improves  the  keenness  of  the  northern 
wind. 

His  gardens  next  your  admiration  carl; 

On  every  side  you  look,  behold  the  wall! 

No  pleasing  intricacies  intervene; 

No  artful  wildness  to  perplex  the  scene; 
Grove  nods  at  grove,  each  alley  has  a 
brother, 

And  half  the  platform  just  reflects  tin 
other. 

The  suff’ring  eye  inverted  Nature  sees,  ng 
Trees  cut  to  statues,  statues  thick  as  trees; 
With  here  a fountain  never  to  be  play’d, 
And  there  a summer-house  that  knows  nc 
shade, 

Here  Amphitrite  sails  thro’  myrtle  bowers. 
There  gladiators  fight  or  die  in  flowers; 
Unwater’d,  see  the  drooping  seahors^ 
mourn, 

And  swallows  roost  in  Nilas’  dusty  urn. 

My  Lord  advances  with  majestic  mien, 
Smit  with  the  mighty  pleasure  to  be  seen: 
But  soft!  by  regular  approach  — not  yet  — 
First  thro’  the  length  of  yon  hot  terrace 
sweat;  *3< 

And  when  up  ten  steep  slopes  you’ve 
dragg’d  your  thighs, 

Just  at  his  study  door  he  ’ll  bless  your  eyes 
His  stuely!  with  what  authors  is  it  stor’d  ‘ 
In  books,  not  authors,  curious  is  my  lord. 
To  all  their  dated  backs  he  turns  yoi 
round; 

These  Aldus  printed,  those  Du  Sueil  ha 
bound; 

Lo,  some  are  vellum,  and  the  rest  as  good 
For  all  his  lordship  knows,  — but  they  ar 
I wood. 


MORAL  ESSAYS 


For  Locke  or  Milton ’t  is  in  vain  to  look; 
These  shelves  admit  not  any  modern  book. 

And  now  the  chapel’s  silver  bell  you 
hear,  ,4I 

That  summons  you  to  all  the  pride  of 
prayer. 

Light  quirks  of  music,  broken  and  unev’n, 
Make  the  soul  dance  upon  a jig  to  Heav’n: 
On  painted  ceilings  you  devoutly  stare, 
Where  sprawl  the  saints  of  Verrio  or  La- 
guerre, 

On  gilded  clouds  in  fair  expansion  lie, 

And  bring  all  paradise  before  your  eye: 

To  rest,  the  cushion  and  soft  dean  invite, 
Who  never  mentions  Hell  to  ears  polite.  150 
But  hark!  the  chiming  clocks  to  dinner 
call: 

A hundred  footsteps  scrape  the  marble  hall; 
The  rich  buffet  well-colour’d  serpents 
grace, 

And  gaping  Tritons  spew  to  wash  your 
face. 

Is  this  a dinner  ? this  a genial  room  ? 

No,  »t  is  a temple  and  a hecatomb; 

A solemn  sacrifice  perform’d  in  state; 

You  drink  by  measure,  and  to  minutes  eat. 
So  quick  retires  each  flying  course,  you ’d 
swear 

Sancho’s  dread  doctor  and  his  wand  were 
there.  l6o 

Between  each  act  the  trembling  salvers 
ring, 

From  soup  to  sweet  wine,  and  God  bless 
the  King. 

In  plenty  starving,  tantalized  in  state, 

And  complaisantly  help’d  to  all  I hate, 
Treated,  caress’d,  and  tired,  I take  my 
leave, 

Sick  of  his  civil  pride  from  morn  to  eve; 

I curse  such  lavish  Cost  and  little  Skill, 

And  swear  no  day  was  ever  pass’d  so  ill. 

Yet  hence  the  poor  are  clothed,  •the  hun- 
gryfed;  169 

Health  to  himself,  and  to  his  infants  bread 
The  lab’rer  bears;  what  his  hard  heart  de- 
nies, 

His  charitable  vanity  supplies. 

Another  age  shall  see  the  golden  ear 
Imbrown  the  slope,  and  nod  on  the  parterre, 
-Deep  harvests  bury  all  his  pride  has  plann’d, 
And  laughing  Ceres  reassume  the  land. 

Who  then  shall  grace,  or  who  improve 
the  soil  ? 

Who  plants  like  Bathurst,  or  who  builds 
like  Boyle  ? 


*73 


’T  is  use  alone  that  sanctifies  expense, 

And  splendour  borrows  all  her  rays  from 
sense.  l8o 

His  father’s  acres  who  enjoys  in  peace, 
Or  makes  his  neighbours  glad  if  he  increase; 
Whose  cheerful  tenants  bless  their  yearly 
toil, 

Yet  to  their  Lord  owe  more  than  to  the 
soil; 

Whose  ample  lawns  are  not  ashamed  to 
feed 

The  milky  heifer  and  deserving  steed; 
Whose  rising  forests,  not  for  pride  or  show, 
But  future  buildings,  future  navies,  grow: 
Let  his  plantations  stretch  from  down  to 
down, 

First  shade  a country,  and  then  raise  a 
town.  ,9o 

You,  too,  proceed!  make  falling  arts 
your  care; 

Erect  new  wonders,  and  the  old  repair; 
Jones  and  Palladio  to  themselves  restore 
And  be  whate’er  Vitruvius  was  before, 

Till  kings  call  forth  th’  ideas  of  your  mind 
(Proud  to  accomplish  what  such  hands 
design’d), 

Bid  harbours  open,  public  ways  extend, 

Bid  temples,  worthier  of  the  God,  ascend, 
Bid  the  broad  arch  the  dangerous  flood 
contain, 

The  mole  projected  break  the  roaring 
main,  20O 

Back  to  his  bounds  their  subject  sea  com- 
mand, 

And  roll  obedient  rivers  thro’ the  land. 
These  honours  Peace  to  happy  Britain 
brings ; 

These  are  imperial  works,  and  worthy 
Kings. 


EPISTLE  V 

TO  MR.  ADDISON 

OCCASIONED  BY  HIS  DIALOGUES  ON  MEDALS 

‘ This  was  originally  written,’  says  Pope,  ‘ in 
the  year  1715,  when  Mr.  Addison  intended  to 
publish  his  book  Of  Medals  ; it  was  some  time 
before  he  was  Secretary  of  State  ; but  not  pub- 
lished till  Mr.  Tickell’s  edition  of  his  works ; 
at  which  time  the  verses  on  Mr.  Craggs,  which 
conclude  the  poem,  were  added,  viz.,  in  1720.’ 

Warburton  connects  the  epistle  with  the  pre- 
ceding Essays  in  this  ingenious  way  : ‘ As  the 


MORAL 


third  epistle  treated  the  extremes  of  Avarice 
and  Profusion,  and  the  fourth  took  up  one  par- 
ticular branch  of  the  latter,  namely  the  van- 
ity of  expense  in  people  of  wealth  and  quality, 
and  was  therefore  corollary  to  the  third ; so 
this  treats  of  one  circumstance  of  that  vanity, 
as  it  appears  in  the  common  collections  of 
old  coins ; and  is  therefore  a corollary  to  the 
fourth.’ 

See  the  wild  waste  of  all-devouring  years! 
How  Rome  her  own  sad  sepulchre  appears! 
With  nodding  arches,  broken  temples 
spread, 

The  very  tombs  now  vanish’d  like  their 
dead! 

Imperial  wonders  raised  on  nations  spoil’d, 
Where  mix’d  with  slaves  the  groaning 
martyr  toil’d; 

Huge  theatres,  that  now  unpeopled  woods, 
Now  drain’d  a distant  country  of  her  floods; 
Fanes,  which  admiring  Gods  with  pride 
survey,  9 

Statues  of  men,  scarce  less  alive  than  they ! 
Some  felt  the  silent  stroke  of  mould’ring 
age> 

Some  hostile  fury,  some  religious  rage: 
Barbarian  blindness,  Christian  zeal  con- 
spire, 

And  Papal  piety,  and  Gothic  fire. 

Perhaps,  by  its  own  ruins  saved  from  flame, 
Some  buried  marble  half  preserves  a name: 
That  name  the  learn’d  with  fierce  disputes 
pursue 

And  give  to  Titus  old  Vespasian’s  due. 

Ambition  sigh’d:  she  found  it  vain  to 
trust 

The  faithless  column  and  the  crumbling 
bust;  20 

Huge  moles,  whose  shadow  stretch’d  from 
shore  to  shore, 

Their  ruins  perish’d,  and  their  place  no 
more ! 

Convinced,  she  now  contracts  her  vast  de- 
sign, 

And  all  her  triumphs  shrink  into  a coin. 

A narrow  orb  each  crowded  conquest 
keeps, 

Beneath  her  palm  here  sad  Judea  weeps: 
Now  scantier  limits  the  proud  arch  con- 
fine, 

And  scarce  are  seen  the  prostrate  Nile  or 
Rhine: 

A small  Euphrates  thro’  the  piece  is 
roll’d,  29 

And  little  eagles  wave  their  wings  in  gold. 


ESSAYS 


The  Medal,  faithful  to  its  charge  of 
fame, 

Thro’  climes  and  ages  bears  each  form 
and  name: 

In  one  short  view  subjected  to  our  eye, 
Gods,  Emp’rors,  Heroes,  Sages,  Beauties, 
lie. 

With  sharpen’d  sight  pale  antiquaries  pore, 
Th’  inscription  value,  but  the  rust  adore. 
This  the  blue  varnish,  that  the  green  en- 
dears, 

The  sacred  rust  of  twice  ten  hundred 
years  ! 

To  gain  Pescennius  one  employs  his 
schemes, 

One  grasps  a Cecrops  in  ecstatic  dreams.  4c 
Poor  Vadius,  long  with  learned  spleen  de- 
vour’d, 

Can  taste  no  pleasure  since  his  shield  was 
scour’d ; 

And  Curio,  restless  by  the  fair  one’s  side, 
Sighs  for  an  Otho,  and  neglects  his  bride. 

Theirs  is  the  vanity,  the  learning  thine: 
Touch’d  by  thy  hand,  again  Rome’s  glories 
shine; 

Her  Gods  and  godlike  Heroes  rise  to  view. 
And  all  her  faded  garlands  bloom  anew. 
Nor  blush  these  studies  thy  regard  engage 
These  pleas’d  the  fathers  of  poetic  rage;  5c 
The  verse  and  sculpture  bore  an  equal  part 
And  art  reflected  images  to  art. 

Oh,  when  shall  Britain,  conscious  of  hei 
claim, 

Stand  emulous  of  Greek  and  Roman  fame  *; 
In  living  medals  see  her  wars  enroll’d, 

And  vanquish’d  realms  supply  recording 
gold  ? 

Here,  rising  bold,  the  patriot’s  honest  face 
There  warriors  frowning  in  historic  brass. 
Then  future  ages  with  delight  shall  see 
How  Plato’s,  Bacon’s,  Newton’s  looks 
agree ; 6< 

Or  in  fair  series  laurell’d  bards  be  shown, 
A Virgil  there,  and  here  an  Addison. 

Then  shall  thy  Craggs  (and  let  me  call  hin 
mine) 

On  the  cast  ore  another  Pollio  shine; 

With  aspect  open  shall  erect  his  head, 

And  round  the  orb  in  lasting  notes  be  read 
‘Statesman,  yet  friend  to  truth;  of  sou 
sincere, 

In  action  faithful,  and  in  honour  clear; 
Who  broke  no  promise,  serv’d  no  privati 
end,  6 

Who  gain’d  no  title,  and  who  lost  no  friend 


UNIVERSAL  PRAYER 


Ennobled  by  himself,  by  all  approv’d 
And  prais’d,  unenvied  by  the  Muse  he 
lov’d.’ 

UNIVERSAL  PRAYER 

DEO  OPT.  MAX. 

This  was  written  in  1738  to  correct  the  im- 
pression of  fatalism  which  Warburton’s  ingen- 
ious exposition  had  failed  to  remove.  Pope 
had  really  as  little  mind  for  dogma  as  most 
poecs  ; but  these  verses  represent  what,  in  view 
of  the  instructions  of  Boling-broke,  corrected 
by  War  burton,  he  now  believed  himself  to  be- 
lieve. 

Father  of  all ! in  ev’ry  age, 

In  ev’ry  clime  ador’d, 

By  saint,  by  savage,  and  by  sage, 
Jehovah,  Jove,  or  Lord  ! 

Thou  Great  First  Cause,  least  understood, 
Who  all  my  sense  confin’d 

To  know  but  this,  that  thou  art  good, 
And  that  myself  am  blind: 

Yet  gave  me,  in  this  dark  estate, 

To  see  the  good  from  ill; 

And  binding  Nature  fast  in  Fate, 

Left  free  the  human  Will. 

What  Conscience  dictates  to  be  done, 

Or  warns  me  not  to  do; 

This  teach  me  more  than  Hell  to  shun, 
That  more  than  Heav’n  pursue. 

What  blessings  thy  free  bounty  gives 
Let  me  not  cast  away; 

For  God  is  paid  when  man  receives; 

T’  enjoy  is  to  obey. 


*75 


Yet  not  to  earth’s  contracted  span 
Thy  goodness  let  me  bound, 

Or  think  thee  Lord  alone  of  man, 
When  thousand  worlds  are  round. 

Let  not  this  weak  unknowing  hand 
Presume  thy  bolts  to  throw, 

And  deal  damnation  round  the  land 
On  each  I judge  thy  foe. 

If  I am  right,  thy  grace  impart, 

Still  in  the  right  to  stay; 

If  I am  wrong,  O teach  my  heart 
To  find  that  better  way. 

Save  me  alike  from  foolish  Pride 
Or  impious  Discontent, 

At  aught  thy  wisdom  has  denied, 

Or  aught  thy  goodness  lent. 

Teach  me  to  feel  another’s  woe, 

To  hide  the  fault  I see: 

That  mercy  I to  others  show, 

That  mercy  show  to  me. 

Mean  tho’  I am,  not  wholly  so, 

Since  quicken’d  by  thy  breath; 

O lead  me,  whereso’er  I go, 

Thro’  this  day’s  life  or  death! 

This  day  be  bread  and  peace  my  lot: 
All  else  beneath  the  sun 

Thou  know’st  if  best  bestow’d  or  not, 
And  let  thy  will  be  done. 

To  Thee,  whose  temple  is  all  Space, 
Whose  altar  earth,  sea,  skies, 

One  chorus  let  all  Being  raise, 

All  Nature’s  incense  rise  ! 


176 


SATIRES 


SATIRES 


The  Satires  retain  nearly  the  order  of  their 

original  publication.  They  appeared  between 

1733  and  1738.  It  is  said  that  Boling-broke 

suggested  the  translation  of  the  First  Satire  of 

EPISTLE  TO  DR.  ARBUTHNOT 

BEING  THE  PROLOGUE  TO  THE  SATIRES 
ADVERTISEMENT 

This  paper  is  a sort  of  bill  of  complaint,  begun 
many  years  since,  and  drawn  up  by  snatches, 
as  the  several  occasions  offered.  I had  no 
thoughts  of  publishing  it,  till  it  pleased  some 
Persons  of  Rank  and  Fortune  (the  authors  of 
‘ Verses  to  the  Imitator  of  Horace,’  and  of 
an  1 Epistle  to  a Doctor  of  Divinity  from  a 
Nobleman  at  Hampton  Court  ’)  to  attack,  in 
a very  extraordinary  manner,  not  only  my 
Writings  (of  which,  being  public,  the  Public 
is  judge),  but  my  Pgrson,  Morals,  and  Fam- 
ily ; whereof,  to  those  who  know  me  not,  a 
truer  information  may  be  requisite.  Being 
divided  between  the  necessity  to  say  some- 
thing of  myself,  and  my  own  laziness  to  un- 
dertake so  awkward  a task,  I thought  it  the 
shortest  way  to  put  the  last  hand  to  this 
epistle.  If  it  have  any  thing  pleasing,  it  will 
be  that  by  which  I am  most  desirous  to 
please,  the  Truth  and  the  Sentiment ; and  if 
any  thing  offensive,  it  will  be  only  to  those  I 
am  least  sorry  to  offend,  the  vicious  or  the 
ungenerous. 

Many  will  know  their  own  pictures  in  it,  there 
being  not  a circumstance  but  what  is  true ; 
but  I have,  for  the  most  part,  spared  their 
names,  and  they  may  escape  being  laughed 
at  if  they  please. 

I would  have  some  of  them  know  it  was  owing 
to  the  request  of  the  learned  and  candid 
Friend  to  whom  it  is  inscribed,  that  I make 
not  as  free  use  of  theirs  as  they  have  done  of 
mine.  However,  I shall  have  this  advantage 
and  honour  on  my  side,  that  whereas,  by 
their  proceeding,  any  abuse  may  be  directed 
at  any  man,  no  injury  can  possibly  be  done 
by  mine,  since  a nameless  character  can 
never  be  found  out  but  by  its  truth  and  like- 
ness. 

Py,  ‘ Shut,  shut  the  door,  good  John  ! ’ 
fatigued,  I said; 

‘ Tie  up  the  knocker,  say  I ’m  sick,  I ’m 
dead.’ 


the  Second  Book  of  Horace,  and  that  the  trans- 
lation of  the  others  was  done  somewhat  at 
random,  as  Pope  saw  his  opportunity  of  adapt- 
ing them  to  his  own  day. 

The  Dog-star  rages!  nay,  ’t is  past  a doubt 
All  Bedlam  or  Parnassus  is  let  out: 

Fire  in  each  eye,  and  papers  in  each  hand, 
They  rave,  recite,  and  madden  round  thi 
land. 

What  walls  can  guard  me,  or  whai 
shades  can  hide? 

They  pierce  my  thickets,  thro’  my  grot  thej 
glide, 

By  land,  by  water,  they  renew  the  charge, 
They  stop  the  chariot,  and  they  board  tin 
barge.  1 

No  place  is  sacred,  not  the  church  is  free,  ! 
Ev’n  Sunday  shines  no  Sabbath-day  tc 
me: 

Then  from  the  Mint  walks  forth  the  mar 
of  rhyme, 

Happy  to  catch  me  just  at  dinner  time. 

Is  there  a Parson  much  bemused  in  beer 
A maudlin  Poetess,  a rhyming  Peer, 

A clerk  foredoom’d  his  father’s  soul  to  cross 
Who  pens  a stanza  when  he  should  engross' 
Is  there  who,  lock’d  from  ink  and  paper 
scrawls 

With  desp’rate  charcoal  round  his  darken’t 
walls?  2 

All  fly  to  Twit’nam,  and  in  humble  strain! 
Apply  to  me  to  keep  them  mad  or  vain, 
Arthur,  whose  giddy  son  neglects  the  laws 
Imputes  to  me  and  my  damn’d  works  th 
cause : 

Poor  Cornus  sees  his  frantic  wife  elope, 
And  curses  Wit  and  Poetry,  and  Pope. 

Friend  to  my  life  (which  did  not  yo 
prolong, 

The  world  had  wanted  many  an  idle  song) 
What  Drop  or  Nostrum  can  this  plagu 
remove? 

Or  which  must  end  me,  a fool’s  wrath  o 
love  ? 3 

A dire  dilemma!  either  way  I ’m  sped; 

If  foes,  they  write,  if  friends,  they  read  m 
dead. 

Seiz’d  and  tied  down  to  judge,  how  wretchei 
I!  . 

[ Who  can’t  be  silent,  and  who  will  not  lie.  j 


EPISTLE  TO  DR.  ARBUTHNOT 


77 


To  laugh  were  want  of  goodness  and  of 
grace, 

And  to  be  grave  exceeds  all  power  of  face. 
I sit  with  sad  civility,  I read 
With  honest  anguish  and  an  aching  head, 
And  drop  at  last,  but  in  unwilling  ears, 

This  saving  counsel,  ‘ Keep  your  piece  nine 
years.’  4G 

‘.Nine  years!’  cries  he,  who,  high  in 
Drury  lane, 

Lull’d  by  soft  zephyrs  thro’  the  broken 
pane, 

Rhymes  ere  he  wakes,  and  prints  before 
Term  ends, 

Obliged  by  hunger  and  request  of  friends: 

‘ The  piece,  you  think,  is  incorrect  ? whv 
take  it!  17 

I ’m  all  submission:  what  you ’d  have  it 

make  it.’ 

Three  things  another’s  modest  wishes 
bound, 

: My  friendship,  and  a Prologue,  and  ten 
pound.’ 

Pitholeon  sends  to  me:  “You  know  his 
Grace, 

I want  a patron  ; ask  him  for  a place.’  5o 
Pitholeon  libell’d  me  — ‘But  here’s  a 

letter 

[nforms  you,  Sir,  ’twas  when  he  knew  no 
better. 

Tare  you  refuse  him  ? Curll  invites  to  dine, 
ie  ’ll  write  a Journal , or  he  ’ll  turn  Divine.’ 
31ess  me!  a packet.  — ’T is  a stranger  sues, 

\ Virgin  Tragedy,  an  Orphan  Muse, 
f I dislike  it,  ‘Furies,  death,  and  rage  !’ 
f I approve,  ‘Commend  it  to  the  stage.’ 
Lhere  (thank  my  stars)  my  whole  commis- 
sion ends,  S9 

Je  players  and  I are,  luckily,  no  friends, 
ired  that  the  house  rejects  him,  ‘ ’Sdeath, 

I ’ll  print  it, 

md  shame  the  fools  — your  int’rest,  Sir, 
with  Lintot.’ 

Intot,  dull  rogue,  will  think  your  price  too 
much: 

Not,  Sir,  if  you  revise  it,  and  retouch.’ 

II  my  demurs  but  double  his  attacks; 

t last  he  whispers,  ‘Do,  and  we  go 
snacks.’ 

lad  of  a quarrel,  straight  I clap  the  door; 
Mr,  let  me  see  your  works  and  you  no 
more.’ 

’T  is  sung,  when  Midas’  ears  began  to 
spring 

tfidas,  a sacred  person  and  a king),  7Q  I 


His  very  Minister  who  spied  them  first 
(Some  say  his  Queen)  was  forc’d  to  speak 
or  burst. 

And  is  not  mine,  my  friend,  a sorer  case, 
When  ev’ry  coxcomb  perks  them  in  mv 
.-''x  face  ? 

1 A h Good  friend,  forbear!  you  deal  in 
dangerous  things; 

I ’d  never  name  Queens,  Ministers,  or 
Kings; 

Keep  close  to  ears,  and  those  let  asses 
prick, 

’T  is  nothing  — P.  Nothing ! if  they  bite 
and  kick  ? J 

Out  with  it,  Dunciad!  let  the  secret  pass, 
That  secret  to  each  fool,  that  he ’s  an  ass: 
The  truth  once  told  (and  wherefore  should 
we  lie  ?)  8l 

The  Queen  of  Midas  slept,  and  so  may  I. 

You  think  this  cruel  ? take  it  for  a 
rule, 

No  creature  smarts  so  little  as  a fool. 

Let  peals  of  laughter,  Codrus!  round  thee 
break, 

Thou  unconcern’d  canst  hear  the  mighty 
crack:  ° J 

Pit,  Box,  and  Gall’ry  in  convulsions  hurl’d, 
Thou  stand’st  unshook  amidst  a bursting 
world. 

Who  shames  a Scribbler  ? break  one  cob- 
web thro’, 

He  spins  the  slight  self-pleasing  thread 
anew:  9Q 

Destroy  his  fib,  or  sophistry  — in  vain! 

The  creature ’s  at  his  dirty  work  again, 
Throned  in  the  centre  of  his  thin  designs, 
Proud  of  a vast  extent  of  flimsy  lines. 

Whom  have  I hurt  ? has  Poet  yet  or  Peer 
Lost  the  arch’d  eyebrow  or  Parnassian 
sneer  ? 

And  has  not  Colley  still  his  lord  and  whore  ? 
His  butchers  Henley  ? his  freemasons 
Moore  ? 

Does  not  one  table  Bavins  still  admit  ? 

Still  to  one  Bishop^Philips  seem  a wit  ? ioo 
Still  Sappho—  (£)  Hold!  for  God’s  sake 
— you  ’ll  offend. 

No  names  - be  calm  — learn  prudence  of 

a friend.  .i 

I too  could  write,  and  IV^m  twice  as  tall- 
But  foes  like  these  — (/P\  One  flatt’  rer ’s 
worse  than  all.  — 

Of  all  mad  creatures,  if  the  learn’d  are 
right, 

It  is  the  slaver  kills,  and  not  the  bite. 


*78 


SATIRES 


A fool  quite  angry  is  quite  innocent: 

Alas!  ’tis  ten  times  worse  when  they  re- 
pent. 

One  dedicates  in  high  heroic  prose, 

And  ridicules  beyond  a hundred  foes;  no 
One  from  all  Grub-street  will  my  fame 
defend, 

And,  more  abusive,  calls  himself  my  friend: 
This  prints  my  Letters , that  expects  a bribe, 
And  others  roar  aloud,  ‘Subscribe,  sub- 
scribe! ’ 

There  are  who  to  my  person  pay  their 
court: 

I cough  like  Horace;  and  tho’  lean,  am 
short; 

Ammon’s  great  son  one  shoulder  had  too 
high, 

Such  Ovid’s  nose,  and  ‘Sir!  you  have  an 

eye  — ’ 

Go  on,  obliging  creatures!  make  me  see 
All  that  disgraced  my  betters  met  in  me. 
Say,  for  my  comfort,  languishing  in  bed,  121 
4 Just  so  immortal  Maro  held  his  head:  ’ 
And  when  I die,  be  sure  you  let  me  know 
Great  Homer  died  three  thousand  years 
ago. 

Why  did  I write  ? what  sin  to  me  un- 
known 

Hipp’d  me  in  ink,  my  parents*,  or  my  own  ? 
As  yet  a child,  nor  yet  a fool  to  fame, 

I lj  ap’d  inn  umbers,  for  the  numbers  came: 
I left  no  calling  for  this  idle  trade, 

No  duty  broke,  no  father  disobey’d:  130 

The  Muse  but  serv’d  to  ease  some  friend, 
not  wife, 

To  help  me  thro’  this  long  disease  my  life, 
To  second,  ArbuTHnot!  thy  art  and  care, 
And  teach  the  being  you  preserv’d,  to  bear. 

(2T)  But  why  then  publish  ? (PA  Granville 
the  poiite, 

And  knowing  Walsh,  would  tell  me  I could 
write ; 

Well-natured  Garth  inflamed  with  early 
praise, 

And  Congreve  lov’d,  and  Swift  endured  my 
lays; 

The  courtly  Talbot,  Somers,  Sheffield,  read; 
Ev’n  mitred  Rochester  would  nod  the 
head,  140 

And  St.  John’s  self  (great  Dryden’s  friends 
before) 

With  open  arms  receiv’d  one  poet  more. 
Happy  my  studies,  when  by  these  approv’d! 
Happier  their  author,  when  by  these  be- 
lov’d  ! 


From  these  the  world  will  judge  of  men 
and  books, 

Not  from  the  Burnets,  Oldmixons,  and 
Cookes. 

Soft  were  my  numbers;  who  could  take 
offence 

While  pure  description  held  the  place  of 
sense  ? 

Like  gentle  Fanny’s  was  my  flowery  theme, 
‘ A painted  mistress,  or  a purling  stream.’ 
Yet  then  did  Gildon  draw  his  venal  quill ; 151 
I wish’d  the  man  a dinner,  and  sat  still; 
Yet  then  did  Dennis  rave  in  furious  fret; 

I never  answer’d;  I was  not  in  debt. 

If  want  provoked,  or  madness  made  them 
print, 

I Waged  no  war  with  Bedlam  or  the  Mint. 

Did  some  more  sober  critic  come  abroad; 
If  wrong,  I smiled,  if  right,  I kiss’d  the 
rod. 

Pains,  reading,  study,  are  their  just  pre- 
tence, 

And  all  they  want  is  spirit,  taste,  and 
sense.  16c 

Commas  and  points  they  set  exactly  right, 
And ’t  were  a sin  to  rob  them  of  their  mite, 
Yet  ne’er  one  sprig  of  laurel  graced  these 
ribalds, 

From  slashing  Bentleys  down  to  piddling 
Tibbalds. 

Each  wight  who  reads  not,  and  but  scam 
and  spells, 

Each  word-catcher  that  lives  on  syllables, 
Ev’n  such  small  critics  some  regard  maj 
claim, 

Preserv’d  in  Milton’s  or  in  Shakspeare\(i 
name. 

Pretty  t in  amber  to  observe  the  forms 
Of  hairs,  or  straws,  or  dirt,  or  grubs,  o: 

worms!  . 17 

The  things,  we  know,  are  neither  rich  no: 
rare, 

But  wonder  how  the  devil  they  got  there. 

Were  others  angry:  I excused  them  too 
Well  might  they  rage,  I gave  them  bu 
their  due. 

A man’s  true  merit  ’tis  not  hard  to  find; 
But  each  man’s  secret  standard  in  hi 
mind, 

That  casting»weight  Pride  adds  to  empti 
ness, 

This,  who  can  gratify  ? for  who  can  guess 1 
The  bard  whom  pilfer’d  pastorals  renown, 
Who  turns  a Persian  tale  for  half-a 
crown,  ,s 


EPISTLE  TO  DR.  ARBUTHNOT 


Just  writes  to  make  his  barrenness  appear, 
And  strains  from  hard-bound  brains  eight 
lines  a year; 

He  who  still  wanting,  tho’  he  lives  on  theft, 
Steals  much,  spends  little,  yet  has  nothing 
left; 

And  he  who  now  to  sense,  now  nonsense, 
leaning, 

Means  not,  but  blunders  round  about  a 
meaning: 

And  he  whose  fustian ’s  so  sublimely  bad, 
ft  is  not  poetry,  but  prose  run  mad: 

All  these  my  modest  satire  bade  translate, 
And  own  d that  nine  such  poets  made  a 
Tate.  I9<} 

riow  did  they  fume,  and  stamp,  and  roar, 
and  chafe! 

And  swear  not  Addison  himself  was  safe. 
Peace  to  all  suchl  but  were  there  one 
whose  fires 

true  Genius  kindles,  and  fair  Fame  in- 
spires, 

iless’d  with  each  talent  and  each  art  to 
please, 

Uid  born  to  write,  converse,  and  live  with 
ease; 

honld  such  a man,  too  fond  to  rule  alone, 
lear,  like  the  Turk,  no  brother  near  the 
i throne ; 

riew  him  with  scornful,  yet  with  jealous 
eyes, 

aid  hate  for  arts  that  caus’d  himself  to 
ri"e,;  ... 

>amn  with  faint  praise,  assent  with  civil' 
leer, 

nd  without  sneering  teach  the  rest  to 
sneer; . 

ailing  to  wound,  and  yet  afraid  to  strike, 
Aft  hint  a fault,  and  hesitate  dislike; 
like  reserv’d  to  blame  or  to  commend, 
tim’rous  foe,  and  a suspicious  friend; 
reading  ev’n  fools;  by  flatterers  besieged, 
nd  so  obliging  that  he  ne’er  obliged; 

^ke  Cato,  give  his  little  Senate  laws, 
nd  sit  attentive  to  his  own  applause:  210 
liile  Wits  and  Templars  ev’ry  sentence 
raise, 

id  wonder  with  a foolish  face  of  praise  — 
ho  but  must  laugh  if  such  a man  there  be  ? 

I ho  would  not  weep,  if  Atticus  Were  he  ? 
What  tho’  my  name  stood  rubric  011  the 
i walls, 

* plaster’d  posts,  with  claps,  in  capitals  ? 
smoking  forth,  a hundred  hawkers  load, 

1 wings  of  winds  came  flying  all  abroad  ? I 


179 

I sought  no  homage  from  the  race  that 
write ; 

I kept,  like  Asian  Monarch s,  from  their 
sight:  220 

Poems  I heeded  (now  berhymed  so  long) 
No  more  than  thou,  great  George!  a birth- 
day song. 

I ne’er  with  Wits  or  Witlings  pass’d  my 
days 

To  spread  about  the  itch  of  verse  and 
praise ; 

Nor  like  a puppy  daggled  thro’  the  town 
To  fetch  and  carry  sing-song  up  and  down; 
Nor  at  rehearsals  sweat,  and  mouth’d,  and 
cried, 

With  handkerchief  and  orange  at  my  side; 
But  sick  of  fops,  and  poetry,  and  prate, 

To  Bufo  left  the  whole  Castalian  state.  230 
Proud  as  Apollo  on  his  forked  hill 
Sat  full-blown  Bufo,  puff’d  by  ev’ry 
quill: 

Fed  with  soft  dedication  all  day  long, 

Horace  and  he  went  hand  in  hand  in  sono*. 
His  library  (where  busts  of  poets  dead,  ° 
And  a true  Pindar  stood  without  a head) 
Receiv’d  of  Wits  an  undistinguish’d  race, 
Who  first  his  judgment  ask’d,  and  then  a 
place: 

Much  they  extoll’d  his  pictures,  much  his 
seat, 

And  flatter’d  ev’ry  day,  and  some  days 

eat:  240 

Till  grown  more  frugal  in  his  riper  days, 

He  paid  some  bards  with  port,  and  some 
with  praise; 

To  some  a dry  rehearsal  was  assign’d, 

And  others  (harder  still)  he  paid  in  kind. 
Dryden  alone  (what  wonder  ?)  came  not 
nigh; 

Hryden  alone  escaped  this  judging  eye: 

But  still  the  great  have  kindness  "in  re- 
serve; 

He  help’d  to  bury  whom  he  help’d  to 
starve. 

May  some  choice  patron  bless  each  gray 
goose  quill! 

May  every  Bavius  have  his  Bufo  still!  2so 
So  when  a statesman  wants- a day’s  de- 
fence, 

Or  Envy  holds  a whole  week’s  war  with  ( 
Sense, 

Or  simple  Pride  for  flatt’ry  makes  de-  i 
mands, 

May  dunce  by  dunce  be  whistled  off  my 
hands! 


i8o 


SATIRES 


Bless’d  be  the  great!  for  those  they  take 
away, 

And  those  they  left  me  — for  they  left  me 
Gay; 

Left  me  to  see  neglected  Genius  bloom, 
Neglected  die,  and  tell  it  on  his  tomb: 

Of  all  thy  blameless  life  the  sole  return 
My  Verse,  and  Queensb’ry  weeping  o’er 
thy  urn!  260 

Oh  let  me  live  my  own,  and  die  so  too 
(To  live  and  die  is  all  I have  to  do)! 
Maintain  a poet’s  dignity  and  ease, 

And  see  what  friends,  and  read  what  books 
I please; 

Above  a Patron,  tho’  I condescend 
Sometimes  to  call  a minister  my  Friend. 

I was  not  born  for  courts  or  great  affairs; 

I pay  my  debts,  believe,  and  say  my 
prayers; 

Can  sleep  without  a poem  in  my  head, 

Nor  know  if  Dennis  be  alive  or  dead.  270 
Why  am  I ask’d  what  next  shall  see  the 
light  ? 

Heav’ns!  was  I born  for  nothing  but  to 
write  ? 

Has  life  no  joys  for  me  ? or  (to  be  grave) 
Have  I no  friend  to  serve,  no  soul  to  save  ? 

‘ I found  him  close  with  Swift  ’ — ‘ Indeed  ? 
no  doubt 

(Cries  prating  Balbus)  something  will  come 
out.’ 

’T  is  all  in  vain,  deny  it  as  I will; 

‘No,  such  a genius  never  can  lie  still:  ’ 

And  then  for  mine  obligingly  mistakes  279 
The  first  lampoon  Sir  Will  or  Bubo  makes. 
Poor  guiltless  I!  and  can  I choose  but  smile, 
When  ev’ry  coxcomb  knows  me  by  my 
style  ? 

Curst  be  the  verse,  how  well  soe’er  it 
flow, 

That  tends  to  make  one  worthy  man  my  foe, 
Give  Virtue  scandal,  Innocence  a fear, 

Or  from  the  soft-eyed  virgin  steal  a tear! 
But  he  who  hurts  a harmless  neighbour’s 
peace, 

Insults  fall’n  Worth,  or  Beauty  in  distress, 
Who  loves  a lie,  lame  Slander  helps  about, 
Who  writes  a libel,  or  who  copies  out;  290 
That  fop  whose  pride  affects  a patron’s 
name, 

Yet  absent,  wounds  an  author’s  honest 
fame; 

Who  can  your  merit  selfishly  approve, 

And  show  the  sense  of  it  without  the 
love; 


Who  has  the  vanity  to  call  you  friend, 

Yet  wants  the  honour,  injured,  to  defend; 
Who  tells  whate’er  you  think,  whate’eryou 
say, 

And,  if  he  lie  not,  must  at  least  betray; 
Who  to  the  Dean  and  Silver  Bell  can 
swear,  299 

And  sees  at  Canons  what  was  never  there; 
Who  reads  but  with  a lust  to  misapply, 
Make  satire  a lampoon,  and  fiction  lie: 

A lash  like  mine  no  honest  man  shall  dread, 
But  all  such  babbling  blockheads  in  his 
stead.  -x 

Let  Sporus  tremble  — 'AJ  What  ? that 
thing  of  silk, 

Sporus,  that  mere  white  curd  of  Ass’s 
milk  ? 

Satire  or  sense,  alas  ! can  jjiiporup  feel  ? 
Wko  breaks  a butterfly  upon  a wheel  ? 

P.  Yet  let  me  flap  this  bug  with  gildec 
wings, 

This  painted  child  of  dirt,  that  stinks  anc 
stings;  31 

Whose  buzz  the  witty  and  the  fair  annoys, 
Yet  Wit  ne’er  tastes,  and  Beauty  ne’er  en 
joys; 

So  well-bred  spaniels  civilly  delight 
In  mumbling  of  the  game  they  dare  not  bite 
Eternal  smiles  his  emptiness  betray, 

As  shallow  streams  run  dimpling  all  tin 
way, 

Whether  in  florid  impotence  he  speaks, 
And,  as  the  prompter  breathes,  the  puppe 
squeaks, 

Or  at  the  ear  of  Eve,  familiar  toad, 

Half  froth,  half  venom,  spits  himsel 
abroad,  32; 

In  puns,  or  politics,  or  tales,  or  lies, 

Or  spite,  or  smut,  or  rhymes,  or  blasphem 
ies; 

His  wit  all  see-saw  between  that  and  this, 
Now  high,  now  low,  now  master  up,  now  | 
miss, 

And  he  himself  one  vile  Antithesis.  J 
Amphibious  thing  ! that  acting  either  pari 
The  trifling  head,  or  the  corrupted  heart; 
Fop  at  the  toilet,  flatt’rer  at  the  board, 
Now  trips  a lady,  and  now  struts  a lord. 
Eve’s  tempter  thus  the  Rabbins  have  ex 
prest,  32 

A cherub’s  face,  a reptile  all  the  rest; 
Beauty  that  shocks  you,  Parts  that  non 
will  trust, 

Wit  that  can  creep,  and  Pride  that  Iick 
the  dust. 


EPISTLE  TO  DR.  ARBUTHNOT 


Not  Fortune’s  worshipper,  nor  Fashion’s 
fool, 

Not  Lucre’s  madman,  nor  Ambition’s  tool, 
Not  proud  nor  servile;  — be  one  poet’s 
praise, 

That  if  he  pleas’d,  he  pleas’d  by  manly 
ways : 

That  flatt’ry  ev’n  to  Kings,  he  held  a 
shame, 

And  thought  a lie  in  verse  or  prose  the 
same;  339 

That  not  in  fancy’s  maze  he  wander’d  long, 
But  stoop’d  to  truth,  and  moralized  his 
song; 

That  not  for  Fame,  but  Virtue’s  better  end, 
He  stood  the  furious  foe,  the  timid  friend, 
The  damning  critic,  half  approving  wit, 

The  coxcomb  hit,  or  fearing  to  be  hit; 
Laugh’d  at  the  loss  of  friends  he  never  had, 
The  dull,  the  proud,  the  wicked,  and  the 
mad; 

The  distant  threats  of  vengeance  on  his 
head, 

The  blow  unfelt,  the  tear  he  never  shed ; 349 
The  tale  revived,  the  lie  so  oft  o’erthrown, 
Th’  imputed  trash  and  dulness  not  his 
own; 

The  morals  blacken’d  when  the  writings 
’scape, 

The  libell’d  person,  and  the  pictured  shape; 
Abuse  on  all  he  lov’d,  or  lov’d  him,  spread, 
A friend  in  exile,  or  a father  dead; 

The  whisper,  that,  to  greatness  still  too 
near, 

Perhaps  yet  vibrates  on  his  Sov’rexgn’s 
ear  — 

Welcome  for  thee,  fair  Virtue  ! all  the 
past: 

For  thee,  fair  Virtue  ! welcome  ev’n  the 
s'  - N last  ! 

\ A.  But  why  insult  the  poor  ? affront  the 
kV  great?  360 

P.j  A knave ’s  a knave  to  me  in  ev’ry  state; 
Alike  my  scorn,  if  he  succeed  or  fail, 

Sporus  at  court,  or  Japhet  in  a jail; 

A hireling  scribbler,  or  a hireling  peer, 
Knight  of  the  post  corrupt,  or  of  the  shire; 
If  on  a Pillory,  or  near  a Throne, 

He  gain  his  prince’s  ear,  or  lose  his  own. 

Yet  soft  by  nature,  more  a dupe  than 
wit, 

Sappho  can  tell  you  how  this  man  was  bit: 
This  dreaded  Satirist  Dennis  will  confess 
Fo£  to  his  pride,  but  friend  to  his  dis- 
tress: ,7I 


So  humble,  he  has  knock’d  at  Tibbald’s 
door, 

Has  drunk  with  Cibber,  nay,  has  rhymed  for 
Moore. 

Full  ten  years  slander’d,  did  he  once  re- 

Ply  ? 

Three  thousand  suns  went  down  on  Wel- 
sted’s  lie. 

To  please  a mistress  one  aspers’d  his  life; 
He  lash’d  him  not,  but  let  her  be  his  wife: 
Let  Budgell  charge  low  Grub-street  on  his 
quill, 

And  write  whate’er  he  pleased,  except  his 
will;  379 

Let  the  two  Curlls  of  town  and  court  abuse 
His  father,  mother,  body,  soul,  and  muse: 
Yet  why  ? that  father  held  it  for  a rule, 

It  was  a sin  to  call  our  neighbour  fool; 

That  harmless  mother  thought  no  wife  a 
whore: 

Hear  this,  and  spare  his  family,  James 
Moore ! 

Unspotted  names,  and  memorable  long, 

If  there  be  force  in  Virtue,  or  in  Song. 

Of  gentle  blood  (part  shed  in  honour’s 
cause, 

While  yet  in  Britain  honour  had  applause) 
Each  parent  sprung — What  fortune, 

. pray?-  ’ 

\Py  Their  own;  39Q 

Aim  better  got  than  Bestia’s  from  the 
throne. 

Born  to  no  pride,  inheriting  no  strife, 

Nor  marrying  discord  in  a noble  wife, 
Stranger  to  civil  and  religious  rage, 

The  good  man  walk’d  innoxious  thro’  his 
age. 

No  courts  he  saw,  no  suits  would  ever  try, 
Nor  dared  an  oath,  nor  hazarded  a lie. 
Unlearn’d,  he  knew  no  schoolman’s  subtle 
art, 

No  language  but  the  language  of  the  heart. 
By  Nature  honest,  by  Experience  wise,  400 
Healthy  by  Temp’rance  and  by  Exercise; 

His  life,  tho’  long,  to  sickness  pass’d  un- 
known, 

His  death  was  instant  and  without  a groan. 

O grant  me  thus  to  live,  and  thus  to  die  ! 
Who  sprung  from  kings  shall  know  less  joy 
than  I. 

O friend  ! may  each  domestic  bliss  be 
thine  ! 

Be  no  unpleasing  melancholy  mine: 

Me,  let  the  tender  office  long  engage 
To  rock  the  cradle  of  reposing  Age,  409 


I 82 


SATIRES 


With  lenient  arts  extend  a Mother’s  breath, 
Make  Languor  smile,  and  smooth  the  bed 
of  Death; 

Explore  the  thought,  explain  the  asking 


Twickenham , on  the  one  part , and  the  Learned 
Counsel  on  the  other. 

TO  MR.  FORTESCUE 


eye, 

And  keep  a while  one  parent  from  the  sky  ! 

On  cares  like  these  if  length  of  days  attend, 

May  lleav’n,  to  bless  those  days,  preserve 
my  friend  ! 

PreserWlmn  social,  cheerful,  and  serene, 

And  just  as  rich  as  when  he  serv’d  a Queen. 

(X)  Whether  that  blessing  be  denied  or 
giv’n, 

Thus  far  was  right; — the  rest  belongs  to 
Heav’n. 


SATIRES,  EPISTLES,  AND  ODES 
OF  HORACE  IMITATED 

Ludentis  speciem  dabit,  et  torquebitur.  — Hor. 

ADVERTISEMENT 

The  occasion  of  publishing  these  Imitations 
was  the  clamour  raised  on  some  of  my  Epis- 
tles. An  answer  from  Horace  was  both  more 
full  and  of  more  dignity  than  any  I could 
have  made  in  my  own  person  ; and  the  ex- 
ample of  much  greater  freedom  in  so  emi- 
nent a divine  as  Dr.  Donne,  seemed  a proof 
with  what  indignation  and  contempt  a Chris- 
tian may  treat  Vice  or  Folly,  in  ever  so  low 
or  ever  so  high  a station.  Both  these  authors 
were  acceptable  to  the  Princes  and  Ministers 
under  whom  they  lived.  The  satires  of  Dr. 
Donne  I versified  at  the  desire  of  the  Earl  of 
Oxford,  while  he  was  Lord  Treasurer,  and  of 
the  Duke  of  Shrewsbury,  who  had  been  Sec- 
retary of  State  ; neither  of  whom  looked 
upon  a satire  on  vicious  courts  as  any  reflec- 
tion on  those  they  served  in.  And  indeed 
there  is  not,  in  the  world  a greater  error  than 
that  which  fools  are  so  apt  to  fall  into,  and 
knaves  with  good  reason  to  encourage,  the 
mistaking  a Satirist  for  a Libeller:  whereas 
to  a true  Satirist  nothing  is  so  odious  as  a 
Libeller,  for  the  same  reason  as  to  a man 
truly  virtuous  nothing  is  so  hateful  as  a 
hypocrite. 

Uni  sequus  virtuti  atque  ejus  amicis. 


THE  FIRST  SATIRE  OF  THE 
SECOND  BOOK  OF  HORACE 

This  satire  was  first  published  in  1783,  under 
the  title  A Dialogue  between  Alexander  Pope  of 


P.  There  are  (I  scarce  can  think  it,  but 
am  told), 

There  are  to  whom  my  satire  seems  too 
bold; 

Scarce  to  wise  Peter  complaisant  enough, 

And  something  said  of  Chartres  much  too 
rough. 

The  lines  are  weak,  another ’s  pleas’d  to 


say; 

Lord  Fanny  spins  a thousand  such  a day. 
Tim’rous  by  nature,  of  the  rich  in  awe, 

I come  to  counsel  learned  in  the  law: 

You  ’ll  give  me,  like  a friend  both  sage  and 
free, 

Advice ; and  (as  you  use)  without  a fee.  10 
F.  I’d  write  no  more. 

P.  Not  write  ? but  then  I think, 
And  for  my  soul  I cannot  sleep  a wink. 

I nod  in  company,  I wake  at  night; 

Fools  rush  into  my  head,  and  so  I write. 

F.  You  could  not  do  a worse  thing  for 
your  life. 

Why,  if  the  night  seem  tedious  — take  a 
wife: 

Or  rather,  truly,  if  your  point  be  rest, 
Lettuce  and  cowslip  wine;  prohatum  ext. 
But  talk  with  Celsus,  Celsus  will  advise 
Hartshorn,  or  something  that  shall  close 


your  eyes.  20 

Or  if  you  needs  must  write,  write  Cesar’s 


praise , 

You  ’ll  gain  at  least  a Knighthood  or  the 
Bays. 

P.  What?  like  Sir  Richard,  rumbling, 
rough,  and  fierce, 

With  Arms,  and  George,  and  Brunswick, 
crowd  the  verse; 

Rend  with  tremendous  sound  your  ears 
asunder, 

With  gun,  drum,  trumpet,  blunderbuss,  and 
thunder  ? 

Or  nobly  wild,  with  Budgell’s  fire  and 
force, 

Paint  angels  trembling  round  his  falling 
horse  ? 

F.  Then  all  your  Muse’s  softer  art  dis- 


play. 

Let  Carolina  smooth  the  tuneful  lav;  3< 
Lull  with  Amelia’s  liquid  name  the  Nine, 
And  sweetly  flow  thro’  all  the  royal  line. 


FIRST  SATIRE  OF  THE  SECOND  BOOK  OF  HORACE  183 


P.  Alas l few  verses  touch  their  nicer 
ear; 

They  scarce  can  bear  their  Laureate  twice 
a year; 

And  justly  Cresar  scorns  the  poet’s  lays; 

It  is  to  history  he  trusts  for  praise. 

F.  Better  be  Cibber,  I’ll  maintain  it 
still, 

Than  ridicule  all  Taste,  blaspheme  Quad- 
rille, 

Abuse  the  city’s  best  good  men  in  metre, 
And  laugh  at  peers  that  put  their  trust  in 
Peter.  40 

Ev’n  those  you  touch  not,  hate  you. 

P.  What  should  ail  ’em  ? 

F.  A hundred  smart  in  Timon  and  in 
Balaam. 

The  fewer  still  you  name,  you  wound  the 
more; 

Bond  is  but  one,  but  Harpax  is  a score. 

P • Each  mortal  has  his  pleasure:  none 
deny 

Scarsdale  his  bottle,  Darty  his  ham-pie: 
Ridotta  sips  and  dances  till  she  see 
The  doubling  lustres  dance  as  fast  as  she: 
E[ox]  loves  the  Senate,  Hockley-hole  his 
brother, 

Like  in  all  else,  as  one  egg  to  another.  50 
I love  to  pour  out  all  myself  as  plain 
As  downright  Shippen,  or  as  old  Montaigne: 
In  them,  as  certain  to  be  lov’d  as  seen, 

The  soul  stood  forth,  nor  kept  a thought 
within ; 

In  me  what  spots  (for  spots  I have)  ap- 
pear, 

Will  prove  at  least  the  medium  must  be 
clear. 

In  this  impartial  glass  my  Muse  intends 
Fair  to  expose  myself,  my  foes,  my  friends; 
Publish  the  present  age;  but  where  my 
, text 

Is  vice  too  high,  reserve  it  for  the  next;  60 
My  foes  shall  wish  my  life  a longer  date, 
And  ev’ry  friend  the  less  lament  iny  fate. 

' My  head  and  heart  thus  flowing  thro’  my 
quill, 

i Verse-man  or  prose-man,  term  me  which 
you  will, 

Papist  or  Protestant,  or  both  between, 

Like  good  Erasmus,  in  an  honest  mean, 

In  moderation  placing  all  my  glory, 

While  Tories  call  me  Whig,  and  Whigs  a 
Tory. 

Satire ’s  my  weapon,  bnt  I ’m  too  discreet 
To  run  amuck,  and  tilt  at  all  I meet;  70 


I only  wear  it  in  a land  of  Hectors, 
Thieves,  supercargoes,  sharpers,  and  di- 
rectors. 

Save  but  our  Army!  and  let  Jove  incrust 
Swords,  pikes,  and  guns,  with  everlasting 
rust! 

Peace  is  my  dear  delight — not  Fleury’s 
more : 

But  touch  me,  and  no  minister  so  sore. 
Whoe’er  offends,  at  some  unlucky  time 
Slides  into  verse,  and  hitches  in  a rhyme, 
Sacred  to  ridicule  his  whole  life  long,  79 
And  the  sad  burden  of  some  merry  song. 
Slander  or  poison  dread  from  Delia’s 
rage; 

Hard  words  or  hanging,  if  your  judge  be 
Page; 

From  furious  Sappho  scarce  a milder  fate, 
Pox’d  by  her  love,  or  libell’d  by  her  hate. 
Its  proper  power  to  hurt  each  creature 
feels; 

Bulls  aim  their  horns,  and  asses  lift  their 
heels; 

’T  is  a bear’s  talent  not  to  kick,  but  hug; 
And  no  man  wonders  he ’s  npt  stung  by 
Pug. 

So  drink  with  Walters,  or  with  Chartres 
eat, 

They  ’ll  never  poison  you,  they  ’ll  only 
cheat.  g0 

Then,  learned  Sir!  (to  cut  the  matter 
short) 

Whate’er  my  fate, —or  well  or  ill  at 
court, 

Whether  old  age,  with  faint  but  cheerful 

ray, 

Attends  to  gild  the  ev’ning  of  my  dav, 

Or  death’s  black  wing  already  be  display’d, 
To  wrap  me  in  the  universal  shade; 

Whether  the  darken’d  room  to  muse  invite, 
Or  whiten’d  wall  provoke  the  skewer  to 
write ; 

In  durance,  exile,  Bedlam,  or  the  Mint,  — 
Like  Lee  or  Budgell  I will  rhyme  and 
print.  IOO 

F.  Alas,  young  man,  your  days  can  ne’er 
be  long: 

In  flower  of  age  you  perish  for  a song! 
Plums  and  directors,  Shylock  and  his  wife, 
Will  club  their  testers  now  to  take  your 
life.  J 

P.  What?  arm’d  for  Virtue  when  I 
point  the  pen, 

Brand  the  bold  front  of  shameless  guilty 
men, 


184 


SATIRES 


Dash  the  proud  Gamester  in  his  gilded  car, 
Bare  the  mean  heart  that  lurks  beneath  a 
Star; 

Can  there  be  wanting,  to  defend  her  cause, 
Lights  of  the  Church,  or  guardians  of  the 
Laws  ? x 10 

Could  pension’d  Boileau  lash  in  honest 
strain 

Flatt’rers  and  bigots  ev’n  in  Louis’  reign  ? 
Could  Laureate  Dry  den  pimp  and  friar 
engage, 

Yet  neither  Charles  nor  James  be  in  a rage  ? 
And  I not  strip  the  gilding  off  a knave, 
Unplaced,  unpension’d,  no  man’s  heir  or 
slave  ? 

I will,  or  perish  in  the  gen’rous  cause; 
Hear  this,  and  tremble!  you  who  ’scape 
the  laws. 

Yes,  while  I live,  no  rich  or  noble  knave 
Shall  walk  the  world  in  credit  to  his 
grave : 120 

To  Virtue  only  and  her  Friends  a friend, 
The  world  beside  may  murmur  or  com- 
mend. 

Know,  all  the  distant  din  that  world  can 
keep, 

Bolls  o’er  my  grotto  and  but  soothes  my 
sleep. 

There  my  retreat  the  best  companions 
grace, 

Chiefs  out  of  war,  and  statesmen  out  of 
place : 

There  St.  John  mingles  with  my  friendly 
bowl 

The  feast  of  reason  and  the  flow  of  soul: 
And  he,  whose  lightning  pierced  th’  Iberian 
lines, 

Now  forms  my  quincunx,  and  now  ranks 
my  vines;  130 

Or  tames  the  genius  of  the  stubborn  plain, 
Almost  as  quickly  as  he  conquer’d  Spain. 

Envy  must  own  I live  among  the  great, 
No  pimp  of  Pleasure,  and  no  spy  of  State, 
With  eyes  that  pry  not,  tongue  that  ne’er 
repeats, 

Fond  to  spread  friendships,  but  to  cover 
heats; 

To  help  who  want,  to  forward  who  excel; 
This  all  who  know  me,  know;  who  love 
me,  tell; 

And  who  unknown  defame  me,  let  them  be 
Scribblers  or  peers,  alike  are  Mob  to  me.  140 
This  is  my  plea,  on  this  I rest  my  cause  — 
What  saith  my  counsel,  learned  in  the 
laws  ? 


F.  Your  plea  is  good;  but  still  I say,  be« 
ware ! 

Laws  are  explain’d  by  men  — so  have  a 
care. 

It  stands  on  record,  that  in  Richard’s  times 
A man  was  hang’d  for  very  honest  rhymes. 
Consult  the  statute;  quart.  I think  it  is, 
Edwardi  sext.  or  prim,  et  quint.  Eliz. 

See  Libels,  Satires  — here  you  have  it  — 
read. 

P.  Libels  and  Satires!  lawless  things  in- 
deed! 150 

But  grave  epistles,  bringing  Vice  to  light, 
Such  as  a King  might  read,  a Bishop  write, 
Such  as  Sir  Robert  would  approve  — F. 
Indeed! 

The  case  is  alter’d  — you  may  then  pro- 
ceed: 

In  such  a cause  the  Plaintiff  will  be  hiss’d, 
My  Lords  the  Judges  laugh,  and  you  ’re 
dismiss’d. 


THE  SECOND  SATIRE  OF  THE 
SECOND  BOOK  OF  HORACE 

TO  MR.  BETHEL 

What,  and  how  great,  the  Virtue  and  the 
Art 

To  live  on  little  with  a cheerful  heart! 

(A  doctrine  sage,  but  truly  none  of  mine) 

Let ’s  talk,  my  friends,  but  talk  before  we 
dine ; 

Not  when  a gilt  buffet’s  reflected  pride 

Turns  you  from  sound  Philosophy  aside; 

Not  when  from  plate  to  plate  your  eyeballs 
roll, 

And  the  brain  dances  to  the  mantling  bowl. 
Hear  Bethel’s  sermon,  one  not  vers’d  in 
schools 

But  strong  in  sense,  and  wise  without  the 
rules.  10 

‘Go  work,  hunt,  exercise!  (he  thus  be- 
gan) 

Then  scorn  a homely  dinner  if  you  can. 

Your  wine  lock’d  up,  your  butler  stroll’d 
abroad, 

Or  fish  denied  (the  river  yet  unthaw’d); 

If  then  plain  bread  and  milk  will  do  the 
feat, 

The  pleasure  lies  in  you,  and  not  the  meat.’ 
Preach  as  I please,  I doubt  our  curious 
men 

Will  choose  a pheasant  still  before  a hen ; 


SECOND  SATIRE  OF  THE  SECOND  BOOK  OF  HORACE  .85 


Yet  hens  of  Guinea  full  as  good  I hold, 
Except  you  eat  the  feathers  green  and 
gold.  2Q 

Of  carps  and  mullets  why  prefer  the  great, 
(Tho’  cut  in  pieces  ere  my  Lord  can  eat) 
Yet  for  small  turbots  such  esteem  profess  ? 
Because  God  made  these  large,  the  other 
less. 

Oldfield,  with  more  than  harpy  throat 
endued, 

Cries,  ‘Send  me,  Gods!  a whole  Hog  bar- 
becued! ’ 

0 blast  it,  South- winds!  till  a stench  ex- 

hale 

Rank  as  the  ripeness  of  a rabbit’s  tail. 

By  what  criterion  do  you  eat,  d’  ye  think, 

If  this  is  prized  for  sweetness,  that  for 
stink  ? 3<3 

When  the  tired  glutton  labours  thro’  a 
treat, 

He  finds  no  relish  in  the  sweetest  meat; 

He  calls  for  something  bitter,  something 
sour, 

And  the  rich  feast  concludes  extremely 
poor: 

Cheap  eggs,  and  herbs,  and  olives,  still  we 
see; 

Thus  much  is  left  of  old  Simplicity! 

The  robin-redbreast  till  of  late  had  rest, 
And  children  sacred  held  a martin’s  nest, 
Till  becafieos  sold  so  devilish  dear 
To  one  that  was,  or  would  have  been,  a 
_ Peer-  40 

Let  me  extol  a cat  on  oysters  fed; 

1 ’ll  have  a party  at  the  Bedford-head: 

Or  ev’n  to  crack  live  crawfish  recommend; 

I ’d  never  doubt  at  court  to  make  a friend! 

’T  is  yet  in  vain,  I own,  to  keep  a pother 
About  one  vice,  and  fall  into  the  other: 
Between  Excess  and  Famine  lies  a mean; 
Plain,  but  not  sordid;  tho’  not  splendid, 
clean. 

Avidien  or  his  wife  (no  matter  which,  49 
For  him  you  ’ll  call  a dog,  and  her  a bitch) 
Sell  their  presented  partridges  and  fruits, 
And  humbly  live  on  rabbits  and  on  roots: 
One  half-pint  bottle  serves  them  both  to 
dine, 

And  is  at  once  their  vinegar  and  wine: 

But  on  some  lucky  day  (as  when  they 
found 

A lost  bank-bill,  or  heard  their  son  was 
drown’d) 

At  such  a feast,  old  vinegar  to  spare, 

Is  what  two  souls  so  gen’rous  cannot  bear: 


Oil,  tho’  it  stink,  they  drop  by  drop  impart, 
But  souse  the  cabbage  with  a bounteous 
heart.  6o 

He  knows  to  live  who  keeps  the  middle 
state, 

And  neither  leans  on  this  side  nor  on  that; 
Nor  stops  for  one  bad  cork  his  butler’s  pay, 
Swears,  like  Albutius,  a good  cook  away; 
Nor  lets,  like  Naevius,  ev’ry  error  pass, 

The  musty  wine,  foul  cloth,  or  greasy  glass. 

Now  hear  what  blessings  Temperance 
can  bring 

(Thus  said  our  friend,  and  what  he  said  I 
sing) : 

First  Health:  the  stomach  (cramm’d  from 
ev’ry  dish, 

A tomb  of  boil’d  and  roast,  and  flesh  and 
fish,  ?0 

Where  bile,  and  wind,  and  phlegm,  and 
acid,  jar, 

And  all  the  man  is  one  intestine  war) 
Remembers  oft  the  schoolboy’s  simple  fare, 
The  temp’rate  sleeps,  and  spirits  light  as 
air. 

How  pale  each  worshipful  and  rev’rend 
guest 

Rise  from  a clergy  or  a city  feast! 

What  life  in  all  that  ample"  body,  say  ? 
What  heav’nly  particle  inspires  the  clay  ? 
The  Soul  subsides,  and  wickedly  inclines 
To  seem  but  mortal  ev’n  in  sound  Divines. 

On  morning  wings  how  active  springs  the 
mind  8l 

That  leaves  the  load  of  yesterday  behind! 
How  easy  every  labour  it  pursues! 

How  coming  to  the  Poet  ev’ry  Muse! 

Not  but  we  may  exceed,  some  holy-time, 

Or  tired  in  search  of  Truth  or  search  of 
Rhyme : 

111  health  some  just  indulgence  may  en- 
gage, 

And  more  the  sickness  of  long  life,  old  age: 
For  fainting  age  what  cordial  drop  remains, 
If  our  intemp’rate  youth  the  vessel  drains  ? 

Our  fathers  prais’d  rank  venison.  You 
suppose,  9I 

Perhaps,  young  men!  our  fathers  had  no 
nose. 

Not  so:  a buck  was  then  a week’s  repast, 
And ’t  was  their  point,  I ween,  to  make  it 
last; 

More  pleas’d  to  keep  it  till  their  friends 
could  come, 

Than  eat  the  sweetest  by  themselves  at 
home. 


i86 


SATIRES 


Why  had  not  I in  those  good  times  my 
birth, 

Ere  coxcomb-pies  or  coxcombs  were  on 
earth  V 

Unworthy  he  the  voice  of  Fame  to  hear, 
That  sweetest  music  to  an  honest  ear  100 
(For  ’faith,  Lord  Fanny!  you  are  in  the 
wrong, 

The  world’s  good  word  is  better  than  a 
song), 

Who  has  not  learn’d  fresh  sturgeon  and 
ham-pie 

Are  no  rewards  for  want  and  infamy! 

When  Luxury  has  lick’d  up  all  thy  pelf, 
Curs’d  by  thy  neighbours,  thy  trustees, 
thyself; 

To  friends,  to  fortune,  to  mankind  a shame, 
Think  how  posterity  will  treat  thy  name; 
And  buy  a rope,  that  future  times  may  tell 
Thou  hast  at  least  bestow’d  one  penny  well. 

‘ Right,’  cries  his  lordship,  ‘ for  a rogue 
in  need  m 

To  have  a taste  is  insolence  indeed: 

In  me ’t  is  noble,  suits  my  birth  and  state, 
My  wealth  unwieldy,  and  my  heap  too 
great.’ 

Then,  like  the  sun,  let  Bounty  spread  her 
ray, 

And  shine  that  superfluity  away. 

Oh  impudence  of  wealth!  with  all  thy  store 
How  darest  thou  let  one  worthy  man  be 
poor  ? 

Shall  half  the  new-built  churches  round 
thee  fall  ? 

Make  quays,  build  bridges,  or  repair  White- 
hall; 130 

Or  to  thy  country  let  that  heap  be  lent, 

As  M[arlbor]o’s  was,  but  not  at  five  per 
cent. 

‘ Who  thinks  that  Fortune  cannot  change 
her  mind, 

Prepares  a dreadful  jest  for  all  mankind. 
And  who  stands  safest  ? tell  me,  is  it  he 
That  spreads  and  swells  in  puff’d  prosperity, 
Or  bless’d  with  little,  whose  preventing 
care 

In  peace  provides  fit  arms  against  a war  ? ’ 

Thus  Bethel  spoke,  who  always  speaks 
his  thought, 

And  always  thinks  the  very  thing  he  ought: 
His  equal  mind  I copy  what  I can,  13 1 
And  as  I love,  would  imitate  the  man. 

In  South-Sea  days,  not  happier,  when  sur- 
mised 

The  lord  of  thousands,  than  if  now  excised; 


In  forest  planted  by  a father’s  hand, 

Than  in  five  acres  now  of  rented  land. 

Content  ivith  little,  I can  piddle  here 

On  brocoli  and  mutton  round  the  year; 

But  ancient  friends  (tho’  poor,  or  out  of 

p!ay) 

That  touch  mjr  bell,  I cannot  turn  away.  140 

’T  is  true,  no  turbots  dignify  my  boards, 

But  gudgeons,  flounders,  what  my  Thames 
affords: 

To  Hounslow  Heath  I point,  and  Banstead 
Down, 

Thence  comes  your  mutton,  and  these 
chicks  my  own: 

From  yon  old  walnut  tree  a shower  shall 
fall. 

And  grapes  long  ling’ring  on  my  only  wall; 

And  figs  from  standard  and  espalier  join; 

The  devil  is  in  you  if  you  cannot  dine: 

Then  cheerful  healths  (your  Mistress  shall 
have  place), 

And,  what ’s  more  rare,  a Poet  shall  say 
grace.  150 

Fortune  not  much  of  humbling  me  can 
boast; 

Tlio’  double  tax’d,  how  little  have  I lost! 

My  life’s  amusements  have  been  just  the 
same, 

Before  and  after  standing  armies  came. 

My  lands  are  sold,  my  father’s  house  is 
gone; 

I ’ll  hire  another’s;  is  not  that  my  own  — 

And  yours,  my  friends  — thro’  whose  free 
opening  gate 

None  comes  too  early,  none  departs  too 
late  ? 

(For  I,  who  hold  sage  Homer’s  rule  the 
best, 

Welcome  the  coming,  speed  the  going 
guest.)  160 

‘Pray  Heav’n  it  last!  (cries  Swift)  as 
you  go  on: 

I wish  to  God  this  house  had  been  your 
own! 

Pity!  to  build  without  a son  or  wife: 

Why,  you  ’ll  enjoy  it  only  all  your  life,’ 

Well,  if  the  use  be  mine,  can  it  concern 
one 

Whether  the  name  belong  to  Pope  or  Ver- 
non ? 

What ’s  property  ? dear  Swift!  you  see  it 
alter 

From  you  to  me,  from  me  to  Peter  Walter: 

Or  in  a mortgage  prove  a lawyer’s  share. 

I Or  in  a jointure  vanish  from  the  heir;  t7< 


FIRST  EPISTLE  OF  THE  FIRST  BOOK  OF  HORACE  187 


Or  in  pure  equity  (the  case  not  clear) 

The  Chancery  takes  your  rents  for  twenty 
year: 

At  best  it  falls  to  some  ungracious  son, 
Who  cries,  ‘ My  father ’s  damn’d,  and  all ’s 
my  own.’ 

Shades,  that  to  Bacon  could  retreat  afford, 
Become  the  portion  of  a booby  lord; 

And  Hemsley,  once  proud  Buckingham’s 
delight, 

Slides  to  a scriv’ner  or  a city  knight. 

Let  lands  and  houses  have  what  lords  they 
will,  I79 

Let  us  be  fix’d,  and  our  own  masters  still. 


THE  FIRST  EPISTLE  OF  THE 
FIRST  BOOK  OF  HORACE 

TO  LORD  BOLINGBROKE 

St.  Aohn,  whose  love  indulged  my  labours 
past, 

Matures  my  present,  and  shall  bound  my 
last, 

Why  will  you  break  the  Sabbath  of  my 
days  ? 

Now  sick  alike  of  envy  and  of  praise. 

Public  too  long,  ah  ! let  me  hide  my  Age: 

See  modest  Cibber  now  has  left  the  Stage: 

Our  gen’rals  now,  retired  to  their  estates, 

Hang  their  old  trophies  o’er  the  garden 
gates; 

In  life’s  cool  ev’ning  satiate  of  applause, 

Nor  fond  of  bleeding  ev’n  in  Brunswick’s 
cause.  IO 

A voice  there  is,  that  whispers  in  my  ear 

(’T  is  Reason’s  voice,  which  sometimes  one 
can  hear), 

‘Friend  Pope!  be  prudent,  let  your  Muse 
take  breath, 

And  never  gallop  Pegasus  to  death; 

Lest  stiff  and  stately,  void  of  fire  or  force, 

You  limp,  like  Blackmore,  on  a lord 
mayor’s  horse.’ 

Farewell  then  Yerse,  and  Love,  and  ev’ry 

toy, 

The  rhymes  and  rattles  of  the  Man  or  Boy; 

What  right,  what  true,  what  fit,  we  justly 
call, 

Let  this  be  all  my  care  — for  this  is  all;  20 

To  lay  this  harvest  up,  and  hoard  with 
haste 

What  ev’ry  day  will  want,  and  most  the 
last. 


But  ask  not  to  what  Doctors  I apply; 
Sworn  to  no  master,  of  no  sect  am  I: 

As  drives  the  storm,  at  any  door  I knock, 
And  house  with  Montaigne  now,  or  now 
with  Locke. 

Sometimes  a patriot,  active  in  debate, 

Mix  with  the  world,  and  battle  for  the 
state; 

Free  as  young  Lyttleton,  her  cause  pursue, 
Still  true  to  Virtue,  and  as  warm  as  true:  30 
Sometimes  with  Aristippus  or  St.  Paul, 
Indulge  my  candour,  and  grow  all  to  all ; 
Back  to  my  native  Moderation  slide, 

And  win  my  way  by  yielding  to  the  tide. 

Long  as  to  him  who  works  for  debt  the 
day, 

Long  as  tlie  night  to  her  whose  love ’s  away, 
Long  as  the  year’s  dull  circle  seems  to  run 
When  the  brisk  minor  pants  for  twenty- 
one; 

So  slow  tli’  unprofitable  moments  roll 
That  lock  up  all  the  functions  of  my  soul,  40 
That  keep  me  from  myself,  and  still  delay 
Life’s  instant  business  to  a future  day; 

That  task  which  as  we  follow  or  despise, 
The  eldest  is  a fool,  the  youngest  wise; 
Which  done,  the  poorest  can  no  wants  en- 
dure; 

And  which  not  done,  the  richest  must  be 
poor. 

Late  as  it  is,  I put  myself  to  school, 

And  feel  some  comfort  not  to  be  a fool. 
Weak  tho’  I am  of  limb,  and  short  of  sight, 
Far  from  a lynx,  and  not  a giant  quite,  50 
I ’ll  do  what  Mead  and  Cheselden  advise, 
To  keep  these  limbs,  and  to  preserve  these 
eyes. 

Not  to  go  back  is  somewhat  to  advance, 
And  men  must  walk,  at  least,  before  they 
dance. 

Say,  does  thy  blood  rebel,  thy  bosom 
move 

With  wretched  Av’rice,  or  as  wretched 
Love  ? 

Know  there  are  words  and  spells  which  can 
control, 

Between  the  fits,  this  fever  of  the  soul; 
Know  there  are  rhymes  which,  fresh  and 
fresh  applied,  59 

Will  cure  the  arrant’st  poppy  of  his  pride. 
Be  furious,  envious,  slothful,  mad,  or  drunk, 
Slave  to  a wife,  or  vassal  to  a punk, 

A Switz,  a High-Dutch  or  a Low-Dutch 
bear; 

All  that  we  ask  is  but  a patient  ear. 


SATIRES 


’T  is  the  first  virtue  vices  to  abhor, 

And  the  first  wisdom  to  be  fool  no  more: 
But  to  the  world  no  bugbear  is  so  great 
As  want  of  figure  and  a small  Estate. 

To  either  India  see  the  merchant  fly, 

Scared  at  the  spectre  of  pale  Poverty!  70 
See  him  with  pains  of  body,  pangs  of 
soul, 

Burn  thro’  the  Tropics,  freeze  beneath  the 
Pole! 

Wilt  thou  do  nothing  for  a nobler  end, 
Nothing  to  make  Philosophy  thy  friend  ? 
To  stop  thy  foolish  views,  thy  long  desires, 
And  ease  thy  heart  of  all  that  it  admires  ? 
Here  Wisdom  calls,  ‘ Seek  Virtue  first,  be 
bold! 

As  gold  to  silver,  Virtue  is  to  gold.’ 

There  London’s  voice,  ‘ Get  money,  money 
still ! 

And  then  let  Virtue  follow  if  she  will.’  80 
This,  this  the  saving  doctrine  preach’d  to 
all, 

From  low  St.  James’s  up  to  high  St.  Paul; 
From  him  whose  quills  stand  quiver’d  at 
his  ear, 

To  him  who  notches  sticks  at  Westmin- 
ster. 

Barnard  in  spirit,  sense,  and  truth 
abounds ; 

‘ Pray  then  what  wants  he  ? ’ Fourscore 
thousand  pounds; 

A pension,  or  such  harness  for  a slave 
As  Bug  now  has,  and  Doriinant  would 
have. 

Barnard,  thou  art  a cit,  with  all  thy  worth; 
But  Bug  and  D*1  their  Honours!  and  so 
forth.  90 

Yet  ev’ry  child  another  song  will  sing, 

‘ Virtue,  brave  boys  ! ’t  is  Virtue  makes  a 
King.’ 

True,  conscious  Honour  is  to  feel  no  sin; 
He ’s  arm’d  without  that ’s  innocent  within: 
Be  this  thy  screen,  and  this  thy  wall  of 
brass; 

Compared  to  this  a Minister ’s  an  Ass. 

And  say,  to  which  shall  our  applause  be- 
long, 

This  new  Court  jargon,  or  the  good  old 
song  ? 

The  modern  language  of  corrupted  peers, 
Or  what  was  spoke  at  Cressy  and  Poic- 
tiers  ? 100 

Who  counsels  best  ? who  whispers,  ‘ Be 
but  great, 

With  praise  or  infamy  — leave  that  to  Fate; 


Get  Place  and  Wealth,  if  possible  with 
grace ; 

If  not,  by  any  means  get  Wealth  and 
Place: ’ 

(For  what  ? to  have  a Box  where  eunuchs 
sin£’ 

And  foremost  in  the  circle  eye  a King  ?) 

Or  he  who  bids  thee  face  with  steady  view  "l 
Proud  Fortune,  and  look  shallow  Great- 
ness thro’,  > 

And,  while  he  bids  thee,  sets  th’  example 

too  ? J 

If  such  a doctrine,  in  St.  James’s  air,  no 
Should  chance  to  make  the  well-drest 
rabble  stare; 

If  honest  S[chut]z  take  scandal  at  a spark 
That  less  admires  the  Palace  than  the 
Park ; 

Faith,  I shall  give  the  answer  Reynard 
gave: 

‘ I cannot  like,  dread  Sir  ! your  royal  cave; 
Because  I see,  by  all  the  tracks  about, 

Full  many  a beast  goes  in,  but  none  come 
out.’ 

Adieu  to  Virtue,  if  you  ’re  once  a slave: 
Send  her  to  Court,  you  send  her  to  her 
grave. 

Well,  if  a King ’s  a lion,  at  the  least  120 
The  people  are  a many-headed  beast; 

Can  they  direct  what  measures  to  pursue, 
Who  know  themselves  so  little  what  to 
do? 

Alike  in  nothing  but  one  lust  of  gold, 

Just  half  the  land  would  buy,  and  half  be 
sold: 

Their  country’s  wealth  our  mightier  misers 
drain, 

Or  cross,  to  plunder  provinces,  the  main; 
The  rest,  some  farm  the  Poor-box,  some 
the  Pews; 

Some  keep  Assemblies,  and  would  keep  the 
Stews; 

Some  with  fat  bucks  on  childless  dotards 
fawn ; 130 

Some  win  rich  widows  by  their  chine  and 
brawn ; 

While  with  the  silent  growth  of  ten  per 
cent., 

In  dirt  and  darkness,  hundreds  stink  con- 
tent. 

Of  all  these  ways,  if  each  pursues  his 
own, 

Satire,  be  kind,  and  let  the  wretch  alone; 
But  show  me  one  who  has  it  in  his  power 
To  act  consistent  with  himself  an  hour. 


SIXTH  EPISTLE  OF  THE 


Sir  Job  sail’d  forth,  the  ev’ning  bright  and 
still, 

‘No  place  on  earth  (he  cried)  like  Green- 
wich hill!  ’ 139 

Up  starts  a palace:  lo,  th’  obedient  base 
Slopes  at  its  foot,  the  woods  its  sides  em- 
brace, 

The  silver  Thames  reflects  its  marble  face.  _ 
Now  let  some  whimsy,  or  that  Devil ' 
within 

Which  guides  all  those  who  know  not 
what  they  mean, 

But  give  the  Knight  (or  give  his  Lady) 
spleen ; 

‘ Away,  away!  take  all  your  scaffolds  down, 
For  snug ’s  the  word:  My  dear!  we  ’ll  live 
in  town.’ 

At  am’rous  Flavio  is  the  stocking 
thrown  ? 

That  very  night  he  longs  to  lie  alone. 

The  fool  whose  wife  elopes  some  thrice  a 
quarter,  i5o 

For  matrimonial  solace  dies  a martyr. 

Did  ever  Proteus,  Merlin,  any  witch,  ) 

Transform  themselves  so  strangely  as 
the  Rich  ? V 

Well,  but  the  Poor  — the  Poor  have  the 
same  itch ; J 

They  change  their  weekly  barber,  weekly 
news, 

Prefer  a new  japanner  to  their  shoes, 
Discharge  their  garrets,  move  their  beds, 
and  run 

(They  know  not  whither)  in  a chaise  and 
one; 

They  hire  their  sculler,  and  when  once 
aboard 

Grow  sick-  and  damn  rfce  climate  — like  a 
j>ord.  160 

You  laugh,  half  Beau,  half  Sloven  if  I 
stand, 

My  wig  all  powder,  and  all  snuff  my  band; 
You  laugh  if  coat  and  breeches  strangely 
vary, 

White  gloves,  and  linen  worthy  Lady  Mary! 
But  when  no  prelate’s  lawn,  with  hair-shirt 
lin’d, 

Is  half  so  incoherent  as  my  mind, 

When  (each  opinion  with  the  next  at  strife, 
One  ebb  and  flow  of  follies  all  my  life) 

I plant,  root  up,  I build,  and  then  confound; 
Turn  round  to  square,  and  square  again  to 
round;  i7o 

You  never  change  one  muscle  of  your  face, 
You  think  this  madness  but  a common  case; 


FIRST  BOOK  OF  HORACE  189 


Nor  once  to  Chancery  nor  to  Hale  apply, 

Yet  hang  your  lip  to  see  a seam  awry! 

Careless  how  ill  I with  myself  agree, 

Kind  to  my  dress,  my  figure,  — not  to  me. 

Is  this  my  Guide,  Philosopher,  and  Friend  ? 

This  he  who  loves  me,  and  who  ought  to 
mend  ? 

Who  ought  to  make  me  (what  he  can,  or 
none) 

That  man  divine  whom  Wisdom  calls  her 
own;  180 

Great  without  Title,  without  Fortune 
bless’d; 

Rich  ev’11  when  plunder’d,  honour’d  while 
oppress’d; 

Lov’d  without  youth,  and  follow’d  without 
power; 

At  home  tho’  exiled,  free  tho’  in  the  Tower; 

In  short,  that  reas’iiing,  high,  immortal 
thing, 

Just  less  than  Jove,  and  much  above  a 
King; 

Nay,  half  in  Heav’n  — except  (what’s 
mighty  odd) 

A fit  of  Vapours  clouds  this  Demigod. 


THE  SIXTH  EPISTLE  OF  THE 
FIRST  BOOK  OF  HORACE 

TO  MR.  MURRAY 

‘ Not  to  admire,  is  all  the  art  I know, 

To  make  men  happy,  and  to  keep  them  so.’ 

(Plain  truth,  dear  Murray!  needs  no  flow- 
ers of  speech, 

So  take  it  in  the  very  words  of  Creech.) 
This  vault  of  air,  this  congregated  ball, 

Self-centred  sun,  and  stars  that  rise  and 
fall, 

There  are,  my  Friend!  whose  philosophic 
eyes 

Look  thro’,  and  trust  the  Ruler  with  his 
skies; 

To  him  commit  the  hour,  the  day,  the 
year, 

And  view  this  dreadful  All  — without  a 
fear.  IO 

Admire  we  then  what  earth’s  low  en- ) 
trails  hold, 

Arabian  shores,  or  Indian  seas  infold;  i 

All  the  mad  trade  of  fools  and  slaves  for 

gold  ? J 

Or  Popularity  ? or  Stars  and  Strings  ? 

The  Mob’s  applauses,  or  the  gifts  of  Kings  ? 


SATIRES 


190 


Say  with  what  eyes  we  ought  at  courts  to 
gaze, 

And  pay  the  great  our  homage  of  amaze  ? 

If  weak  the  pleasure  that  from  these 
can  spring, 

The  fear  to  want  them  is  as  weak  a thing: 
Whether  we  dread,  or  whether  we  desire,  20 
In  either  case,  believe  me,  we  admire: 
Whether  we  joy  or  grieve,  the  same  the 
curse, 

Surprised  at  better,  or  surprised  at  worse. 
Thus  good  or  bad,  to  one  extreme  betray 
Th’  unbalanc’d  mind,  and  snatch  the  man 
away ; 

For  Virtue’s  self  may  too  much  zeal  be  had; 
The  worst  of  madmen  is  a saint  run  mad. 

Go  then,  and  if  you  can,  admire  the  state 
Of  beaming  diamonds  and  reflected  plate; 
Procure  a Taste  to  double  the  surprise,  30 
And  gaze  on  Parian  charms  with  learned 
eyes; 

Be  struck  with  bright  brocade  or  Tyrian  dye, 
Our  birthday  nobles’  splendid  livery. 

If  not  so  pleas’d,  at  council-board  rejoice 
To  see  their  judgments  hang  upon  thy 
voice ; 

From  morn  to  night,  at  Senate,  Rolls,  and 
Hall, 

Plead  much,  read  more,  dine  late,  or  not  at 
all. 

But  wherefore  all  this  labour,  all  this  strife  ? 
For  Fame,  for  Riches,  for  a noble  Wife  ? 
Shall  one  whom  Nature,  Learning,  Birth, 
conspired  4° 

To  form,  not  to  admire,  but  be  admired, 
Sigh  while  his  Chloe,  blind  to  Wit  and 
Worth, 

Weds  the  rich  dulness  of  some  son  of 
earth  ? 

Yet  Time  ennobles  or  degrades  each  line; 
It  brighten’d  Craggs’s,  and  may  darken 
thine. 

And  what  is  Fame  ? the  meanest  have  their 
day; 

The  greatest  can  but  blaze  and  pass  away. 
Graced  as  thou  art  with  all  the  power  of 
words, 

So  known,  so  honour’d,  at  the  House  of 
Lords : 

Conspicuous  scene!  another  yet  is  nigh  50 
(More  silent  far),  where  Kings  and  Poets 
lie; 

Where  Murray  (long  enough  his  country’s 
pride) 

Shall  be  no  more  than  Tully  or  than  Hyde! 


Rack’d  with  sciatica,  martyr’d  with  the 
stone, 

Will  any  mortal  let  himself  alone  ? 

See  Ward,  by  batter’d  Beaux  invited  over, 
And  desp’rate  misery  lays  hold  011  Dover. 
The  case  is  easier  in  the  mind’s  disease; 
There  all  men  may  be  cured  whene’er  they 
please. 

Would  ye  be  bless’d  ? despise  low  joys,) 
low  gains;  60  1 

Disdain  whatever  Cornbury  disdains;  [ 
Be  virtuous,  and  be  happy  for  your  pains.  J 
But  art  thou  one  whom  new  opinions 
sway, 

One  who  believes  as  Tindal  leads  the  way  ? 
Who  Virtue  and  a Church  alike  disowns, 
Thinks  that  but  words,  and  this  but  brick 
and  stones  ? 

Fly  then  on  all  the  wings  of  wild  desire, 
Admire  whate’er  the  maddest  can  admire. 
Is  Wealth  thy  passion  ? hence  ! from  pole 
to  pole, 

Where  winds  can  carry,  or  where  waves 
can  roll,  70 

For  Indian  spices,  for  Peruvian  gold, 
Prevent  the  greedy,  and  outbid  the  bold: 
Advance  thy  golden  mountain  to  the  skies; 
On  the  broad  base  of  fifty  thousand  rise; 
Add  one  round  hundred,  and  (if  that ’s  not 
fair) 

Add  fifty  more,  and  bring  it  to  a square: 
For,  mark  th’  advantage;  just  so  many 
score 

Will  gain  a wife  with  half  as  many  more, 
Procure  her  beauty,  make  that  beauty 
chaste, 

And  then  such  friends  — as  cannot  fail  to 
last.  80 

A man  of  Wealth  is  dubb’d  a man  of 
Worth; 

Venus  shall  give  him  form,  and  Antis  birth. 
(Believe  me,  many  a German  Prince  is 
worse, 

Who  proud  of  pedigree  is  poor  of  purse.) 
His  Wealth  brave  Timon  gloriously  con- 
founds; 

Ask’d  for  a groat,  he  gives  a hundred 
pounds; 

Or  if  three  ladies  like  a luckless  play, 
Takes  the  whole  house  upon  the  poet’s  day. 
Now,  in  such  exigencies  not  to  need. 

Upon  my  word  you  must  be  rich  indeed:  90 
A noble  superfluity  it  craves, 

Not  for  yourself,  but  for  your  fools  and 
knaves; 


FIRST  EPISTLE  OF  THE  SECOND  BOOK  OF  HORACE 


191 


Something  which  for  your  honour  they  may 
cheat, 

And  which  it  much  becomes  you  to  forget. 
If  Wealth  alone  then  make  and  keep  us 
blest, 

Still,  still  be  getting;  never,  never  rest. 

But  if  to  Power  and  Place  your  passion 
lie, 

If  in  the  pomp  of  life  consist  the  joy; 

Then  hire  a slave,  or  (if  you  will)  a Lord, 
To  do  the  honours,  and  to  give  the  word; 
Tell  at  your  Levee,  as  the  crowds  ap- 
proach, lt)I 

To  whom  to  nod,  whom  take  into  your 
coach, 

Whom  honour  with  your  hand;  to  make 
remarks, 

Who  rules  in  Cornwall,  or  who  rules  in 
Berks: 

‘This  may  be  troublesome,  is  near  the 
chair; 

That  makes  three  Members,  this  can  choose 
a Mayor.’ 

Instructed  thus,  you  bow,  embrace,  pro-) 
test, 

Adopt  him  son,  or  cousin  at  the  least,  V 
Then  turn  about,  and  laugh  at  your  own 

. 3est<  . J 

Or  if  your  life  be  one  continued  treat,  no 
If  to  live  well  means  nothing  but  to  eat; 
Up,  up  ! cries  Gluttony,  ’t  is  break  of  day, 
Go  drive  the  deer,  and  drag  the  finny 
prey: 

With  hounds  and  horns  go  hunt  an  appe- 
tite — 

So  Russell  did,  but  could  not  eat  at  night; 
Call’d  happy  dog  the  beggar  at  his  door, 
And  envied  thirst  and  hunger  to  the  poor. 

Or  shall  we  every  decency  confound, 
Thro’  Taverns,  Stews,  and  Bagnios,  take 
our  round  ? II9 

Go  dine  with  Chartres,  in  each  vice  outdo 
K[innou]l’s  lewd  cargo,  or  Ty[rawle]y’s 
crew, 

From  Latian  Syrens,  French  Circean  feasts, 
Return  well  travell’d,  and  transform’d  to 
beasts; 

Or  for  a titled  punk,  or  foreign  flame, 
Renounce  our  country,  and  degrade  our 
name  ? 

If,  after  all,  we  must  with  Wilmot  own 
The  cordial  drop  of  life  is  Love  alone, 

And  Swift  cry  wisely,  ‘ Vive  la  bagatelle!' 
The  man  that  loves  and  laughs  must  sure 
do  well. 


Adieu  — if  this  advice  appear  the  worst,  130 
Ev’n  take  the  counsel  which  I gave  you 
first: 

Or  better  precepts  if  you  can  impart, 

Why  do;  I ’ll  follow  them  with  all  my 
heart. 


THE  FIRST  EPISTLE  OF  THE 
SECOND  BOOK  OF  HORACE 

The  identification  of  Augustus  with  George 
II.  makes  it  necessary  to  take  much  of  this  poem 
ironically.  George  II.,  since  his  accession  ten 
years  before  this  was  written  (1737),  had  shown 
absolute  indifference  to  the  literature  of  Eng- 
land. The  critical  portions  of  the  satire  un- 
doubtedly present  Pope’s  real  judgment  of  con- 
temporary literature. 

ADVERTISEMENT 

The  reflections  of  Horace,  and  the  judg- 
ments passed  in  his  Epistle  to  Augustus, 
seemed  so  seasonable  to  the  present  times,  that 
I could  not  help  applying  them  to  the  use  of 
my  own  country.  The  author  thought  them 
considerable  enough  to  address  them  to  his 
prince,  whom  he  paints  with  all  the  great  and 
good  qualities  of  a monarch  upon  whom  the 
Romans  depended  for  the  increase  of  an  abso- 
lute Empire ; but  to  make  the  poem  entirely 
English,  I was  willing  to  add  one  or  two  of 
those  which  contribute  to  the  happiness  of  a 
Free  People,  and  are  more  consistent  with  the 
welfare  of  our  neighbours. 

This  epistle  will  show  the  learned  world 
to  have  fallen  into  two  mistakes  : one,  that 
Augustus  was  a Patron  of  poets  in  general; 
whereas  he  not  only  prohibited  all  but  the  best 
writers  to  name  him,  but  recommended  that 
care  even  to  the  civil  magistrate ; Admonebat 
prcetores.  ne  paterentur  nomen  suum  obsolejieri, 
&g.  ; the  other,  that  this  piece  was  only  a 
general  Discourse  of  Poetry ; whereas  it  was 
an  Apology  for  the  Poets,  in  order  to  render 
Augustus  more  their  patron.  Horace  here 
pleads  the  cause  of  his  contemporaries ; first, 
against  the  Taste  of  the  town,  whose  humour 
it  was  to  magnify  the  authors  of  the  preceding 
age  ; secondly,  against  the  Court  and'Nobility, 
who  encouraged  only  the  writers  for  the  The- 
atre ; and,  lastly,  against  the  Emperor  himself, 
who  had  conceived  them  of  little  use  to  the 
Government.  He  shows  (by  a view  of  the 
progress  of  Learning,  and  the  change  of  Taste 
among  the  Romans)  that  the  introduction  of 
the  Polite  Arts  of  Greece  had  given  the  writ- 
ers of  his  time  great  advantages  over  their  pre- 
decessors ; that  their  Morals  were  much  im- 


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192 


SATIRES 


proved,  and  the  license  of  those  ancient  poets 
restrained  ; that  Satire  and  Comedy  were  be- 
come more  just  and  useful ; that  whatever 
extravagancies  were  left  on  the  stage  were 
owing  to  the  ill  taste  of  the  nobility ; that 
poets,  under  due  regulations,  were  in  many 
respects  useful  to  the  State ; and  concludes, 
that  it  was  upon  them  the  Emperor  himself 
must  depend  for  his  Fame  with  posterity. 

We  may  further  learn  from  this  Epistle,  that 
Horace  made  his  court  to  this  great  Prince,  by 
writing  with  a decent  freedom  toward  him, 
with  a just  contempt  of  his  low  flatterers,  and 
with  a manly  regard  to  his  own  character. 

TO  AUGUSTUS 

While  you,  great  Patron  of  Mankind!  sus- 
tain 

The  balanced  world,  and  open  all  the 
main; 

Your  country,  chief,  in  Arms  abroad  de- 
fend, 

At  home  with  Morals,  Arts,  and  Laws 
amend; 

How  shall  the  Muse,  from  such  a monarch, 
steal 

An  hour,  and  not  defraud  the  public  weal  ? 
Edward  and  Henry,  now  the  boast  of 
Fame, 

And  virtuous  Alfred,  a more  sacred  name, 
After  a life  of  gen’rous  toils  endured,  — 
The  Gaul  subdued,  or  property  secured,  10 
Ambition  humbled,  mighty  cities  storm’d, 
Or  laws  establish’d,  and  the  world  re- 
form’d — 

Closed  their  long  glories  with  a sigh,  to 
find 

Tli’  unwilling  gratitude  of  base  Mankind! 
All  human  Virtue,  to  its  latest  breath, 
Finds  Envy  never  conquer’d  but  by  Death. 
The  great  Alcides,  ev’ry  labour  past, 

Had  still  this  monster  to  subdue  at  last: 
Sure  fate  of  all,  beneath  whose  rising  ray 
Each  star  of  meaner  merit  fades  away!  20 
Oppress’d  we  feel  the  beam  directly  beat; 
Those  suns  of  glory  please  not  till  they  set. 
To  thee  the  World  its  present  homage 
pays, 

The  harvest  early,  but  mature  the  praise: 
Great  friend  of  Liberty!  in  Kings  a name 
Above  all  Greek,  above  all  Roman  fame; 
Whose  word  is  truth,  as  sacred  and  revered 
As  Heav’n’s  own  oracles  from  altars  heard. 
Wonder  of  Kings!  like  whom  to  mortal  eyes 
None  e’er  has  risen,  and  none  e’er  shall 
rise.  30 


Just  in  one  instance,  be  it  yet  confest 
Your  people,  sir,  are  partial  in  the  rest; 
Foes  to  all  living  worth  except  your  own, 
And  advocates  for  folly  dead  and  gone. 
Authors,  like  coins,  grow  dear  as  they  grow 
old; 

It  is  the  Rust  we  value,  not  the  Gold. 
Chaucer’s  worst  ribaldry  is  learn’d  by  rote, 
And  beastly  Skelton  heads  of  houses  quote; 
One  likes  no  language  but  the  Faery 
Queen; 

A Scot  will  fight  for  Christ’s  Kirk  o’  the 
Green;  40 

And  each  true  Briton  is  to  Ben  so  civil, 

He  swears  the  Muses  met  him  at  the  Devil. 
Tho’  justly  Greece  her  eldest  sons  admires, 
Why  should  not  we  be  wiser  than  our  sires  ? 
In  every  public  virtue  we  excel, 

We  build,  we  paint,  we  sing,  we  dance,  as 
well ; 

And  learned  Athens  to  our  art  must  stoop, 
Could  she  behold  us  tumbling  thro’  a hoop. 

If  time  improve  our  Wit  as  well  as 
Wine, 

Say  at  what  age  a poet  growrs  divine  ? 50 

Shall  we,  or  shall  we  not,  account  him  so 
Who  died,  perhaps,  a hundred  years  ago  ? 
End  all  dispute;  and  fix  the  year  precise 
When  British  bards  begin  t’  immortalize  ? 

‘ Who  lasts  a century  can  have  no  flaw; 

I hold  that  Wit  a classic,  good  in  law.’ 

Suppose  he  wants  a year,  will  you  com- 
pound ? 

And  shall  we  deem  him  ancient,  right,  and 
sound, 

Or  damn  to  all  eternity  at  once 
At  ninety-nine  a modern  and  a dunce  ? 60 

‘ We  shall  not  quarrel  for  a year  or  two; 
By  courtesy  of  England  he  majr  do.’ 

Then  by  the  rule  that  made  the  horsetail 
bare, 

I pluck  out  year  by  year,  as  hair  by  hair, 
And  melt  down  Ancients  like  a heap  of 
snow, 

While  you,  to  measure  merits,  look  in 
Stowe, 

And  estimating  authors  by  the  year, 

Bestow  a garland  only  on  a bier. 

Shakespeare  (whom  you  and  every  play- 
house bill 

Style  the  divine!  the  matchless!  what  you 
will)  70 

For  Gain,  not  Glory,  wing’d  his  roving 
flight, 

And  grew  immortal  in  his  own  despite. 


FIRST  EPISTLE  OF  THE  SECOND  BOOK  OF  HORACE 


193 


Ben,  old  and  poor,  as  little  seem’d  to  heed 
The  life  to  come  in  every  poet’s  creed. 

Who  now  reads  Cowley  ? if  lie  pleases  yet, 
His  Moral  pleases,  not  his  pointed  Wit: 
Forgot  his  Epic,  nay,  Pindaric  art, 

But  still  I love  the  language  of  his  heart. 

‘Yet  surely,  surely  these  were  famous 
men! 

What  boy  but  hears  the  sayings  of  old  Ben  ? 
In  all  debates  where  Critics  bear  a part,  81 
Not  one  but  nods,  and  talks  of  Jonson’s 
Art, 

Of  Shakespeare’s  Nature,  and  of  Cowley’s 
Wit;  * 

How  Beaumont’s  judgment  check’d  what 
Fletcher  writ; 

How  Shadwell  hasty,  Wycherley  was  slow; 
But  for  the  passions,  Southern  sure,  and 
Rowe! 

These,  only  these,  support  the  crowded 
stage, 

From  eldest  Heywood  down  to  Cibber’s 
age.’ 

All  this  may  be;  the  People’s  voice  is  odd; 
It  is,  and  it  is  not,  the  voice  of  God.  9o 
To  Gammer  Gurton  if  it  give  the  bays, 

And  yet  deny  the  Careless  Husband  praise, 
Or  say  our  fathers  never  broke  a rule; 

Why  then,  I say,  the  Public  is  a fool. 

But  let  them  own  that  greater  faults  than 
we 

They  had,  and  greater  virtues,  I ’ll  agree. 
Spenser  himself  affects  the  obsolete, 

And  Sidney’s  verse  halts  ill  on  Roman 
feet; 

Milton’s  strong  pinion  now  not  Heav’n  can 
bound, 

Now,  serpent-like,  in  prose  he  sweeps  the 
ground.  IOO 

In  quibbles  Angel  and  Archangel  join, 

And  God  the  Father  turns  a School-divine. 
Not  that  I ’d  lop  the  beauties  from  his 
book, 

Like  slashing  Bentley  with  his  desp’rate 
hook; 

Or  damn  all  Shakespeare,  like  th’  affected 
fool 

At  Court,  who  hates  wbate’er  he  read  at 
School. 

But  for  the  Wi  its  of  either  Charles’s  days, 
The  mob  of  gentlemen  who  wrote  with 
, ease ; 

5prat,  Carew,  Sedley,  and  a hundred  more 
Like  twinkling  stars  the  Miscellanies 
0 er),  IIO 


One  simile  that  solitary  shines 
In  the  dry  Desert  of  a thousand  lines, 

Or  lengthen’d  thought,  that  gleams  thro’ 
many  a page, 

Has  sanctified  whole  poems  for  an  age. 

I lose  my  patience,  and  I own  it  too, 

When  works  are  censured  not  as  bad,  but 
new; 


While,  if  our  elders  break  all  Reason’s  laws, 
These  fools  demand  not  pardon,  but  ap- 
plause. 

On  Avon’s  bank,  where  flowers  eternal 
blow, 

If  I but  ask  if  any  weed  can  grow,  120 
One  tragic  sentence  if  I dare  deride, 

Which  Betterton’s  grave  action  dignified, 
Or  well  - mouth’d  Booth  with  emphasis 
proclaims, 

(Tho’  but  perhaps  a muster-roll  of  names), 
How  will  our  fathers  rise  up  in  a rage, 

And  swear  all  shame  is  lost  in  George’s 
age! 

You ’d  think  no  fools  disgraced  the  former 
reign, 

Did  not  some  grave  examples  yet  remain, 
Who  scorn  a lad  should  teach  his  father 
skill, 

And  having  once  been  wrong,  will  be  so 
still.  ,30 

He  who,  to  seem  more  deep  than  you  or  I, 
Extols  old  bards,  or  Merlin’s  prophecy, 
Mistake  him  not;  he  envies,  not  admires, 
And  to  debase  the  sons  exalts  the  sires. 

Had  ancient  times  conspired  to  disallow 
What  then  was  new,  what  had  been  ancient 
now  ? 

Or  what  remain’d,  so  worthy  to  be  read 
By  learned  critics  of  the  mighty  dead  ? 

In  days  of  ease,  when  now  the  weary 
sword 

Was  sheath’d,  and  luxury  with  Charles  re- 
stor’d, I4Q 

In  every  taste  of  foreign  courts  improv’d, 

‘ All  by  the  King’s  example  liv’d  and  lov’d,’ 
Then  peers  grew  proud  in  horsemanship 
t’  excel; 

Newmarket’s  glory  rose,  as  Britain’s  fell; 
The  soldier  breathed  the  gallantries  of 
France, 

And  ev’ry  flowery  Courtier  writ  Romance. 
Then  marble,  soften’d  into  life,  grew  warm. 
And  yielding  metal  flow’d  to  human  form; 
Lely  on  animated  canvas  stole 
The  sleepy  eye,  that  spoke  the  melting 
soul. 


194 


SATIRES 


No  wonder  then,  when  all  was  love  and 
sport, 

The  willing  Muses  were  debauch’d  at 
court; 

On  each  enervate  string  they  taught  the 
note 

To  pant,  or  tremble  thro’  a Eunuch’s  throat. 
But  Britain,  changeful  as  a child  at 

pW» 

Now  calls  in  princes,  and  now  turns  away. 
Now  Whig,  now  Tory,  what  we  loved  we 
hate; 

Now  all  for  Pleasure,  now  for  Church  and 
State; 

Now  for  Prerogatives,  and  now  for  laws; 
Effects  unhappy,  from  a noble  cause.  16c 
Time  was,  a sober  Englishman  would 
knock 

His  servants  up,  and  rise  by  five  o’clock; 
Instruct  his  family  in  ev’ry  rule, 

And  send  his  wife  to  church,  his  son  to 
school. 

To  worship  like  his  fathers  was  his  care; 

To  teach  their  frugal  virtues  to  his  heir; 

To  prove  that  Luxury  could  never  hold, 
And  place  on  good  security  his  gold. 

Now  times  are  changed,  and  one  poetic 
itch 

Has  seized  the  Court  and  City,  Poor  and 
Rich ; 17° 

Sons,  sires,  and  grandsires,  all  will  wear 
the  bays; 

Our  wives  read  Milton,  and  our  daughters 
plays; 

To  theatres  and  to  rehearsals  throng, 

And  all  our  grace  at  table  is  a song. 

I,  who  so  oft  renounce  the  Muses,  lie: 

Not  ** ’s  self  e’er  tells  more  fibs  than  I. 
When  sick  of  Muse,  our  follies  we  deplore, 
And  promise  our  best  friends  to  rhyme  no 
more, 

We  wake  next  morning  in  a raging  fit, 

And  call  for  pen  and  ink  to  show  our  wit. 

He  served  a ’prenticeship  who  sets  up 
shop;  181 

Ward  tried  on  puppies  and  the  poor  his 
drop; 

Ev’n  Radcliff’s  doctors  travel  first  to 
France, 

Nor  dare  to  practise  till  they  ’ve  learn ’d  to 
dance. 

Who  builds  a bridge  that  never  drove  a 
pile  ? 

(Should  Ripley  venture,  all  the  world  would 
smile), 


But  those  who  cannot  write,  and  those  who 
can, 

All  rhyme,  and  scrawl,  and  scribble,  to  a 
man. 

Yet,  Sir,  reflect;  the  mischief  is  not 
great ; 

These  madmen  never  hurt  the  Church  or 
State:  190 

Sometimes  the  folly  benefits  mankind, 

And  rarely  av’rice  taints  the  tuneful  mind. 
Allow  him  but  his  plaything  of  a Pen, 

He  ne’er  rebels,  or  plots,  like  other  men: 
Flight  of  cashiers,  or  mobs,  he  ’ll  never 
mind, 

And  knows  no  losses  while  the  Muse  is 
kind. 

To  cheat  a friend  or  ward,  he  leaves  to 
Peter; 

The  good  man  heaps  up  nothing  but  mere 
metre, 

Enjoys  his  Garden  and  his  Book  in  quiet; 
And  then  — a perfect  hermit  in  his  diet.  200 
Of  little  use  the  man  you  may  suppose 
Who  says  in  verse  what  others  say  in 
prose ; 

Yet  let  me  show  a Poet ’s  of  some  weight, 
And  (tho’  no  soldier)  useful  to  the  State. 
What  will  a child  learn  sooner  than  a song  ? 
What  better  teach  a foreigner  the  tongue  — 
What ’s  long  or  short,  each  accent  where 
to  place, 

And  speak  in  public  with  some  sort  of 
grace  ? 

I scarce  can  think  him  such  a worthless 
thing,  209 

Unless  he  praise  some  monster  of  a King; 
Or  virtue  or  religion  turn  to  sport, 

To  please  a lewd  or  unbelieving  Court. 
Unhappy  Dryden  ! — In  all  Charles’s  days 
Roscommon  only  boasts  unspotted  bays; 
And  in  our  own  (excuse  some  courtly 
stains) 

No  whiter  page  than  Addison  remains. 

He  from  the  taste  obscene  reclaims  our 
youth, 

And  sets  the  passions  on  the  side  of  Truth, 
Forms  the  soft  bosom  with  the  gentlest 
Art,  . < 219 

And  pours  each  human  virtue  in  the  heart. 
Let  Ireland  tell  how  wit  upheld  her  cause, 
Her  trade  supported,  and  supplied  her 
laws; 

And  leave  on  Swift  this  grateful  verse  en- 
graved, 

‘ The  rights  a Court  attack’d,  a Poet  saved.’ 


FIRST  EPISTLE  OF  THE  SECOND  BOOK  OF  HORACE  195 


Behold  the  hand  that  wrought  a Nation’s 
cure, 

Stretch’d  to  relieve  the  idiot  and  the  poor; 

Proud  vice  to  brand,  01*  injured  worth  adorn, 

And  stretch  the  ray  to  ages  yet  unborn. 

Not  but  there  are,  who  merit  other  palms; 

Hopkins  and  Sternkold  glad  the  heart  with 
psalms;  230 

The  boys  and  girls  whom  charity  main- 
tains 

Implore  your  help  in  these  pathetic  strains: 

How  could  Devotion  touch  the  country 
pews 

Unless  the  Gods  bestow’d  a proper  Muse  ? 

Verse  cheers  their  leisure,  verse  assists 
their  work, 

Verse  prays  for  peace,  or  sings  down  pope 
and  Turk. 

The  silenced  preacher  yields  to  potent 
strain, 

And  feels  that  Grace  his  prayer  besought 
in  vain; 

The  blessing  thrills  thro’  all  the  lab’ring 
throng, 

And  Heav’n  is  won  by  violence  of  song.  240 
Our  rural  ancestors,  with  little  blest, 

Patient  of  labour  when  the  end  was  rest, 

Indulged  the  day  that  housed  their  annual 
grain 

With  feasts,  and  off’rings,  and  a thankful 
strain. 

• The  joy  their  wives,  their  sons,  and  ser- 
vants share, 

! Ease  of  their  toil,  and  partners  of  their 
c care : 

The  Laugh,  the  Jest,  attendants  on  the 
bowl, 

Smooth’d  ev’ry  brow,,  and  open’d  ev’ry 
soul: 

With  growing  years  the  pleasing  license 
grew, 

And  taunts  alternate  innocently  flew.  250 

But  Times  corrupt,  and  Nature,  ill  inclin’d, 

Produced  the  point  that  left  a sting  be- 
hind; 

> Til1  friend  with  friend,  and  families  at 
1 strife, 

Triumphant  malice  raged  thro’  private  life. 

Who  felt  the  wrong,  or  fear’d  it,  took  th’ 
alarm, 

Appeal  d to  law,  and  Justice  lent  her  arm. 

At  length  by  wholesome  dread  of  statutes 
bound, 

The  poets  learn’d  to  please,  and  not  to 
wound: 


Most  warp’d  to  Flatt’ry’s  side;  but  some, 
more  nice, 

Preserv’d  the  freedom,  and  forbore  the 

rr  oiCe*  260 

Hence  Satire  rose,  that  just  the  medium  hit, 
And  heals  with  morals  what  it  hurts  with, 
wit. 

We  conquer’d  France,  but  felt  our  captive’s 
charms, 

Her  arts  victorious  triumph’d  o’er  our 
arms; 

Britain  to  soft  refinements  less  a foe, 

Wit  grew  polite,  and  numbers  learn’d  to 
flow. 

Waller  was  smooth;  but  Dryden  taught' 
to  join 

The  varying  verse,  the  full  resounding 
line,  ° “ 

The  long  majestic  march,  and  energy  di- 
vine: 

Tho’  still  some  traces  of  our  rustic  vein 
And  splay-foot  verse  remain’d,  and  will  re- 
main. 27I 

Late,  very  late,  correctness  grew  our  care, 
When  the  tired  nation  breathed  from  civil 
war 

Exact  Racine  and  Corneille’s  noble  fire 
Show’d  us  that  France  had  something  to 
admire. 

Not  but  the  tragic  spirit  was  our  own, 

And  full  in  Shakespeare,  fair  in  Otway, 
shone; 

But  Otway  fail’d  to  polish  or  refine, 

And  fluent  Shakespeare  scarce  effaced  a 
line. 

Ev’n  copious  Dryden  wanted,  or  forgot,  280 
The  last  and  greatest  art  — the  art  to  blot. 
r Some  doubt  if  equal  pains  or  equal  fire 
The  humbler  Muse  of  Comedy  require. 

But  in  known  images  of  life  I guess 
The  labour  greater,  as  th’  indulgence  less. 
Observe  how  seldom  ev’n  the  best  succeed: 
Tell  me  if  Congreve’s  fools  are  fools  in- 
deed ? 

W hat  pert  low  dialogue  has  Farquhar  writ! 
How  Van  wants  grace,  who  never  wanted 
wit: 

The  stage  how  loosely  does  Astrea  tread, 
Who  fairly  puts  all  characters  to  bed!  291 
And  idle  Cibber,  how  he  breaks  the  laws, 

To  make  poor  Pinkey  eat  with  vast  ap- 
plause! 

But  fill  their  purse,  our  poet’s  work  is 
done, 

Alike  to  them  by  pathos  or  by  pun. 


196 


SATIRES 


O you!  whom  Vanity’s  light  bark  con- 
veys 

On  Fame’s  mad  voyage  by  the  wind  of 
praise, 

With  what  a shifting  gale  your  course  you 

For  ever  sunk  too  low,  or  borne  too  high. 
Who  pants  for  glory  finds  but  short  repose; 
A breath  revives  him,  or  a breath  o’er- 
tlirows.  301 

Farewell  the  Stage!  if  just  as  thrives  the 
play 

The  silly  bard  grows  fat  or  falls  away. 

There  still  remains,  to  mortify  a Wit, 
The  many-headed  monster  of  the  pit; 

A senseless,  worthless,  and  unlionour’d 
crowd, 

Who,  to  disturb  their  betters,  mighty 
proud, 

Clatt’ring  their  sticks  before  ten  lines  are 
spoke, 

Call  tor  the  Farce,  the  Bear,  or  the  Black- 
joke.  309 

What  dear  delight  to  Britons  farce  affords! 
Ever  the  taste  of  Mobs,  but  now  of  Lords: 
(Taste!  that  eternal  wanderer,  which  flies 
From  heads  to  ears,  and  now  from  ears  to 
eyes.) 

The  play  stands  still;  damn  action  and  dis- 
course! 

Back  fly  the  scenes,  and  enter  foot  and 
horse ; 

Pageants  on  pageants,  in  long  order  drawn, 
Peers,  heralds,  bishops,  ermine,  gold,  and 
lawn ; 

The  Champion  too!  and,  to  complete  the 
jest, 

Old  Edward’s  armour  beams  on  Cibber’s 
breast.  319 

With  laughter  sure  Democritus  had  died, 
Had  he  beheld  an  audience  gape  so  wide. 
Let  bear  or  elephant  be  e’er  so  white, 

The  people  sure,  the  people  are  the  sight! 
Ah,  luckless  Poet!  stretch  thy  lungs  and 
roar, 

That  bear  or  elephant  shall  heed  thee 
more ; 

While  all  its  throats  the  gallery  extends, 
And  all  the  thunder  of  the  pit  ascends! 
Loud  as  the  wolves  on  Orcas’  stormy  steep 
Howl  to  the  roarings  of  the  northern  deep, 
Such  is  the  shout,  the  long  applauding 
note,  330 

At  Quin’s  high  plume,  or  Oldfield’s  petti- 
coat; 


Or  when  from  court  a birthday  suit  be- 
stow’d, 

Sinks  the  lost  actor  in  the  tawdry  load. 
Booth  enters  — hark!  the  universal  peal! 

‘ But  has  he  spoken  ? ’ — Not  a syllable. 

‘ What  shook  the  stage,  and  made  the  peo- 
ple stare  ? ’ 

Cato’s  long  wig,  flower’d  gown,  and  lack- 
er’d chair. 

Yes,  lest  you  think  I rally  more  than 
teach, 

Or  praise  malignly  arts  I cannot  reach, 

Let  me  for  once  presume  t’  instruct  the 
times,  340 

To  know  the  Poet  from  the  man  of  rhymes: 
’T  is  he  who  gives  my  breast  a thousand 
pains, 

Can  make  me  feel  each  passion  that  he 
feigns, 

Enrage,  compose,  with  more  than  magic  art, 
With  pity  and  with  terror  tear  my  heart, 
And  snatch  me  o’er  the  earth,  or  thro’  the 
air, 

To  Thebes,  to  Athens,  when  he  will,  and 
where. 

But  not  this  part  of  the  poetic  state 
Alone  deserves  the  favour  of  the  great. 
Think  of  those  authors,  Sir,  who  would 
rely  350 

More  on  a reader’s  sense  than  gazer’s  eye. 
Or  who  shall  wander  where  the  Muses 
sing  ? 

Who  climb  their  mountain,  or  who  taste 
their  spring  ? 

How  shall  we  fill  a library  with  Wit, 

When  Merlin’s  Cave  is  half  unfurnish’d 

yet  ? 

My  liege!  why  writers  little  claim  your 
thought 

I guess,  and,  with  their  leave,  will  tell  the 
fault. 

We  Poets  are  (upon  a poet’s  word) 

Of  all  mankind  the  creatures  most  absurd: 
The  season  when  to  coine,  and  when  to  go, 
To  sing,  or  cease  to  sing,  we  never  know; 
And  if  we  will  recite  nine  hours  in  ten,  362 
You  lose  your  patience  just  like  other  men. 
Then,  too,  we  hurt  ourselves  when,  to  de- 
fend 

A single  verse,  wre  quarrel  with  a friend; 
B,epeat,  unask’d;  lament,  the  wit’s  too  fine 
For  vulgar  eyes,  and  point  out  every  line: 
But  most  when  straining  with  too  weak  a 
wing 

We  needs  will  write  epistles  to  the  King; 


SECOND  EPISTLE  OF  THE  SECOND  BOOK  OF  HORACE 


197 


And  from  the  moment  we  oblige  the  town, 
Expect  a Place  or  Pension  from  the  Crown; 
Or  dubb’d  historians  by  express  command, 
T’  enrol  your  triumphs  o’er  the  seas  and 
land,  373 

Be  call’d  to  Court  to  plan  some  work  di- 
vine, 

As  once  for  Louis,  Boileau  and  Racine. 

Yet  think,  great  Sirl  (so  many  virtues 
shown) 

Ah!  think  what  poet  best  may  make  them 
known ; 

Or  choose  at  least  some  minister  of  grace, 
Fit  to  bestow  the  Laureate’s  weighty  place. 

Charles,  to  late  times  to  be  transmitted 

. fair?  380 

Assign’d  his  figure  to  Bernini’s  care ; 

And  great  Nassau  to  Kneller’s  hand  de- 
creed 

To  fix  him  graceful  on  the  bounding  steed: 
So  well  in  paint  and  stone  they  judg’d  of 
merit; 

But  Kings  in  Wit  may  want  discerning 
spirit. 

The  hero  William,  and  the  martyr  Charles, 
One.  knighted  Blackmore,  and  one  pension’d 
Quarles, 

Which  made  old  Ben  and  surly  Dennis 

swear 

‘No  Lord’s  anointed,  but  a Russian  bear.’ 

Not  with  such  majesty,  such  bold  relief, 
The  forms  august  of  King,  or  conquering 
Chief,  3gj 

E’er  swell’d  on  marble,  as  in  verse  have 
shined 

(I11  polish’d  verse)  the  manners  and  the 
mind. 

01  could  I mount  on  the  Mseonian  wing, 
Your  arms,  your  actions,  your  repose*  to 
sing! 

What  seas  you  travers’d,  and  what  fields 
you  fought! 

Your  country’s  peace  how  oft,  how  dearly 
bought! 

How  barb’rous  rage  subsided  at  your  word, 
And  nations  wonder’d  while  they  dropp’d 
the  sword! 

How,  when  you  nodded,  o’er  the  land  and 
D deeP>  400 

Peace  stole  her  wing,  and  wrapt  the  world 
in  sleep, 

Till  earth’s  extremes  your  mediation  own, 
And  Asia’s  tyrants  tremble  at  your  throne! 
But  verse,  alas!  your  Majesty  disdains; 

Amd  I m not  used  to  panegyric  strains. 


The  zeal  of  fools  offends  at  any  time, 

But  most  of  all  the  zeal  of  fools  in  rhyme. 
Besides,  a Fate  attends  on  all  I write, 

That  when  I aim  at  praise  they  say  I bite. 
A vile  encomium  doubly  ridicules:  4l0 

There ’s  nothing  blackens  like  the  ink  of 
fools. 

If  true,  a woful  likeness;  and,  if  lies, 

‘ Praise  undeserv’d  is  scandal  in  disguise.’ 
Well  may  he  blush  who  gives  it,  or  re- 
ceives; 

And  when  I flatter,  let  my  dirty  leaves 
(Like  Journals,  Odes,  and  such  forgotten 
things, 

As  Eusden,  Philips,  Settle,  writ  of  Kings) 
Clothe  spice,  line  trunk,  or,  flutt’ring  in  a 
row, 

Befringe  the  rails  of  Bedlam  and  Soho. 


THE  SECOND  EPISTLE  Oh  THE 
SECOND  BOOK  OF  HORaCE 

Ludentia  speciem  dabit,  et  torquebitur.  — Hob. 

Dear  Colonel,  Cobham’s  and  your  coun- 
try’s friend, 

You  love  a verse;  take  such  as  I can  send. 

A Frenchman  comes,  presents  you  with 
his  boy, 

Bows  and  begins  — ‘This  lad,  sir,  is  of 
Blois: 

Observe  his  shape  how  clean!  his  locks  how 
curl’d. 

My  only  son,  I’d  have  him  see  the  world: 

His  French  is  pure;  his  voice  too  — you 
shall  hear  — 

Sir,  he ’s  your  slave  for  twenty  pound  a 
year. 

Mere  wax  as  yet,  you  fashion  him  with 
ease, 

Your  barber,  cook,  upbolst’rer;  what  you 
please:  I0 

A perfect  genius  at  an  opera  song  — 

To  say  too  much  might  do  my  honour 
wrong. 

Take  him  with  all  his  virtues  on  my  word; 

His  whole  ambition  was  to  serve  a Lord. 

But,  Sir,  to  you  with  what  would  I not 
part  ? 

Tho’,  faith,  I fear,  ’t  will  break  his  mother’s 
heart. 

Once  (and  but  once)  I caught  him  iu  a lie, 

And  then,  unwhipp’d,  he  had  the  grace  to 
cry; 


198 


SATIRES 


The  fault  he  has  I fairly  shall  reveal 
(Could  you  o’erlook  but  that),  it  is — to 
steal.’  20 

If,  after  this,  you  took  the  graceless  lad, 
Could  you  complain,  my  friend,  he  prov’d 
so  bad  ? 

Faith,  in  such  case,  if  you  should  prosecute, 

I think  Sir  Godfrey  should  decide  the  suit; 
Who  sent  the  thief  that  stole  the  cash 
away, 

And  punish’d  him  that  put  it  in  his  way. 

Consider  then,  and  judge  me  in  this 
light; 

I told  you  when  I went  I could  not  write; 
You  said  the  same;  and  are  you  discontent 
With  laws  to  which  you  gave  your  own 
assent  ? 30 

Nay,  worse,  to  ask  for  verse  at  such  a 
time! 

D’ye  think  me  good  for  nothing  but  to 
rhyme  ? 

In  Anna’s  wars  a Soldier,  poor  and  old, 
Had  dearly  earn’d  a little  purse  of  gold: 
Tired  in  a tedious  march,  one  luckless 
night 

He  slept,  (poor  dog!)  and  lost  it  to  a doit. 
This  put  the  man  in  such  a desp’rate  mind,  1 
Between  revenge,  and  grief,  and  hunger  I 
join’d  f 

Against  the  foe,  himself,  and  all  mankind,  J 
He  leap’d  the  trenches,  scaled  a castle 
wall,  40 

Tore  down  a standard,  took  the  fort  and 
all. 

‘ Prodigious  well!  ’ his  great  commander 
cried, 

Gave  him  much  praise,  and  some  reward 
beside. 

Next  pleas’d  His  Excellence  a town  to 
batter 

(Its  name  I know  not,  and  ’t  is  no  great 
matter) ; 

‘ Go  on,  my  friend  (he  cried),  see  yonder 
walls! 

Advance  and  conquer ! go  where  Glory 
calls! 

More  honours,  more  rewards,  attend  the 
brave.’ 

Don’t  you  remember  what  reply  he 
gave  ? — 

‘ D’  ye  think  me,  noble  Gen’ral,  such  a 
sot  ? 50 

Let  him  take  castles  who  has  ne’er  a groat.’ 

Bred  up  at  home,  full  early  I begun 
To  read  in  Greek  the  wrath  of  Peleus’  son: 


Besides,  my  father  taught  me  from  a lad 
The  better  art,  to  know  the  good  from  bad 
(And  little  sure  imported  to  remove, 

To  hunt  for  truth  in  Maudlin’s  learned 
grove). 

But  knottier  points  we  knew  not  half  so 
well, 

Deprived  us  soon  of  our  paternal  cell; 

And  certain  laws,  by  suff’rers  thought 
unjust,  60 

Denied  all  posts  of  profit  or  of  trust. 

Hopes  after  hopes  of  pious  papists  fail’d, 
While  mighty  William’s  tliund’ring  arm 
prevail’d; 

For  right  hereditary  tax’d  and  fin’d 
He  stuck  to  poverty  with  peace  of  mind; 
And  me,  the  Muses  help’d  to  undergo  it; 
Convict  a Papist  he,  and  I a Poet. 

But  (thanks  to  Homer)  since  I live  and 
thrive, 

Indebted  to  no  prince  or  peer  alive, 

Sure  I should  want  the  care  of  ten  Mon- 
roes, 70 

If  I would  scribble  rather  than  repose. 
Years  foil’ wing  years  steal  something  ev’ry 
day, 

At  last  they  steal  us  from  ourselves  away; 
In  one  our  frolics,  one  amusements  end, 

In  one  a Mistress  drops,  in  one  a Friend. 
This  subtle  thief  of  life,  this  paltry  time, 
What  will  it  leave  me  if  it  snatch  my 
rhyme  ? 

If  ev’ry  wheel  of  that  unwearied  mill 
That  turn’d  ten  thousand  verses,  new  stands 
still  ? 

But,  after  all,  what  would  ye  have  me 
do,  8c 

When  out  of  twenty  I can  please  not  two  ? 
When  this  Heroics  only  deigns  to  praise, 
Sharp  Satire  that,  and  that  Pindaric  lays  ? 
One  likes  the  pheasant’s  wing,  and  one  the 
leg; 

The  vulgar  boil,  the  learned  roast  an  egg: 
Hard  task  to  hit  the  palate  of  such  guests. 
When  Oldfield  loves  what  Dartineuf  de- 
tests ! 

But  grant  I may  relapse,  for  want  ol 
grace, 

Again  to  rhyme,  can  London  be  the  place  ci 
Who  there  his  muse,  or  self,  or  soul  at- 
tends, 9C 

In  Crowds,  and  Courts,  Law,  Bus’ness, 
Feasts,  and  Friends  ? 

My  counsel  sends  to  execute  a deed : 

A poet  begs  me  I will  hear  him  read. 


SECOND  EPISTLE  OF  THE  SECOND  BOOK  OF  HORACE.  199 


In  Palace  yard  at  nine  you’ll  find  me 
there  — 

At  ten,  for  certain,  sir,  in  Bloomsbury- 
square  — 

Before  the  Lords  at  twelve  my  cause  comes 
on  — 

There ’s  a rehearsal,  Sir,  exact  at  one.  — 
‘Oh  ! but  a Wit  can  study  in  the  streets, 
And  raise  his  mind  above  the  mob  he 
meets.’ 

Not  quite  so  well,  however,  as  one  ought:  ioo 
A hackney-coach  may  chance  to  spoil  a 
thought, 

And  then  a nodding  beam,  or  pig  of  lead, 
God  knows,  may  hurt  the  very  ablest 
head. 

Have  you  not  seen,  at  Guildhall’s  narrow 
pass, 

Two  Aldermen  dispute  it  with  an  Ass  ? 

And  Peers  give  way,  exalted  as  they  are, 
Ev’11  to  their  own  s-r-v  — nee  in  a car  ? 

Go,  lofty  Poet,  and  in  such  a crowd 
Sing  thy  sonorous  verse  — but  not  aloud. 
Alas  ! to  grottos  and  to  groves  we  run,  no 
To  ease  and  silence,  ev’ry  Muse’s  son  : 
Blackmore  himself,  for  any  grand  effort 
Would  drink  and  doze  at  Tooting  or  Earl’s- 
court. 

How  shall  I rhyme  in  this  eternal  roar  ? 
How  match  the  bards  whom  none  e’er 
match’d  before  ? 

The  man  who,  stretch’d  in  Isis’  calm  re- 
treat, 

i To  books  and  study  gives  sev’n  years  com- 
plete, 

See  ! strew’d  with  learned  dust,  his  night- 
cap on, 

He  walks  an  object  new  beneath  the  sun  ! 
The  boys  flock  round  him,  and  the  peo-  I 
pie  stare:  I20 

So  stiff,  so  mute  ; some  Statue  you  would  > 
swear  j 

Stept  from  its  pedestal  to  take  the  air  ! J 
And  here,  while  town,  and  court,  and  city 
roars, 

With  Mobs,  and  Duns,  and  Soldiers,  at 
their  doors, 

Shall  I,  in  London,  act  this  idle  part, 
Composing  songs  for  fools  to  get  by  heart  ? 

The  Temple  late  two  brother  sergeants 
saw, 

Who  deem’d  each  other  oracles  of  law  ; 

With  equal  talents  these  congenial  souls, 

One  lull’d  th’  Exchequer,  and  one  stunn’d 
the  Rolls  ; I3<3 


Each  had  a gravity  would  make  you  split, 
And  shook  his  head  at  Murray  as  a wit; 

T was,  ‘Sir,  your  law’ — and  ‘Sir,  your 
eloquence,’ 

‘ Yours,  Cowper’s  manner  ’ — and  ‘ Yours, 
Talbot’s  sense.’ 

Thus  we  dispose  of  all  poetic  merit, 
Yours  Milton’s  genius,  and  mine  Homer’s 
spirit. 

Call  Tibbald  Shakespeare,  and  he  ’ll  swear 
the  Nine, 

Dear  Cibber  ! never  match’d  one  ode  of 
thine. 

Lord  ! how  we  strut  thro’  Merlin’s  Cave,  to 
see  139 

No  poets  there  but  Stephen,  you,  and  me. 
Walk  with  respect  behind,  while  we  at  ease 
Weave  laurel  crowns,  and  take  what  names 
we  please. 

‘ My  dear  Tibullus  ! (if  that  will  not  do) 
Let  me  be  Horace,  and  be  Ovid  you: 

Or,  I ’m  content,  allow  me  Dryden’s  strains, 
And  you  shall  rise  up  Otway  for  your 
pains.’ 

Much  do  I suffer,  much,  to  keep  in  peace 
This  jealous,  waspish,  wronghead,  rhyming 
race  ; 

And  much  must  flatter,  if  the  whim  should 

_ bite  M9 

To  court  applause  by  printing  what  I write  : 
But  let  the  fit  pass  o’er  ; I ’m  wise  enough 
To  stop  my  ears  to  their  confounded  stuff. 

In  vain  bad  rhymers  all  mankind  reject, 
They  treat  themselves  with  most  profound 
respect  ; 

’T  is  to  small  purpose  that  you  hold  your 
tongue, 

Each,  prais’d  within,  is  happy  all  day  long  : 
But  how  severely  with  themselves  proceed 
The  men  who  write  such  verse  as  we  can 
read  ? 

Their  own  strict  judges,  not  a word  they 
spare 

That  wants  or  force,  or  light,  or  weight,  or 

„ , care ; 160 

Howe  er  unwillingly  it  quits  its  place, 

Nay,  tho’  at  Court  (perhaps)  it  may  find 
grace. 

Such  they’ll  degrade;  and,  sometimes  in 
its  stead, 

In  downright  charity  revive  the  dead  ; 

Mark  where  a bold  expressive  phrase  ap- 
pears, 

Bright  thro’  the  rubbish  of  some  hundred 
years  ; 


200 


SATIRES 


Command  old  words,  that  long  have  slept, 
to  wake, 

Words  that  wise  Bacon  or  brave  Raleigh 
spake; 

Or  bid  the  new  be  English  ages  hence 
(For  Use  will  father  what ’s  begot  by 
Sense);  170 

Pour  the  full  tide  of  eloquence  along,  1 
Serenely  pure,  and  yet  divinely  strong,  ! 
Rich  with  the  treasures  of  each  foreign  j 
tongue ; J 

Prune  the  luxuriant,  the  uncouth  refine, 

But  show  no  mercy  to  an  empty  line; 

Then  polish  all  with  so  much  life  and  ease, 
You  think  ’t  is  Nature,  and  a knack  to 
please; 

But  ease  in  writing  flows  from  Art,  not 
Chance, 

As  those  move  easiest  who  have  learn’d  to 
dance. 

If  such  the  plague  and  pains  to  write  by 
rule,  180 

Better  (say  I)  be  pleas’d,  and  play  the 
fool; 

Call,  if  you  will,  bad  rhyming  a disease, 

It  gives  men  happiness,  or  leaves  them 
ease. 

There  lived  in  primo  Georgii  (they  record) 
A worthy  member,  no  small  fool,  a Lord; 
Who,  tho’  the  House  was  up,  delighted 
sate, 

Heard,  noted,  answer’d,  as  in  full  debate: 
In  all  but  this  a man  of  sober  life, 

Fond  of  his  friend,  and  civil  to  his  wife; 
Not  quite  a madman  tho’  a pasty  fell,  190 
And  much  too  wise  to  walk  into  a well. 
Him  the  damn’d  doctors  and  his  friends 
immured, 

They  bled,  they  cupp’d,  they  purged;  in 
short  they  cured ; 

Whereat  the  gentleman  began  to  stare  — 
‘My  friends!  (he  cried)  pox  take  you  for 
your  care! 

That,  from  a patriot  of  distinguish’d  note, 
Have  bled  and  purged  me  to  a simple  vote.’ 

Well,  on  the  whole,  plain  prose  must  be 
my  fate: 

Wisdom  (curse  on  it!)  will  come  soon  or 
late. 

There  is  a time  when  poets  will  grow 
dull:  200 

I ’ll  ev’n  leave  verses  to  the  boys  at  school. 
To  rules  of  poetry  no  more  confin’d, 
i ’ll  learn  to  smooth  and  harmonize  my 
mind, 


Teach  ev’ry  thought  within  its  bounds  to 
roll, 

And  keep,  the  equal  measure  of  the  soul. 

Soon  as  I enter  at  my  country  door, 

My  mind  resumes  the  thread  it  dropt  be- 
fore; 

Thoughts  which  at  Hyde-park  Corner  I 
forgot, 

Meet  and  rejoin  me  in  the  pensive  grot: 
There  all  alone,  and  compliments  apart,  210 
I ask  these  sober  questions  of  my  heart : 

If,  when  the  more  you  drink  the  more 
you  crave, 

You  tell  the  doctor;  when  the  more  you 
have 

The  more  you  want,  why  not,  with  equal 
ease, 

Confess  as  well  your  folly  as  disease  ? 

The  heart  resolves  this  matter  in  a trice, 

‘ Men  only  feel  the  smart,  but  not  the  vice/ 

When  golden  angels  cease  to  cure  the 
evil, 

You  give  all  royal  witchcraft  to  the  devil: 
When  servile  Chaplains  cry,  that  birth  and 
place  220 

Endue  a Peer  with  Honour,  Truth,  and 
Grace, 

Look  in  that  breast,  most  dirty  D[uke]!  be 
fair, 

Say,  can  you  find  out  one  such  lodger 
there  ? 

Yet  still,  not  heeding  what  your  heart  can 
teach, 

You  go  to  church  to  hear  these  flatt’rers 
preach. 

Indeed,  could  wealth  bestow  or  Wit  or 
Merit, 

A grain  of  Courage,  or  a spark  of  Spirit, 
The  wisest  man  might  blush,  I must  agree, 
If  Devonshire]  lov’d  sixpence  more  than 
he. 

If  there  be  truth  in  law,  and  use  can 
give  230 

A property,  that ’s  yours  on  which  you  live. 
Delightful  Abs-court,  if  its  fields  afford 
Their  fruits  to  you,  confesses  you  its  lord: 
All  Worldly’s  hens,  nay,  partridge,  sold  to 
town, 

His  venison  too,  a guinea  makes  your  own : 
He  bought  at  thousands  what  with  better 
wit 

You  purchase  as  you  want,  and  bit  by  bit: 
Now,  or  long  since,  what  diff’rence  will  be 
found  ? 

You  pay  a penny,  and  he  paid  a pound. 


201 


SECOND  EPISTLE  OF  THE  SECOND  BOOK  OF  HORACE 


Heatlicote  himself,  and  such  large-acred 

men.  24o 

Lords  of  fat  E’sham,  or  of  Lincoln  Fen, 
Buy  every  stick  of  wood  that  lends  them 
heat, 

Buy  every  pullet  they  afford  to  eat; 

Yet  these  are  wights  who  fondly  call  their 
own 

Half  that  the  Devil  o’erlooks  from  Lincoln 
town. 

The  laws  of  God,  as  well  as  of  the  land, 
Abhor  a perpetuity  should  stand: 

Eitates  have  wings,  and  hang  in  Fortune’s 
power, 

Loose  on  the  point  of  ev’ry  wav’ring  hour, 
Ready  by  force,  or  of  your  own  accord,  250 
By  sale,  at  least  by  death,  to  change  their 
lord. 

Man  ? and  for  ever  ? Wretch!  what 
wouldst  thou  have  ? 

Heir  urges  heir,  like  wave  impelling  wave. 
All  vast  possessions  (just  the  same  the 
case 

Whether  you  call  them  Villa,  Park,  or 
Chase), 

Alas,  my  Bathurst!  what  will  they  avail  ? 
Join  Cots  wood  hills  to  Saperton’s  fair  dale; 
Let  rising  granaries  and  temples  here, 

, There  mingled  farms  and  pyramids,  ap- 
pear; 

Link  towns  to  towns  with  avenues  of 
oak,  26q 

Enclose  whole  towns  in  walls;  ’t  is  all  a 
joke! 

J Inexorable  death  shall  level  all, 

And  trees,  and  stones,  and  farms,  and 
farmer  fall. 

Gold,  silver,  ivory,  vases  sculptured  high, 
Paint,  marble,  gems,  and  robes  of  Persian 
dye, 

There  are  who  have  not  — and,  thank 
Heav’n,  there  are 

Who,  if  they  have  not,  think  not  worth 
their  care. 

Talk  what  you  will  of  Taste,  my  friend. 

( you ’ll  find 

Two  of  a face  as  soon  as  of  a mind. 

,Why,  of  two  brothers,  rich  and  restless 

Ploughs,  burns,  manures,  and  toils  from 
sun  to  sun, 

^he  other  slights,  for  women,  sports,  and 
wines, 

U1  Townshend’s  turnips,  and  all  Grosve- 
! nor’s  mines: 


Why  one,  like  Bubb,  with  pay  and  scorn 
content, 

Bows  and  votes  on  in  Court  and  Parlia- 
ment; 

One,  driv’n  by  strong  benevolence  of  soul, 
Shall  fly,  like  Oglethorpe,  from  pole  to  pole; 
Is  known  alone  to  that  directing  Power  278 
Who  forms  the  genius  in  the  natal  hour; 
That  God  of  Nature,  who,  within  us  still, 
Inclines  our  action,  not  constrains  our  will* 
Various  of  temper,  as  of  face  or  frame, 
Each  individual:  His  great  end  the  same. 

Yes,  Sir,  how  small  soever  be  my  heap, 

A part  I will  enjoy  as  well  as  keep. 

My  heir  may  sigh,  and  think  it  want  of 
grace 

A man  so  poor  would  live  without  a place; 
But  sure  no  statute  in  his  favour  says, 

How  free  or  frugal  I shall  pass  my  days; 

I who  at  some  times  spend,  at  others  spare, 
Divided  between  carelessness  and  care.  291 
T is  one  thing,  madly  to  disperse  my  store; 
Another,  not  to  heed  to  treasure  more; 

Glad,  like  a boy,  to  snatch  the  first  good 
day, 

And  pleas’d,  if  sordid  want  be  far  away. 

What-  is  * to  me  Passenger,  God  wot) 
Whether  my  vessel  be  first-rate  or  not  ? 

The  ship  itself  may  make  a better  figure, 
But  I that  sail,  am  neither  less  nor  bigger. 

I neither  strut  with  ev’ry  fav’ring  breath, 

Nor  strive  with  all  the  tempest  in  mv 
teeth ; 

In  Power,  Wit,  Figure,  Virtue,  Fortune, 
placed 

Behind  the  foremost,  and  before  the  last. 
‘But  why  all  this  of  Av’rice  ? I have 
none.’ 

I wish  you  joy,  sir,  of  a tyrant  gone: 

But  does  no  other  lord  it  at  this  hour, 

As  wild  and  mad  ? the  avarice  of  Pow’r  ? 
Does  neither  Rage  inflame  nor  Fear  ap- 
pall ? ^ 

Not  the  black  fear  of  Death,  that  saddens 
all  ? 

With  terrors  round,  can  Reason  hold  her 
throne,  3iq 

Despise  the  known,  nor  tremble  at  th’  un- 
known ? 

Survey  both  worlds,  intrepid  and  entire, 

In  spite  of  witches,  devils,  dreams,  and  fire  ? 
Pleas’d  to  look  forward,  pleas’d  to  look  be- 
hind, 

And  count  each  birthday  with  a g^teful 
mind  ?. 


j 


202 


SATIRES 


Has  life  no  sourness,  drawn  so  near  its 
end  ? 

Canst  thou  endure  a foe,  forgive  a friend  ? 

Has  age  but  melted  the  rough  parts  away, 

As  winter  fruits  grow  mild  ere  they  decay  ? 

Or  will  you  think,  my  friend!  your  bus’ness 
done,  320 

When  of  a hundred  thorns  you  pull  out 
one  ? 

Learn  to  live  well,  or  fairly  make  your 
will ; 

You  ’ve  play’d  and  lov’d,  and  ate  and 
drank,  your  fill. 

Walk  sober  off,  before  a sprightlier  age 

Comes  titt’ring  on,  and  shoves  you  from  the 
stage ; 

Leave  such  to  trifle  with  more  grace  and 
ease, 

Whom  Folly  pleases,  and  whose  follies 
please. 


SATIRES  OF  DR.  JOHN  DONNE, 
DEAN  OF  ST.  PAUL’S,  VERSI- 
FIED 

Quid  vetat  et  nosmet  Lucili  scripta  legentes 
Quserere,  num  illius,  num  rerum  dura  negarit 
Versiculos  natura  magis  factos,  et  euntes 
Mollius  ? Horace. 

The  paraphrases  of  Donne  were,  by  Pope’s 
statement,  done  several  years  before  their  pub- 
lication in  1735. 

SATIRE  II 

Yes,  thank  my  stars!  as  early  as  I knew 
This  town,  I had  the  sense  to  hate  it  too; 
Yet  here,  as  ev’n  in  Hell,  there  must  be 
still 

One  giant  vice,  so  excellently  ill, 

That  all  beside  one  pities,  not  abhors ; 

As  who  knows  Sappho,  smiles  at  other 
whores. 

I grant  that  Poetry ’s  a crying  sin; 

It  brought  (no  doubt)  th’  excise  and  army 
in: 

Catch’d  like  the  plague,  or  love,  the  Lord 
knows  how, 

But  that  the  cure  is  starving,  all  allow.  10 
Yet  like  the  Papist’s  is  the  Poet’s  state, 
Poor  and  disarm’d,  and  hardly  worth  your 
hate! 

Here  a lean  bard,  whose  wit  could  never 
give 


Himself  a dinner,  makes  an  actor  live: 

The  thief  condemn’d,  in  law  already  dead, 

So  prompts  and  saves  a rogue  who  cannot 
read. 

Thus  as  the  pipes  of  some  carv’d  organ 
move, 

The  gilded  puppets  dance  and  mount  above, 
Heav’d  by  the  breath  th’  inspiring  bellows 
blow: 

Th’  inspiring  bellows  lie  and  pant  below.  20 

One  sings  the  Fair;  but  songs  no  longer 
move; 

No  rat  is  rhymed  to  death,  nor  maid  to 
love: 

In  Love’s,  in  Nature’s  spite  the  siege  they 
hold, 

And  scorn  the  flesh,  the  Devil,  and  all  but 
gold. 

These  write  to  Lords,  some  mean  re- 
ward to  get, 

As  needy  beggars  sing  at  doors  for  meat: 
Those  write  because  all  write,  and  so  have  j 
still 

Excuse  for  writing,  and  for  writing  ill. 

W retched,  indeed ! but  far  more  wretched 
yet 

Is  he  who  makes  his  meal  on  others  wit:  30 
’T  is  changed,  no  doubt,  from  what  it  was 
before ; 

His  rank  digestion  makes  it  wit  no  more: 
Sense  pass’d  thro’  him  no  longer  is  the 
same; 

For  food  digested  takes  another  name. 

I pass  o’er  all  those  confessors  amp 
martyrs, 

Who  live  like  S[u]tt[o]n,  or  who  die  like 
Chartres, 

Out-cant  old  Esdras,  or  out-drink  his  heir, 
Out-usure  Jews,  or  Irishmen  out-swear; 
Wicked  as  pages,  who  in  early  years 
Act  sins  which  Prisca’s  confessor  scarce 
hears.  40 

Ev’n  those  I pardon,  for  whose  sinful  sake 
Schoolmen  new  tenements  in  hell  must 
make ; 

Of  whose  strange  crimes  no  canonist  can 
tell 

In  what  commandment’s  large  contents 
they  dwell. 

One,  one  man  only  breeds  my  just  of- 
fence, 

Whom  crimes  gave  wealth,  and  wealth  gave 
impudence: 

Time,  that  at  last  matures  a clap  to  pox, 
Whose  gentle  progress  makes  a calf  an  ox, 


SATIRES  OF  DR.  JOHN  DONNE 


* 

203 


And  brings  all  natural  events  to  pass, 

Hath  made  him  an  attorney  of  an  ass.  50 
No  young  Divine,  new  beneficed,  can  be 
More  pert,  more  proud,  more  positive  than 
he. 

What  further  could  I wish  the  fop  to  do, 
But  turn  a Wit,  and  scribble  verses  too  ? 
Pierce  the  soft  labyrinth  of  a lady’s  ear 
With  rhymes  of  this  per  cent,  and  that  per 
year; 

Or  conrt  a wife,  spread  out  his  wily  parts, 
Like  nets,  or  lime  twigs,  for  rich  widows’ 
hearts; 

Call  himself  barrister  to  ev’ry  wench, 

And  woo  in  language  of  the  Pleas  and 
Bench;  6o 

Language  which  Boreas  might  to  Auster 
hold, 

More  rough  than  forty  Germans  when  they 
scold. 

Curs’d  be  the  wretch,  so  venal  and  so  vain, 
Paltry  and  proud  as  drabs  in  Drury  Lane. 

T is  such  a bounty  as  was  never  known, 

[f  Peter  deigns  to  help  you  to  your  own. 
What  thanks,  what  praise,  if  Peter  but 
supplies  ! 

And  what  a solemn  face  if  he  denies  ! 

Grave,  as  when  pris’ners  shake  the  head, 
and  swear 

T was  only  suretyship  that  brought  them 
' there-  70 

11s  office  keeps  your  parchment  fates  en- 
tire, 

! le  starves  with  cold  to  save  them  from  the 
fire; 

“'or  you  he  walks  the  streets  thro’  rain  or 
dust, 

or  not  in  chariots  Peter  puts  his  trust; 
or  you  he  sweats  and  labours  at  the  laws, 
akes  God  to  witness  he  affects  your  cause, 
nd  lies  to  ev’ry  Lord  in  ev’ry  thing, 
ike  a King’s  favourite  — or  like  a King, 
t hese  are  the  talents  that  adorn  them  all, 
rom  wicked  Waters  ev’n  to  godly  [Paul], 
ot  more  of  simony  beneath  black  gowns, 

J or  more  of  bastardy  in  heirs  to  crowns.  82 
1 shillings  and  in  pence  at  first  they  deal, 
Aid  steal  so  little,  few  perceive  they  steal; 
ill  like  the  sea,  they  compass  all  the  land, 
tom  Scots  to  Wight,  from  Mount  to  Dover 
strand ; 

' nd  when  rank  widows  purchase  luscious 
1 nights, 

r when  a Duke  to  Jansen  punts  at 
White’s, 


Or  city  heir  in  mortgage  melts  away, 

Satan  himself  feels  far  less  joy  than  they.  g0 
Piecemeal  they  win  this  acre  first,  then 
that, 

Glean  011,  and  gather  up  the  whole  estate; 
Then  strongly  fencing  ill-got  wealth  by  law, 
Indentures,  cov’nants,  articles,  they  draw, 
Large  as  the  fields  themselves,  and  larger 
far 

Than  civil  codes,  with  all  their  glosses, 
are; 

So  vast,  our  new  divines,  we  must  confess, 
Are  fathers  of  the  church  for  writing  less. 
But  let  them  write;  for  you  each  rogue  im- 
pairs 9g 

The  deeds,  and  dext’rously  omits  ses  heires  „• 
No  commentator  can  more  slily  pass 
O’er  a learn’d  unintelligible  place; 

Or  in  quotation  shrewd  divines  leave  out 
Those  words  that  would  against  them  clear 
the  doubt. 

So  Luther  thought  the  Paternoster  long. 
When  doom’d  to  say  his  beads  and  even- 
song; 

But  having  cast  his  cowl,  and  left  those 
laws, 

Adds  to  Christ’s  prayer,  the  Power  and 
Glory  clause. 

The  lands  are  bought;  but  where  are  to 
be  found 

Those  ancient  woods  that  shaded  all  the 
ground? 

We  see  no  new-built  palaces  aspire, 

No  kitchens  emulate  the  vestal  fire. 

Where  are  those  troops  of  Poor,  that 
throng’d  of  yore 

The  good  old  Landlord’s  hospitable  door  ? 
Well  I could  wish  that  still,  in  lordly 
domes, 

Some  beasts  were  kill’d,  tho’  not  whole 
hecatombs; 

That  both  extremes  were  banish’d  from 
their  walls, 

Carthusian  fasts  and  fulsome  Bacchanals; 
And  all  mankind  might  that  just  mean  ob- 
serve, 

In  which  none  e’er  could  surfeit,  none  could 
starve.  I2Q 

These  are  good  works,  ’t  is  true,  we  all 
allow, 

But,  oh  ! these  works  are  not  in  fashion 
now: 

Like  rich  old  wardrobes,  things  extremely 
rare, 

Extremely  fine,  but  what  no  man  will  wear. 


204 


SATIRES 


Thus  much  I ’ve  said,  I trust  without 
offence; 

Let  no  Court  Sycophant  pervert  my  sense, 
Nor  sly  informer  watch,  these  words  to  draw 
Within  the  reach  of  Treason  or  the  Law. 


SATIRE  IV 

Well,  if  it  be  my  time  to  quit  the  stage, 
Adieu  to  all  the  follies  of  the  age  ! 

I die  in  charity  with  fool  and  knave, 

Secure  of  peace  at  least  beyond  the  grave. 

I ’ve  had  my  Purgatory  here  betimes, 

And  paid  for  all  my  satires,  all  my  rhymes. 
The  poet’s  Hell,  its  tortures,  fiends,  and 
flames, 

To  this  were  trifles,  toys,  and  empty 
names. 

With  foolish  pride  my  heart  was  never 
fired,  # 9 

Nor  the  vain  itch  t’  admire  or  be  admired: 

I hoped  for  no  commission  from  His  Grace; 

X bought  no  benefice,  I begg’d  no  place; 

Had  no  new  verses  nor  new  suit  to  show, 
Yet  went  to  Court  ! — the  Devil  would 
have  it  so. 

But  as  the  fool  that  in  reforming  days 
Would  go  to  mass  in  jest  (as  story  says) 
Could  not  but  think  to  pay  his  fine  was  odd, 
Since  ’t  was  no  form’d  design  of  serving 
God; 

So  was  I punish’d,  as  if  full  as  proud 
As  prone  to  ill,  as  negligent  of  good,  20 
As  deep  in  debt,  without  a thought  to  T 
pay, 

As  vain,  as  idle,  and  as  false  as  they  r 
Who  live  at  Court,  for  going  once  that 
way ! J 

Scarce  was  I enter’d,  when,  behold!  there 
came 

A thing  which  Adam  had  been  posed  to 
name ; 

Noah  had  refused  it  lodging  in  his  ark, 
Where  all  the  race  of  reptiles  might  em- 
bark ; 

A verier  monster  than  on  Afric  s shore 
The  sun  e’er  got,  or  slimy  Nilus  bore, 

Or  Sloane  or  Woodward’s  wondrous  shelves 
contain,  e 3° 

Nay,  all  that  lying  travellers  can  feign. 
The  watch  would  hardly  let  him  pass  at 
noon, 

At  night  would  swear  him  dropp’d  out  of 
the  moon: 


One  whom  the  Mob,  when  next  we  find  or 

make 

A Popish  plot,  shall  for  a Jesuit  take, 

And  the  wise  justice,  starting  from  his 
chair, 

Cry,  ‘ By  your  priesthood,  tell  me  what 
you  are ! ’ 

Such  was  the  wight:  th’  apparel  on  his 
back, 

Tho’  coarse,  was  rev’rend,  and  tho’  bare, 
was  black. 

The  suit,  if  by  the  fashion  one  might 
guess,  4° 

Was  velvet  in  the  youth  of  good  Queen 
Bess, 

But  mere  tuff-taffety  what  now  remain’d: 

So  Time,  that  changes  all  things,  had  or- 
dain’d! 

Our  sons  shall  see  it  leisurely  decay, 

First  turn  plain  rash,  then  vanish  quite 
away. 

This  thing  has  travell’d,  speaks  each  lan- 
guage too, 

And  knows  what ’s  fit  for  ev’ry  state  to 
do; 

Of  whose  best  phrase  and  courtly  accent 
join’d 

He  forms  one  tongue,  exotic  and  refin’d. 

Talkers  I’ve  learn’d  to  bear;  Motteux  I 
knew,  5' 

Henley  himself  I ’ve  heard,  and  Budgell 
too, 

The  Doctor’s  wormwood  style,  the  hash  ol 
tongues 

A Pedant  makes,  the  storm  of  Gonson’* 


lungs, 

The  whole  artill’ry  of  the  terms  of  W ar, 
And  (all  those  plagues  in  one)  the  bawling 
Bar: 

These  I could  bear;  but  not  a rogue 
civil 

Whose  tongue  will  compliment  you  to  tin 
Devil: 

A tongue  that  can  cheat  widows,  cance 


scores, 

Make  Scots  sneak  treason. 


whores, 

With  royal  favourites  in  flatt’ry  vie,  6 
And  Oldmixon  and  Burnet  both  outlie. 

He  spies  me  out;  I whisper,  ‘Graciou 
God!  . 

What  sin  of  mine  could  merit  such  a rod, 
That  all  the  shot  of  dulness  now  must  be 
From  this  thy  blunderbuss  discharged  o 
me!’ 


SATIRES  OF  DR.  JOHN  DONNE 


205 


‘Permit,’  he  cries,  ‘no  stranger  to  your 
fame, 

To  crave  your  sentiment,  if  * * * ’s  your 
name. 

What  speech  esteem  you  most?  ‘The 
King’s,’  said  I. 

But  the  best  words  ? — ‘ O,  sir,  the  Dic- 
tion’ry.’  69 

You  miss  rny  aim ; I mean  the  most  acute, 

, And  perfect  speaker  ? — ‘ Onslow,  past 
dispute.’ 

But,  Sir,  of  writers  ? — ‘ Swift,  for  closer 
style, 

But  Hoadley  for  a period  of  a mile.’ 

Why,  yes,  ’t  is  granted,  these  indeed  may 
pass; 

Good  common  linguists,  and  so  Panurge 
was; 

Nay,  troth,  th’  Apostles  (tho’  perhaps  too 
rough) 

Had  once  a pretty  gift  of  tongues  enough: 
Yet  these  were  all  poor  gentlemen!  I dare 
Affirm ’t  was  Travel  made  them  what  they 
were. 

Thus  others’  talents  having  nicely  shown,  80 
1 He  came  by  sure  transition  to  his  own; 

Till  I cried  out,  ‘ You  prove  yourself  so 
able, 

Pity  you  was  not  druggerman  at  Babel; 

For  had  they  found  a linguist  half  so  good, 

[[  make  no  question  but  the  tower  had 
stood.’ 

Obliging  Sir!  for  courts  you  sure  were 
made, 

Why  then  for  ever  buried  in  the  shade  ? 
spirits  like  you  should  see  and  should  be 
seen; 

The  King  would  smile  on  you  — at  least 
the  Queen. 

Ah,  gentle  Sir!  you  courtiers  so  cajole 

lls~  90 

i 3ut  Tully  has  it  Nunquam  minus  solus  : 

Vnd  as  for  courts,  forgive  me  if  I say, 

No  lessons  now  are  taught  the  Spartan 
way. 

To’  in  his  pictures  lust  be  full  display’d, 
few  are  the  converts  Aretine  has  made; 

1 Lnd  tho’  the  court  show  Vice  exceeding 
clear, 

) Jone  should,  by  my  advice,  learn  Virtue 
there.’ 

fit  this  entranc’d,  he  lifts  his  hands  and 
t eyes, 

queaks  like  a high-stretch’d  lutestring, 
and  replies, 


‘Oh!  ’t  s the  sweetest  of  all  earthly 
things  IOO 

To  gaze  on  Princes,  and  to  talk  of  Kings!  ’ 
‘ Then,  happy  man  who  shows  the  tombs! 
(said  I) 

He  dwells  amidst  the  royal  family; 

He  ev’ry  day  from  King  to  King  can  walk, 
Of  all  our  Harries,  all  our  Edwards  talk, 
And  get,  by  speaking  truth  of  inonarchs 
dead, 

What  few  can  of  the  living:  Ease  and 
Bread.’ 

‘ Lord,  Sir,  a mere  mechanic!  strangely  low. 
And  coarse  of  phrase  — your  English  all 
are  so. 

How  elegant  your  Frenchmen!’  — ‘Mine, 
d’ye  mean?  IIO 

I have  but  one;  I hope  the  fellow’s  clean.’ 
‘O  Sir,  politely  so!  nay,  let  me  die, 

Your  only  wearing  is  your  paduasoy.’ 

‘ Not,  Sir,  my  only;  I have  better  still, 

And  this  you  see  is  but  my  dishabille.’  — 
Wild  to  get  loose,  his  patience  I provoke, 
Mistake,  confound,  object  at  all  he  spoke: 
But  as  coarse  iron,  sharpen’d,  mangles 
more, 

And  itch  most  hurts  when  anger’d  to  a 
sore, 

So  when  you  plague  a fool,  ’t  is  still  the 
curse,  I20 

You  only  make  the  matter  worse  and 
worse. 

He  pass’d  it  o’er;  affects  an  easy  smile 
At  all  my  peevishness,  and  turns  his  style. 
He  asks,  ‘ What  news  ? ’ I tell  him  of  new 
Plays, 

New  Eunuchs,  Harlequins,  and  Operas. 

He  hears,  and  as  a still,  with  simples  in  it, 
Between  each  drop  it  gives  stays  half  a 
minute, 

Loath  to  enrich  me  with  too  quick  replies, 
By  little  and  by  little  drops  his  lies. 

Mere  household  trash!  of  birthnights,  balls, 
and  shows,  I3Q 

More  than  ten  Holinsheds,  or  Halls,  or 
Stowes. 

When  the  Queen  frown’d  or  smiled  he 
knows,  and  what 

A subtle  minister  may  make  of  that: 

Who  sins,  with  whom : who  got  his  pension 
rug, 

Or  quicken’d  a reversion  by  a drug: 

Whose  place  is  quarter’d  but  three  parts  in 
four, 

And  whether  to  a Bishop  or  a Whore: 


206 


SATIRES 


Wlio  having  lost  his  credit,  pawn’d  his 
rent, 

Is  therefore  fit  to  have  a government: 

Who,  in  the  secret,  deals  in  stocks  secure, 
And  cheats  th’  unknowing  widow  and  the 
poor:  J4r 

Who  makes  a trust  or  charity  a job, 

And  gets  an  act  of  Parliament  to  rob: 
Why°turn pikes  rise,  aud  how  no  cit  nor 
clown 

Can  gratis  see  the  country  or  the  town: 
Shortly  no  lad  shall  chuck,  or  lady  vole, 

But  some  excising  courtier  will  have  toll: 

He  tells  what  strumpet  places  sells  for 

life. 

What  ’squire  his  lands,  what  citizen  his 
wife: 

And  last  (which  proves  him  wiser  still  than 
all)  15° 

What  lady’s  face  is  not  a whited  wall. 

As  one  of  Woodward’s  patients,  sick,  and 
sore, 

I puke,  I nauseate  — yet  he  thrusts  in 
more ; 

Trims  Europe’s  balance,  tops  the  states- 
man’s part, 

And  talks  Gazettes  and  Postboys  o’er  by 
heart. 

Like  a big  wife  at  sight  of  loathsome  meat 
Ready  to  cast,  I yawn,  I sigh,  and  sweat. 
Then  as  a licens’d  spy,  whom  nothing  can 
Silence  or  hurt,  he  libels  the  great  man; 
Swears  ev’ry  place  entail’d  for  years  to 
come,  160 

In  sure  succession  to  the  day  of  doom. 

He  names  the  price  for  every  office  paid, 
And  says  our  wars  thrive  ill  because  de- 
lay’d: 

Nay,  hints ’t  is  by  connivance  of  the  Court 
That  Spain  robs  on,  and  Dunkirk ’s  still  a 
port. 

Not  more  amazement  seiz’d  on  Circe’s 
guests 

To  see  themselves  fall  endlong  into  beasts, 
Than  mine,  to  find  a subject  staid  and  wise 
Already  half  turn’d  traitor  by  surprise. 

I felt  th’  infection  slide  from  him  to  me,  170 
As  in  the  pox  some  give  it  to  get  free; 

And  quick  to  swallow  me,  methought  I 
saw 

One  of  our  Giant  Statues  ope  its  jaw. 

In  that  nice  moment,  as  another  lie 
Stood  just  a-tilt,  the  Minister  came  by.  . 

To  him  he  flies,  and  bows  and  bows  again, 
Then,  close  as  Umbra,  joins  the  dirty  train, 


Not  Fannius’  self  more  impudently  near, 
When  half  his  nose  is  in  his  prince’s  ear. 

I quaked  at  heart;  and,  still  afraid  to  see 
All  the  court  fill’d  with  stranger  things 
than  he,  181 

Ran  out  as  fast  as  one  that  pays  his  bail 
And  dreads  more  actions,  hurries  from  a 
jail. 

Bear  me,  some  God  ! Oh,  quickly  bear 
me  hence 

To  wholesome  Solitude,  the  nurse  of  sense, 
Where  contemplation  prunes  her  ruffled 
wings, 

And  the  free  soul  looks  down  to  pity 
Kings ! 

There  sober  thought  pursued  th’  amusing 
theme, 

Till  Fancy  colour’d  it,  and  form’d  a dream: 
A vision  hermits  can  to  Hell  transport,  190I 
And  forced  ev’n  me  to  see  the  damn’d  at 
court. 

Not  Dante,  dreaming  all  th’  infernal  state, 
Beheld  such  scenes  of  envy,  sin,  and  hate. 
Base  fear  becomes  the  guilty,  not  the  free, 
Suits  tyrants,  plunderers,  but  suits  not  me: 
Shall  I,  the  terror  of  this  sinful  town, 

Care  if  a liv’ried  Lord  or  smile  or  frown  ? 
Who  cannot  flatter,  and  detest  who  can, 
Tremble  before  a noble  serving  man  ? 

O my  fair  mistress,  Truth  ! shall  I quit 
thee  20c 

For  huffing,  braggart,  puff  nobility  ? 

Thou  who,  since  yesterday,  hast  roll’d  o’ei 
all 

The  busy  idle  blockheads  of  the  ball, 

Hast  thou,  O sun  ! beheld  an  emptier  sort 
Than  such  as  swell  this  bladder  of  a court A 
Now  pox  on  those  who  show  a Court  ii 
Wax  ! 

It  ought  to  bring  all  courtiers  on  then 
backs; 

Such  painted  puppets ! such  a varnish’t 
race 

Of  hollow  gewgaws,  only  dress  and  face  ! 
Such  waxen  noses,  stately  staring  things  21 
No  wonder  some  folks  bow,  and  think  then 
Kings. 

See  ! where  the  British,  youth,  engage* 
no  more 

At  Fig’s,  at  White’s,  with  felons,  or 
whore, 

Pay  their  last  duty  to  the  Court,  and  com 
Ali  fresh  and  fragrant  to  the  drawing  room 
In  hues  as  gay,  and  odours  as  divine, 

As  the  fair  fields  they  sold  to  look  so  fine- 


SATIRES  OF  DR.  JOHN  DONNE 


207 


‘That’s  velvet  for  a king!’  the  flatt’rer 
swears; 

’Tis  true,  for  ten  days  hence  ’twill  be 
King  Lear’s. 

Our  Court  inay  justly  to  our  Stage  give 
rules,  220 

1 That  helps  it  both  to  fools’  coats  and  to 
fools. 

And  why  not  players  strut  in  courtiers’ 
clothes  ? 

For  these  are  actors  too  as  well  as  those: 

Wants  reach  all  states;  they  beg  but  better 
drest, 

And  all  is  splendid  poverty  at  best. 

Painted  for  sight,  and  essenced  for  the 
smell, 

Like  frigates  fraught  with  spice  and  cochi- 
neal, 

Sail  in  the  Ladies:  how  each  pirate  eyes 

So  weak  a vessel  and  so  rich  a prize  ! 

Top-gallant  he,  and  she  in  all  her  trim:  230 

He  boarding  her,  she  striking  sail  to  him. 

‘ Dear  countess  ! you  have  charms  all 
hearts  to  hit  ! ’ 

And,  ‘Sweet  Sir  Fopling  ! you  have  so 
much  wit ! ’ 

Such  wits  and  beauties  are  not  prais’d  for 
nought, 

For  both  the  beauty  and  the  wit  are 
bought. 

’T  would  burst  ev’n  Heraclitus  with  the 
spleen 

To  see  those  antics,  Fopling  and  Cour- 
tin: 

The  Presence  seems,  with  things  so  richly 
odd, 

The  mosque  of  Mahound,  or  some  queer 
pagod. 

See  them  survey  their  limbs  by  Durer’s 
1 rules,  _ 24o 

Of  all  beau-kind  the  best  proportion’d 
fools  ! 

Adjust  their  clothes,  and  to  confession 
draw 

Those  venial  sins,  an  atom,  or  a straw: 

But  oh  ! what  terrors  must  distract  the 
soul 

^Convicted  of  that  mortal  crime,  a hole; 

Or  should  one  pound  of  powder  less  be- 
spread 

Those  monkey  tails  that  wag  behind  their 
f head  ! 

Thus  finish’d,  and  corrected  to  a hair, 

They  march,  to  prate  their  hour  before  the 

Fair. 


So  first  to  preach  a white-glov’d  Chaplain 
goes,  2So 

With  band  of  lily,  and  with  cheek  of  rose, 
Sweeter  than  Sharon,  in  immaculate  trim, 
Neatness  itself  impertinent  in  him. 

Let  but  the  ladies  smile,  and  they  are  blest: 
Prodigious  ! how  the  things  protest,  pro- 
test. 


Peace,  fools  ! or  Gonson  will  for  papists 
seize  you, 

If  once  he  catch  you  at  your  Jesu  ! Jesu  ! 

Nature  made  ev’rv  Fop  to  plague  his 
brother, 

Just  as  one  Beauty  mortifies  another. 

But  here ’s  the  captain  that  will  plague 
them  both;  260 

Whose  air  cries,  Arm  ! whose  very  look ’s 
an  oath. 

The  captain ’s  honest,  Sirs,  and  that ’s 
enough, 

Tho’  his  soul’s  bullet,  and  his  body  buff. 

He  spits  foreright;  his  haughty  chest  be- 
fore, 

Like  batt’ring  rams,  beats  open  ev’ry  door; 

And  with  a face  as  red,  and  as  awry, 

As  Herod’s  hang-dogs  in  old  tapestry, 

Scarecrow  to  boys,  the  breeding  woman’s 
curse, 

Has  yet  a strange  ambition  to  look  worse; 

Confounds  the  civil,  keeps  the  rude  in  awe, 

Jests  like  a licens’d  Fool,  commands  like 
law.  271 

Frighted,  I quit  the  room,  but  leave  it  so 

As  men  from  jails  to  execution  go; 

For  hung  with  deadly  sins  I see  the  wall. 

And  lin’d  with  giants  deadlier  than  them 
all. 


Each  man  an  Ask  apart,  of  strength  to 
toss, 

For  quoits,  both  Temple-bar  and  Charing- 
cross. 

Scared  at  the  grisly  forms,  I sweat,  I fly, 

And  shake  all  o’er,  like  a discover’d  spy. 

Courts  are  too  much  for  wits  so  weak  as 
mine;  '289 

Charge  them  with  Heav’n’s  Artill’ry,  bold 
Divine  ! 

F rom  such  alone  the  Great  rebukes  endure, 

W hose  satire ’s  sacred,  and  whose  rage  se~ 
cure : 

’T  is  mine  to  wash  a few  light  stains,  but 
theirs 


To  deluge  sin,  and  drown  a Court  in  tears. 
Howe’er,  what ’s  now  apocrypha,  my  wit, 
In  time  to  come,  may  pass  for  Holy  Writ. 


208 


SATIRES 


EPILOGUE  TO  THE  SATIRES 

IN  TWO  DIALOGUES.  WRITTEN  IN  1 738 

The  first  dialogue  was  originally  entitled 
One  Thousand  Seven  Hundred  and  thirty -eight, 
a Dialogue  something  like  Horace.  Johnson’s 
London  is  said  by  Boswell  to  have  been  pub- 
lished on  the  same  morning  of  May,  1”7 3S,  and 
in  spite  of  its  anonymity  to  have  made  more 
stir  than  Pope’s  satire. 

DIALOGUE  I 

Fr.  Not  twice  a twelvemonth  you  appear 
in  print, 

And  when  it  comes,  the  Court  see  nothing 
in ’t: 

You  grow  correct,  that  once  with  rapture 
writ, 

And  are,  besides,  too  moral  for  a Wit. 
Decay  of  parts,  alas  ! we  all  must  feel  — 
Why  now,  this  moment,  don’t  I see  you 
steal ? 

’T  is  all  from  Horace;  Horace  long  before 

ye 

Said  ‘ Tories  call’d  him  whig,  and  whigs  a 
tory ; ’ 

And  taught  his  Romans,  in  much  better 
metre, 

‘ To  laugh  at  fools  who  put  their  trust  in 
Peter.’  10 

But  Horace,  sir,  was ‘delicate,  was  nice; 
Bubo  observes,  he  lash’d  no  sort  of  vice: 
Horace  would  say,  Sir  Billy  served  the 
crown, 

Blunt  could  do  business,  Higgins  knew  the 
town ; 

In  Sappho  touch  the  failings  of  the  sex, 

In  rev’rend  bishops  note  some  small  neg- 
lects, 

And  own  the  Spaniards  did  a waggish 
thing, 

Who  cropt  our  ears,  and  sent  them  to  the 

King*  ... 

His  sly,  polite,  insinuating  style 
Could  please  at  court,  and  make  Augustus 
smile:  20 

An  artful  manager,  that  crept  between 
His  friend  and  shame,  and  was  a kind  of 
screen. 

But,  ’faith,  your  very  Friends  will  soon  be 
sore; 

Patriots  there  are  who  wish  you ’d  jest  no 
more. 


And  where ’s  the  glory  ? ’t  will  be  only 
thought 

The  great  man  never  offer’d  you  a groat. 
Go  see  Sir  Robert  — 

P.  See  Sir  Robert!  — hum  — 

And  never  laugh  — for  all  my  life  to  come; 
Seen  him  I have;  but  in  his  happier  hour 
Of  social  Pleasure,  ill  exchanged  for  Power; 
Seen  him,  uncumber’d  with  a venal  tribe, 
Smile  without  art,  and  win  without  a bribe. 
Would  he  oblige  me  ? let  me  only  find  33 
He  does  not  think  me  what  he  thinks  man- 
kind. 

Come,  come,  at  all  I laugh  he  laughs,  no 
doubt; 

The  only  diff’rence  is  — I dare  laugh  out. 

F.  Why,  yes:  with  Scripture  still  you 
may  be  free; 

A horse-laugh,  if  you  please,  at  Honesty; 

A joke  on  Jekyl,  or  some  odd  Old  Whig, 
Who  never  changed  his  principle  or  wig.  40 
A patriot  is  a fool  in  ev’ry  age, 

Whom  all  Lord  Chamberlains  allow  the 
stage : 

These  nothing  hurts;  they  keep  their  fash- 
t ion  still, 

And  wear  their  strange  old  virtue  as  they 
will. 

If  any  ask  you,  ‘ Who ’s  the  man  so  near 
His  Prince,  that  writes  in  verse,  and  has 
his  ear  ? ’ 

Why,  answer,  Lyttelton!  and  I ’ll  engage 
The  worthy  youth  shall  ne’er  be  in  a 
rage; 

But  were  his  verses  vile,  his  whisper  base, 
You ’d  quickly  find  him  in  Lord  Fanny’s 
case.  sa 

Sejanus,  Wolsey,  hurt  not  honest  Fleury, 
But  well  may  put  some  statesmen  in  a 
fury. 

Laugh  then  at  any  but  at  Fools  or  Foes; 
These  you  but  anger,  and  you  mend  not 
those. 

Laugh  at  your  friends,  and  if  your  friends 
are  sore, 

So  much  the  better,  you  may  laugh  the 
more. 

To  Vice  and  Folly  to  confine  the  jest 
Sets  half  the  world,  God  knows,  against 
the  rest, 

Did  not  the  sneer  of  more  impartial  men 
At  Sense  and  Virtue,  balance  all  again.  6a 
Judicious  Wits  spread  wide  the  ridicule, 
And  charitably  comfort  knave  and  fool. 


EPILOGUE 


209 


P . Dear  sir,  forgive  the  prejudice  of 
youth. 

Adieu  Distinction,  Satire,  Warmth,  and 
Truth! 

Come,  harmless  characters  that  no  one  hit; 
Come,  Henley’s  oratory,  Osborne’s  wit! 
The  honey  dropping  from  Favonio’s  tongue, 
The  flowers  of  Bubo,  and  the  flow  of  Yonge! 

I he  gracious  dew  of  pulpit  Eloquence, 

And  all  the  well-whipt  cream  of  courtly 

Sense  7Q 

That  first  was  H[er]vey’s,  F[ox]’s  next, 
and  then 

The  S[ena]te  s,  and  then  H[[eF]vey’s  once 
again, 

0 come!  that  easy  Ciceronian  style, 

So  Latin,  yet  so  English  all  the  while, 

As,  tho’  the  pride  of  Middleton  and  Bland, 
All  boys  may  read,  and  girls  may  under- 
stand! 

Then  might  I sing  without  the  least  offence, 
And  all  I sung  should  be  the  ‘Nation’s 
Sense;  ’ 

Or  teach  the  melancholy  Muse  to  mourn, 
Hang  the  sad  verse  on  Carolina’s  urn,  ?8o 
And  hail  her  passage  to  the  realms  of 
rest, 

All  parts  perform’d,  and  all  her  children 
blest! 

3o  — Satire  is  no  more  — I feel  it  die  — 

No  Gazetteer  more  innocent  than  I 

ind  let,  a’  God’s  name!  ev’ry  Fool  and 
Knave 

3e  graced  thro’  life,  and  flatter’d  in  his 
grave. 

■ T-  Why  so  ? if  Satire  knows  its  time 
and  place, 

Tou  still  may  lash  the  greatest  — in  dis- 
grace ; 

or  merit  will  by  turns  forsake  them  all; 
Vould  you  know  when  ? exactly  when  they 
i fall.  J 

iut  let  all  Satire  in  all  changes  spare 
tnmortal  S[elkir]k,  and  grave  De[lawa]re. 
i yent  and  soft,  as  saints  remove  to  Heav’n, 

II  ties  dissolv’d,  and  ev’ry  sin  forgiv’n, 
liese  may  some  gentle  ministerial  wing 
eceive,  and  place  for  ever  near  a King! 
here  where  no  Passion,  Pride,  or  Shame 
| transport, 

'‘H  d with  the  sweet  Nepenthe  of  a Court: 
here  where  no  father’s,  brother’s,  friend’s 
» disgrace 

nee  break  their  rest,  or  stir  them  from 
their  place; 


But  past  the  sense  of  human  miseries, 

All  tears  are  wiped  for  ever  from  all  eyes; 
No  cheek  is  known  to  blush,  no  heart  to 
throb, 

Save  when  they  lose  a Question  or  a Job. 

P.  Good  Heav’n  forbid  that  I shouid 
blast  their  glory, 

Who  know  how  like  Whig  ministers  to 

a ^ T°ry’ 

And  when  three  Sov’reigns  died  could 
scarce  be  vext, 

Consid’ring  what  a gracious  Prince  was 
next. 

Have  I,  in  silent  wonder,  seen  such  things 
4s  pride  in  slaves,  and  avarice  in  Kings  ? 
And  at  a peer  or  peeress  shall  I fret,  m 
Who  starves  a sister  or  forswears  a debt  ? 
Virtue,  I grant  you,  is  an  empty  boast; 

But  shall  the  dignity  of  Vice  be  lost  ? 

Ye  Gods!  shall  Cibber’s  son,  without  re- 
buke, 

Swear  like  a Lord;  or  Rich  outwhore  a 
Duke? 

A fav’rite’s  porter  with  his  master  vie, 

Be  bribed  as  often,  and  as  often  lie  ? * 

Shall  Ward  draw  contracts  with  a states- 
man’s skill  ? 

Or  Japhet  pocket,  like  His  Grace,  a will  ? 

Is  it  for  Bond  or  Peter  (paltry  things) 

To  pay  their  debts,  or  keep  their  faith,  like 
Kings  ? 

If  Blount  dispatch’d  himself,  he  play’d  the 
man, 

And  so  mayst  thou,  illustrious  Passeran! 

But  shall  a printer,  weary  of  his  life, 

Learn  from  their  books  to  hang  himself 
and  wife  ? 

This,  this,  my  friend,  I cannot,  must  not 
bear; 

Vice  thus  abused  demands  a nation’s  care* 
This  calls  the  Church  to  deprecate  our  sin. 
And  hurls  the  thunder  of  the  Laws  on 
Gin.  i3o 

Let  modest  Foster,  if  he  will,  excel  I3<> 
Ten  Metropolitans  in  preaching  well; 

A simple  quaker,  or  a quaker’s  wife, 

Outdo  Landaff  in  doctrine  — yea,  in  life* 

Let  humble  Allen,  with  an  awkward  shame, 
Do  good  by  stealth,  and  blush  to  find  it 
fame. 

Virtue  may  choose  the  high  or  low  degree 
Tis  just  alike  to  Virtue  and  to  me; 

Dwell  in  a monk,  or  light  upon  a Kino-, 

She ’s  still  the  same  belov’d,  contented 
thing. 


oc 


140 


310 


SATIRES 


Vice  is  undone,  if  she  forgets  her  birth, 

And  stoops  from  angels  to  the  dregs  of 
earth ; 

But ’t  is  the  Fall  degrades  her  to  a whore; 
Let  Greatness  own  her,  and  she ’s  mean  no 
more: 

Her  birth,  her  beauty,  crowds  and  courts 
confess ; 

Chaste  Matrons  praise  her,  and  grave 
Bishops  bless; 

In  golden  chains  the  willing  world  she 
draws, 

And  hers  the  Gospel  is,  and  hers  the  Laws; 
Mounts  the  tribunal,  lifts  her  scarlet  head, 
And  sees  pale  Virtue  carted  in  her  stead. 
Lo!  at  the  wheels  of  her  triumphal  car,  151 
Old  England’s  genius,  rough  with  many  a 
scar, 

Dragg’d  in  the  dust!  his  arms  hang  idly 
round, 

His  flag  inverted  trails  along  the  ground! 
Our  youth,  all  liv’ried  o’er  with  foreign 
gold, 

Before  her  dance!  behind  her  crawl  the 
old! 

See  thronging  millions  to  the  pagod  run, 
And  offer  country,  parent,  wife,  or  son! 
Hear  her  black  trumpet  thro’  the  land  pro- 
claim, 

That  not  to  be  corrupted  is  the  shame.  160 
In  Soldier,  Churchman,  Patriot,  Man  in 
Power, 

’Tis  Av’rice  all,  Ambition  is  no  more! 

See  all  our  nobles  begging  to  be  slaves! 

See  all  our  fools  aspiring  to  be  knaves! 

The  wit  of  cheats,  the  courage  of  a whore, 
Are  what  ten  thousand  envy  and  adore: 

All,  all  look  up  with  reverential  awe, 

At  crimes  that  ’scape,  or  triumph  o’er  the 
law: 

While  Truth,  Worth,  Wisdom,  daily  they 
decry  — - 

« Nothing  is  sacred  now  but  Villany.’  170 
Yet  may  this  verse  (if  such  a verse  re- 
main) 

Show  there  was  one  who  held  it  in  disdain. 


DIALOGUE  II 

Fr.  ’T 19  all  a libel  — Paxton,  Sir,  will 

say. 

P.  Not  yet,  my  friend!  to  morrow 
’faith  it  may; 

And  for  that  very  cause  I print  to-day. 


How  should  I fret  to  mangle  ev’ry  line 
In  rev’rence  to  the  sins  of  Thirty-nine! 

Vice  with  such  giant  strides  comes  on 
amain, 

Invention  strives  to  be  before  in  vain; 

Feign  what  I will,  and  paint  it  e’er  so 
strong, 

Some  rising  genius  sins  up  to  my  song. 

F.  Yet  none  but  you  by  name  the  guilty 
lash ; 10 

Ev’n  Guthry  saves  half  Newgate  by  a dash. 
Spare  then  the  Person,  anu  expose  the 
Vice. 

P.  How,  Sir!  not  damn  the  Sharper,  but 
the  Dice  ? 

Come  on  then,  Satire!  gen’ral,  unconfin’d, 
Spread  thy  broad  wing,  and  souse  on  all ! 
the  kind. 

Ye  statesmen,  priests,  of  one  religion  all! 

Ye  tradesmen  vile,  in  army,  court,  or  hall! 
Ye  rev’rend  atheists!  F.  Scandal!  name 
them,  who  ? 

P.  Why  that ’s  the  thing  you  bid  me  not 
to  do. 

Who  starv’d  a sister,  who  forswore  a debt, 
I never  named;  the  town ’s  inquiring  yet.  21 
The  pois’ning  Dame  — F.  You  mean  — 
P.  I don’t.  F.  You  do. 

P.  See,  now  I keep  the  secret,  and  not 
you! 

The  bribing  Statesman  — F.  Hold,  too 
high  you  go. 

P.  The  bribed  Elector  — - F.  There  you 
stoop  too  low. 

P.  I fain  would  please  you,  if  I knew 
with  what. 

Tell  me,  which  knave  is  lawful  game, 
which  not  ? 

Must  great  offenders,  once  escaped  the 
crown, 

Like  royal  harts,  be  never  more  run  down  ? 
Admit  your  law  to  spare  the  Knight  re- 
quires, 3<j 

As  beasts  of  Nature  may  we  hunt  the 
Squires  ? 

Suppose  I censure  — you  know  what  1 
mean  — , 

To  save  a Bishop,  may  I name  a Dean  ? 

F.  A Dean,  sir?  no:  his  fortune  is  no 
made ; ! 

You  hurt  a man  that ’s  rising  in  the  trade.  I 

P.  If  not  the  tradesman  who  set  up  to 
day, 

Much  less  the  ’prentice  who  to-morrov 
may. 


EPILOGUE 


Down,  down,  proud  Satire  I tho’  a realm 
be  spoil ’d, 

Arraign  no  mightier  thief  than  wretched 
Wild ; 

Or,  if  a court  or  country  ’3  made  a job,  40 
Go  drench  a pickpocket,  and  join  the  Mob. 

But,  Sir,  I beg  you— for  the  love  of 
Vice  — 

The  matter’s  weighty,  pray  consider 
twice  —* 

Have  you  less  pity  for  the  needy  cheat, 

The  poor  and  friendless  villain,  than  the 
great  ? 

Uas  I the  small  discredit  of  a bribe 
scarce  hurts  the  Lawyer,  but  undoes  the 
Scribe. 

Then  better  sure  it  charity  becomes 
To  tax  Directors,  who  (thank  God  !)  have 
plums; 

’till  better  Ministers,  or  if  the  thing  so 
day  pinch  ev’n  there  — why,  lay  it  on  a 
King. 

F.  Stop  ! stop  ! 

P.  Must  Satire  then  nor  rise  nor  fall  ? 
•peak  out,  and  bid  me  blame  no  rogues  at 
all. 

F.  Yes,  strike  that  Wild,  I ’ll  justify  the 
blow. 

P.  Strike  ? why  the  man  was  hang’d 
ten  years  ago: 

Vho  now  that  obsolete  example  fears  ? 

-v’11  Peter  trembles  only  for  his  ears. 

F.  What,  always  Peter  ? Peter  thinks 
you  mad; 

ou  make  men  desp’rate,  if  they  once  are 
bad; 

1 lse  might  he  take  to  Virtue  some  years 
hence  — 6e 

P.  As  S[elkir]k,  if  he  lives,  will  love  the 
Prince. 

F.  Strange  spleen  to  S[elkir]k  ! 

' P'  1 Do  I wrong  the  man  ? 

od  knows  I praise  a Courtier  where  I 
can. 

rhen  I confess  there  is  who  feels  for  fame, 
'ad  melts  to  goodness,  need  1 Scarb’row 
name  ? 

eased  let  me  own,  in  Esher’s  peaceful 
grove 

\rhere  Kent  and  Nature  vie  for  Pelham’s 
* love), 

de  scene,  the  master,  opening  to  my  view, 
iit  and  dream  I see  my  Craggs  anew  I 
Ev’n  in  a Bishop  I can  spy  desert;  70 
cker  is  decent,  Rundel  has  a heart; 


211 


Manners  with  candour  ate  to  Benson  giv’n; 
To  Berkley  ev’ry  virtue  under  Heav’n. 

But  does  the  Court  a worthy  man  re- 
move ? 

That  instant,  I declare,  he  ha9  my  love: 

I shun  his  zenith,  court  his  mild  decline. 
Thus  Somers  once  and  Halifax  were  mine: 
Oft  in  the  clear  still  mirror  of  retreat 
I studied  Shrewsbury,  the  wise  and  great: 
Carleton’s  calm  sense  and  Stanhope’s  noble 
flame  ^ 

Compared,  and  knew  their  gen’rous  end 
the  same; 

How  pleasing  Atterbury’s  softer  hour  ! 
How  shined  the  soul,  unconquer’d,  in  the 
Tower  1 

How  can  I Pulteney,  Chesterfield,  forget, 
While  Roman  Spirit  charms,  and  Attic 
Wit  ? 

Argyle,  the  state’s  whole  thunder  born  to 
wield, 

And  shake  alike  the  senate  and  the  field  ? 
Or  Wyndham,  just  to  freedom  and  the 
throne, 

The  Master  of  our  Passions  and  his  own  ? 
Names  which  I long  have  lov’d,  nor  lov’d 
in  vain,  9S 

Rank’d  with  their  friends,  not  number’d 
with  their  train; 

And  if  yet  higher  the  proud  list  should  end, 
Still  let  me  say,  — no  foll’wer,  but  a 
Friend. 

Yet  think  not  friendship  only  prompts 
my  lays; 

I follow  Virtue;  where  she  shines  I praise, 
Point  she  to  priest  or  elder,  Whig,  or  Tory, 
Or  round  a quaker’s  beaver  cast  a glory. 

I never  (to  my  sorrow  I declare) 

Dined  with  the  Man  of  Ross  or  my  Lord 
Mayor. 

Some  in  their  choice  of  friends  (nay,  look 
not  grave) 

Have  still  a secret  bias  to  a knave: 

To  find  an  honest  man  I beat  about, 

And  love  him,  court  him,  praise  him,  in  or 
out. 

F.  Then  why  so  few  commended  ? 

Not  so  fierce; 

Find  you  the  Virtue,  and  I ’ll  find  the 
Verse. 

But  random  praise  — the  task  can  ne’er  be 
done; 

Each  mother  asks  it  for  her  booby  son; 

Each  widow  asks  it  for  the  best  of  men, 

For  him  she  weeps,  for  him  she  weds  again, 


212 


SATIRES 


Praise  cannot  stoop,  like  Satire,  to  the 
ground;  no 

The  number  may  be  hang’d,  but  not  be 
crown’d. 

Enough  for  half  the  greatest  of  these  days 
To  ’scape  my  Censure,  not  expect  my 
Praise. 

Are  they  not  rich  ? what  more  can  they 
pretend  ? 

Dare  they  to  hope  a poet  for  their 
friend  ? — 

What  Richelieu  wanted,  Louis  scarce  could 
gain, 

And  what  young  Ammon  wish’d,  but 
wish’d  in  vain. 

No  power  the  Muse’s  friendship  can  com- 
mand ; 

No  power,  when  Virtue  claims  it,  can  with- 
stand. 

To  Cato,  Virgil  paid  one  honest  line;  120 

0 let  my  country’s  friends  illumine  mine! 

— What  are  you  thinking  ? F.  Faith,  the 

thought ’s  no  sin; 

1 think  your  friends  are  out,  and  would  be 

in. 

P.  If  merely  to  come  in,  Sir,  they  go  out, 
The  way  they  take  is  strangely  round  about. 

F.  They  too  may  be  corrupted,  you’ll 
allow  ? 

P.  I only  call  those  knaves  who  are  so 
now. 

Is  that  too  little  ? come,  then,  I ’ll  comply  — 
Spirit  of  Arnall,  aid  me  while  I lie!  129 
Cobham ’s  a coward!  Pol  worth  is  a slave! 
And  Lyttelton  a dark  designing  knave! 

St.  John  has  ever  been  a wealthy  fool!  — 
But  let  me  add,  Sir  Robert ’s  mighty  dull, 
Has  never  made  a friend  in  private  life, 
And  was,  besides,  a tyrant  to  his  wife! 

But  pray,  when  others  praise  him,  do  I 
blame  ? 

Call  Verres,  Wolsey,  any  odious  name  ? 
Why  rail  they  then  if  but  a wreath  of  mine, 
O all-accomplish’d  St.  John!  deck  thy 
shrine  ? 

What!  shall  each  spur-gall’d  hackney  of 
the  day,  r4° 

When  Paxton  gives  him  double  pots  and 
pay, 

Or  each  new-pension’d  Sycophant,  pretend 
To  break  my  windows  if  I treat  a friend ; 
Then,  wisely  plead,  to  me  they  meant  no 
hurt, 

But ’t  was  my  guest  at  whom  they  threw 
the  dirt  ? 


Sure  if  I spare  the  Minister,  no  rules 
Of  honour  bind  me  not  to  maul  his  Tools; 
Sure  if  they  cannot  cut,  it  may  be  said 
His  saws  are  toothless,  and  his  hatchet ’s 
lead. 

It  anger’d  Turenne,  once  upon  a day,  15c 
To  see  a footman  kick’d  that  took  his 
pay; 

But  when  he  heard  th’  affront  the  fellow 
gave, 

Knew  one  a Man  of  Honour,  one  a Knave, 
The  prudent  Gen’ral  turn’d  it  to  a jest, 
And  begg’d  he ’d  take  the  pains  to  kick  the 
rest; 

Which  not  at  present  having  time  to  do  — 

F.  Hold,  Sir!  for  God’s  sake,  where ’s 
th’  affront  to  you  ? 

Against  yrour  worship  when  had  S[herloc]k 
writ, 

Or  P[a]ge  pour’d  forth  the  torrent  of  his 
wit  ? 

Or  grant  the  bard  whose  distich  all  com- 
mend 16c 

(‘  In  power  a servant, out  of  power  a friend’) 
To  W[alpo]le  guilty  of  some  venial  sin, 
What ’s  that  to  you  who  ne’er  was  out  nor 
in  ? 

The  Priest  whose  flattery  bedropp’d  the 
crown, 

How  hurt  he  you  ? he  only  stain’d  the 
gown. 

And  how  did,  pray,  the  florid  youth  offend. 
Whose  speech  you  took,  and  gave  it  to  a 
friend  ? 

P.  Faith,  it  imports  not  much  from  I 
whom  it  came; 

Whoever  borrow’d  could  not  be  to  blame,  > 
Since  the  whole  House  did  afterwards 
the  same.  170  J 

Let  courtly  Wits  to  Wits  afford  supply, 

As  hog  to  hog  in  huts  of  Westphaly: 

If  one,  thro’  Nature’s  bounty  or  his  Lord’s 
Has  what  the  frugal  dirty  soil  affords, 
From  him  the  next  receives  it,  thick  o] 
thin, 

As  pure  a mess  almost  as  it  came  in; 

The  blessed  benefit,  not  there  confin’d, 
Drops  to  the  third,  who  nuzzles  close  be 
hind ; 

From  tail  to  mouth  they  feed  and  the; 
carouse ; 

The  last  full  fairly  gives  it  to  the  House.  i3 

F.  This  filthy  simile,  this  beastly  line, 
Quite  turns  my  stomach — P.  So  doe 
flatt’ry  mine; 


EPILOGUE 


2I3 


And  all  your  courtly  civet-cats  can  vent, 
Perfume  to  you,  to  me  is  excrement. 

But  hear  me  further  — Japhet,  ’t  is  agreed, 
Writ  not,  and  Chartres  scarce  could  write 
or  read 

In  all  the  courts  of  Pindus,  guiltless  quite; 
But  pens  can  forge,  my  friend,  that  cannot 
write, 

And  must  no  egg  in  Japhet’s  face  be 
thrown, 

Because  the  deed  he  forged  was  not  my 
own  ? I90 

Must  never  Patriot  then  declaim  at  Gin 
Unless,  good  man!  he  has  been  fairly  in  ? 
No  zealous  Pastor  blame  a failing  spouse 
Without  a staring  reason  on  his  brows  ? 
And  each  blasphemer  quite  escape  the 
rod, 

Because  the  insult ’s  not  on  man  but  God  ? 

Ask  you  what  provocation  I have  had  ? 
The  strong  antipathy  of  good  to  bad. 

When  Truth  or  Virtue  an  affront  endures, 
Th’  affront  is  mine,  my  friend,  and  should 
be  yours.  200 

Mine,  as  a foe  profess’d  to  false  pretence, 
Who  think  a coxcomb’s  honour  like  his 
sense; 

Mine,  as  a friend  to  ev’ry  worthy  mind; 

And  mine  as  man,  who  feel  for  all  man- 
kind. 

F.  You  ’re  strangely  proud. 

P.  So  proud,  I am  no  slave 
So  impudent,  I own  myself  no  knave; 

So  odd,  my  country’s  ruin  makes  me  grave. 
Yes,  I am  proud;  I must  be  proud  to  see 
Men,  not  afraid  of  God,  afraid  of  me; 

Safe  from  the  Bar,  the  Pulpit,  and  the 
Throne,  210 

Yet  touch’d  and  shamed  by  Ridicule  alone. 

O sacred  weapon!  left  for  Truth’s  de- 
fence, 

Sole  dread  of  Folly,  Vice,  and  Insolence, 

To  all  but  Heav’n-directed  hands  denied, 
The  Muse  may  give  thee,  but  the  Gods 
must  guide! 

Rev’rent  I touch  thee!  but  with  honest 
zeal, 

To  rouse  the  watchmen  of  the  public 
weal, 

1.  To  Virtue’s  work  provoke  the  tardy  hall, 

Uid  goad  the  Prelate,  slumb’ring  in  his 
stall. 

Fe  tinsel  insects!  whom  a Court  maintains, 
That  counts  your  beauties  only  by  your 

StainS>  231 


Spin  all  your  cobwebs  o’er  the  eye  of 
day ! 

The  Muse’s  wing  shall  brush  you  all  away. 
All  His  Grace  preaches,  all  His  Lordship 
sings, 

All  that  makes  Saints  of  Queens,  and  Gods 
of  Kings; 

All,  all  but  Truth,  drops  dead-born  from 
the  press, 

Like  the  last  Gazette,  or  the  last  Address. 

When  black  Ambition  stains  a public 
cause, 

A Monarch’s  sword  when  mad  Vainglory 
draws, 

Not  Waller’s  wreath  can  hide  the  nation’s 
scar,  23Q 

Nor  Boileau  turn  the  feather  to  a star. 

Not  so  when,  diadem’d  with  rays  divine, 
Touch’d  with  the  flame  that  breaks  from 
Virtue’s  shrine, 

Her  priestess  Muse  forbids  the  good  to 
die, 

And  opes  the  Temple  of  Eternity. 

There  other  trophies  deck  the  truly  brave 
Than  such  as  Anstis  casts  into  the  grave; 
Far  other  stars  than  [Kent]  and  [Grafton] 
wear, 

And  may  descend  to  Mordington  from 
Stair;  — 

Such  as  on  Hough’s  unsullied  mitre  shine, 
Or  beam,  good  Digby!  from  a heart  like 
thine.  24I 

Let  envy  howl,  while  heav’n’s  whole  chorus 
sings, 

And  bark  at  honour  not  conferr’d  by  Kings; 
Let  Flatt’ry  sick’ning  see  the  incense  rise, 
Sweet  to  the  world,  and  grateful  to  the 
skies: 

Truth  guards  the  Poet,  sanctifies  the  line, 
And  makes  immortal,  verse  as  mean  as 
mine. 

Yes,  the  last  pen  for  Freedom  let  me 
draw, 

When  Truth  stands  trembling  on  the  edge 
of  law 

Here,  last  of  Britons!  let  your  names  be 
read;  ' 2S0 

Are  none,  none  living?  let  me  praise  the 
dead; 

And  for  that  cause  which  made  your  fathers 
shine 

Fall  by  the  votes  of  their  degen’rate  line. 

F.  Alas!  alas!  pray  end  what  you  began, 
And  write  next  winter  more  Essays  on 
Man. 


214 


SATIRES 


THE  SIXTH  SATIRE  OF  THE 
SECOND  BOOK  OF  HORACE 

THE  FIRST  PART  IMITATED  IN  THE 
YEAR  1714  BY  DR.  SWIFT;  THE  LAT- 
TER PART  ADDED  AFTERWARDS 

Of  the  following  Imitations  of  Horace  the 
first  two  are  rather  imitations  of  Swift,  Hor- 
ace merely  supplying  the  text  for  the  travesty. 
For  (as  previous  editors  have  not  failed  to 
point  out)  no  styles  could  be  found  less  like 
one  another  than  the  bland  and  polite  style  of 
Horace  and  the  downright,  and  often  cynically 
plain,  manner  of  Swift.  With  Pope  the  at- 
tempt to  write  in  Swift’s  style  was  a mere  tour 
de  force , which  he  could  indeed  carry  out  with 
success  through  a few  lines,  hut  not  further, 
without  relapsing  into  his  own  more  elaborate 
manner.  Swift’s  marvellous  precision  and  net- 
'tete  of  expression  are  something  very  different 
from  Pope’s  pointed  and  rhetorical  elegance. 
The  Ode  to  Venus , which  was  first  published  in 
1737,  more  nearly  approaches  the  character  of 
a translation.  (Ward.) 

I ’ye  often  wish’d  that  I had  clear 
For  life  six  hundred  pounds  a year, 

A handsome  house  to  lodge  a friend, 

A river  at  my  garden’s  end, 

A terrace  walk,  and  half  a rood 
Of  land  set  out  to  plant  a wood. 

Well,  now  I have  all  this,  and  more, 

I ask  not  to  increase  my  store; 

But  here  a grievance  seems  to  lie, 

All  this  is  mine  but  till  I die;  10 

I can’t  but  think  ’t  would  sound  more 
clever, 

To  me  and  to  my  heirs  for  ever. 

If  I ne’er  got  or  lost  a groat 
By  any  trick  or  any  fault; 

And  if  I pray  by  Reason’s  rules, 

And  not  like  forty  other  fools, 

As  thus:  ‘ Vouchsafe,  O gracious  Maker! 
To  grant  me  this  and  t’  other  acre; 

Or,  if  it  be  thy  will  and  pleasure, 

Direct  my  plough  to  find  a treasure ; 20 

But  only  what  my  station  fits, 

And  to  be  kept  in  my  right  wits, 

Preserve,  almighty  Providence! 

Just  what  you  gave  me,  Competence; 

And  let  me  in  these  shades  compose 
Something  in  verse  as  true  as  prose, 
Remov’d  from  all  th’  ambitious  scene, 

Nor  puff’d  by  Pride,  nor  sunk  by  Spleen.’ 

In  short,  I ’m  perfectly  content, 

Let  me  but  live  on  this  side  Trent,  30 


Nor  cross  the  channel  twice  a year, 

To  spend  six  months  with  statesmen 
here. 

I must  by  all  means  come  to  town, 

’T  is  for  the  service  of  the  Crown; 

‘ Lewis,  the  Dean  will  be  of  use; 

Send  for  him  up;  take  no  excuse.’ 

The  toil,  the  danger  of  the  seas, 

Great  ministers  ne’er  think  of  these; 

Or,  let  it  cost  five  hundred  pound, 

No  matter  where  the  money ’s  found;  40 
It  is  but  so  much  more  in  debt, 

And  that  they  ne’er  consider’d  yet. 

‘ Good  Mr.  Dean,  go  change  your  gown, 
Let  my  Lord  know  you  ’re  come  to  town.’ 

I hurry  me  in  haste  away, 

Not  thinking  it  is  Levee  day, 

And  find  His  Honour  in  a pound, 

Hemm’d  by  a triple  circle  round, 

Chequer’d  with  ribbons  blue  and  green: 
How  should  I thrust  myself  between  ? 50 

Some  wag  observes  me  thus  perplex’d, 

And  smiling,  whispers  to  the  next, 

‘ I thought  the  Dean  had  been  too  proud 
To  jostle  here  among  a crowd.’ 

Another,  in  a surly  fit, 

Tells  me  I have  more  zeal  than  wit; 

‘ So  eager  to  express  your  love, 

You  ne’er  consider  whom  you  shove, 

But  rudely  press  before  a Duke.’ 

I own  I ’m  pleas’d  with  this  rebuke,  60 
And  take  it  kindly  meant,  to  show 
What  I desire  the  world  should  know. 

I get  a whisper,  and  withdraw; 

When  twenty  fools  I never  saw 
Come  with  petitions  fairly  penn’d, 

Desiring  I would  stand  their  friend. 

This  humbly  offers  me  his  Case  — 

That  begs  my  int’rest  for  a Place  — 

A hundred  other  men’s  affairs, 

Like  bees,  are  humming  in  my  ears;  70 
‘ To-morrow  my  appeal  comes  on, 

Without  your  help  the  cause  is  gone.’ 

‘ The  Duke  expects  my  Lord  and  you 
About  some  great  affair  at  two.’ 

‘ Put  my  Lord  Bolingbroke  in  mind 
To  get  my  warrant  quickly  sign’d: 
Consider,  ’t  is  my  first  request.’  — 

‘ Be  satisfied,  I ’ll  do  my  best:  ’ — 

Then  presently  he  falls  to  tease, 

‘ You  may  be  certain,  if  you  please;  80 
I doubt  not,  if  his  Lordship  knew  — 

And,  Mr.  Dean,  one  word  from  you.’  — 

’T  is  (let  me  see)  three  years  and  more 
I (October  next  it  will  be  four) 


SIXTH  SATIRE  OF  THE  SECOND  BOOK  OF  HORACE 


215 


Since  Harley  bid  me  first  attend, 

And  chose  me  for  an  humble  friend: 

Would  take  me  in  his  coach  to  chat, 

And  question  me  of  this  and  that; 

As,  ‘What’s  o’clock?’  and,  ‘How’s  the 
wind  ? ’ 

‘ Whose  chariot ’s  that  we  left  behind  ? ’ 9o 
Or  gravely  try  to  read  the  lines 
Writ  underneath  the  country  signs; 

Or,  ‘ Have  you  nothing  new  to-day 
From  Pope,  from  Parnell,  or  from  Gay  ? ’ 
Such  tattle  often  entertains 
My  Lord  and  me  as  far  as  Staines, 

As  once  a week  we  travel  down 
To  Windsor,  and  again  to  town, 

Where  all  that  passes  inter  nos 
Might  be  proclaim’d  at  Charing-cross.  100 
Yet  some  I know  with  envy  swell 
Because  they  see  me  used  so  well. 

‘ How  think  you  of  our  friend  the  Dean  ? 

I wonder  what  some  people  mean; 

My  lord  and  he  are  grown  so  great, 

Always  together  tete-a-tite. 

What!  they  admire  him  for  his  jokes  — 

See  but  the  fortune  of  some  folks!  ’ 

There  flies  about  a strange  report 
Of  some  express  arrived  at  Court;  no 
I ’m  stopp’d  by  all  the  fools  I meet, 

And  catechised  in  every  street. 

‘ You,  Mr.  Dean,  frequent  the  Great: 

Inform  us,  will  the  Emp’ror  treat  ? 

Or  do  the  prints  and  papers  lie  ? ’ 

‘ Faith,  Sir,  you  know  as  much  as  I.’ 

‘Ah,  Doctor,  how  you  love  to  jest! 

JT  is  now  no  secret.’  — ‘ I protest 

’T  is  one  to  me.’  — ‘ Then  tell  us,  pray, 

When  are  the  troops  to  have  their  pay  ? ’ 120 

And  tho’  I solemnly  declare 

I know  no  more  than  my  Lord  Mayor, 

They  stand  amazed,  and  think  me  grown 
The  closest  mortal  ever  known. 

Thus  in  a sea  of  folly  tost, 

My  choicest  hours  of  life  are  lost; 

Yet  always  wishing  to  retreat: 

O,  could  I see  my  country-seat! 

There  leaning  near  a gentle  brook, 

Sleep,  or  peruse  some  ancient  book,  t3o 
And  there,  in  sweet  oblivion  drown 
Those  cares  that  haunt  the  Court  and  town. 
O charming  Noons!  and  Nights  divine! 

Or  when  I sup,  or  when  I dine, 

My  friends  above,  my  folks  below, 

Chatting  and  laughing  all-a-row, 

The  beans  and  bacon  set  before  ’em, 

The  grace-cup  served  with  all  decorum;  i 


Each  willing  to  be  pleas’d,  and  please, 

And  ev’n  the  very  dogs  at  ease!  ,4o 

Here  no  man  prates  of  idle  things, 

How  this  or  that  Italian  sings, 

A Neighbour’s  madness,  or  his  Spouse’s, 

Or  what’s  in  either  of  the  Houses; 

But  something  much  more  our  concern, 

And  quite  a scandal  not  to  learn; 

Which  is  the  happier  or  the  wiser, 

A man  of  merit,  or  a miser  ? 

Whether  we  ought  to  choose  our  friends 
For  their  own  worth  or  our  own  ends  ? 150 
What  good,  or  better,  we  may  call, 

And  what  the  very  best  of  all  ? 

Our  friend  Dan  Prior  told  (you  know) 

A tale  extremely  a-propos : 

Name  a town  life,  and  in  a trice 
He  had  a story  of  two  mice. 

Once  on  a time  (so  runs  the  Fable) 

A Country  Mouse  right  hospitable, 

Received  a Town  Mouse  at  his  board, 

Just  as  a farmer  might  a Lord.  160 

A frugal  mouse,  upon  the  whole, 

Yet  lov’d  his  friend,  and  had  a soul; 

Knew  what  was  handsome,  and  would  do ’t, 
On  just  occasion,  coute  qui  coute. 

He  brought  him  bacon  (nothing  lean), 
Pudding  that  might  have  pleas’d  a Dean; 
Cheese,  such  as  men  in  Suffolk  make, 

But  wish’d  it  Stilton  for  his  sake; 

Yet,  to  his  guest  tho’  no  way  sparing, 

He  ate  himself  the  rind  and  paring.  170 
Our  Courtier  scarce  could  touch  a bit, 

But  show’d  his  breeding  and  his  wit; 

He  did  his  best  to  seem  to  eat, 

And  cried,  ‘ I vow  you  ’re  mighty  neat: 

But  lord,  my  friend,  this  savage  scene! 

For  God’s  sake  come  and  live  with  men; 
Consider,  mice,  like  men,  must  die, 

Both  small  and  great,  both  you  and  I ; 

Then  spend  your  life  in  joy  and  sport, 

(This  doctrine,  friend,  I learn’d  at  court).’ 

The  veriest  hermit  in  the  nation  181. 
May  yield,  God  knows,  to  strong  tempta- 
tion. 

Away  they  came,  thro’  thick  and  thin, 

To  a tall  house  near  Lincoln’s-Inn 
(’T  was  on  the  night  of  a debate, 

When  all  their  Lordships  had  sat  late). 

Behold  the  place  where  if  a poet 
Shined  in  description  he  might  show  it; 

Tell  how  the  moonbeam  trembling  falls, 

And  tips  with  silver  all  the  walls;  190 

Palladian  walls,  Venetian  doors, 

Grotesco  roofs,  and  stucco  floors: 


SATIRES 


216 


But  let  it  (in  a word)  be  said,  ) 

The  moon  was  up,  and  men  a-bed,  > 

The  napkins  white,  the  carpet  red:) 

The  guests  withdrawn  bad  left  the  treat, 
And  down  the  Mice  sat  tete-a-tete. 

Our  Courtier  walks  from  dish  to  dish, 
Tastes  for  his  friend  of  fowl  and  fish; 

Tells  all  their  names,  lays  down  the  law,  200 
‘ Que  qa  est  bon  ! Ah,  goutez  pa  / 

That  Jelly ’s  rich,  this  Malmsey  healing, 
Pray,  dip  your  whiskers  and  your  tail  in.’ 
Was  ever  such  a happy  swain! 

He  stuffs  and  swills,  and  stuffs  again. 

‘ I ’m  quite  ashamed  — ’t  is  mighty  rude 
To  eat  so  much  — but  all ’s  so  good  — 

I have  a thousand  thanks  to  give  — 

My  Lord  alone  knows  how  to  live.’ 

No  sooner  said,  but  from  the  hall  210 

Rush  chaplain,  butler,  dogs,  and  all: 

‘ A rat,  a rat!  clap  to  the  door  ’ — 

The  cat  comes  bouncing  on  the  floor. 

0 for  the  art  of  Homer’s  mice, 

Or  gods  to  save  them  in  a trice! 

(It  was  by  Providence,  they  think, 

For  your  damn’d  stucco  has  no  chink!) 

‘ An ’t  please  Your  Honour,’  quoth  the 
peasant, 

*This  same  dessert  is  not  so  pleasant: 

Give  me  again  my  hollow  tree,  220 

A crust  of  bread  and  Liberty!  ’ 

THE  SEVENTH  EPISTLE  OF 
THE  FIRST  BOOK  OF  HORACE 

IN  THE  MANNER  OF  DR.  SWIFT 

’T  is  true,  my  Lord,  I gave  my  word 

1 would  be  with  you  June  the  third; 
Changed  it  to  August,  and  (in  short) 

Have  kept  it  — as  you  do  at  Court. 

You  humour  me  when  I am  sick, 

Why  not  when  I am  splenetic  ? 

In  Town  what  objects  could  I meet  ? 

The  shops  shut  up  in  every  street, 

And  funerals  black’ning  all  the  doors, 

And  yet  more  melancholy  whores:  10 

And  what  a dust  in  every  place! 

And  a thin  Court  that  wants  your  face, 

And  fevers  raging  up  and  down, 

And  W[ard]  and  H[enley]  both  in  town! 

‘ The  dogdays  are  no  more  the  case.’ 

’T  is  true,  but  winter  comes  apace: 

Then  southward  let  your  bard  retire, 

Hold  out  some  months  ’twixt  sun  and  fire, 


And  you  shall  see  the  first  warm  weather 
Me  and  the  butterflies  together.  20 

My  Lord,  your  favours  well  I know; 

’T  is  with  distinction  you  bestow, 

And  not  to  every  one  that  comes, 

Just  as  a Scotchman  does  his  plums. 

‘ Pray  take  them,  Sir  — enough ’s  a feast: 
Eat  some,  and  pocket  up  the  rest:  ’ 

What,  rob  your  boys  ? those  pretty  rogues! 
‘ No,  Sir,  you  ’ll  leave  them  to  the  hogs.’ 
Thus  fools  with  compliments  besiege  ye, 
Contriving  never  to  oblige  ye.  30 

Scatter  your  favours  on  a Fop, 

Ingratitude ’s  the  certain  crop; 

And ’t  is  but  just,  I ’ll  tell  ye  wherefore, 
You  give  the  things  you  never  care  for. 

A wise  man  always  is,  or  should, 

Be  mighty  ready  to  be  good, 

But  makes  a diff’rence  in  his  thought 
Betwixt  a guinea  and  a groat. 

Now  this  I ’ll  say,  you  ’ll  find  in  me 
A safe  companion,  and  a free;  40 

But  if  you ’d  have  me  always  near, 

A word,  pray,  in  Your  Honour’s  ear: 

I hope  it  is  your  resolution 
To  give  me  back  my  constitution, 

The  sprightly  wit,  the  lively  eye, 

Th’  engaging  smile,  the  gayety 

That  laugh’d  down  many  a summer  sun, 

And  kept  you  up  so  oft  till  one; 

And  all  that  voluntary  vein, 

As  when  Belinda  rais’d  my  strain.  50 

A Weasel  once  made  shift  to  slink 
In  at  a corn-loft  thro’  a chink, 

But  having  amply  stuff’d  his  skin, 

Could  not  get  out  as  he  got  in ; 

Which  one  belonging  to  the  house 
(’T  was  not  a man,  it  was  a mouse) 
Observing,  cried,  ‘You  ’scape  not  so; 

Lean  as  you  came,  Sir,  you  must  go.’ 

Sir,  you  may  spare  your  application; 

I ’m  no  such  beast,  nor  his  relation,  60 
Nor  one  that  Temperance  advance, 
Cramm’d  to  the  throat  with  ortolans; 
Extremely  ready  to  resign 
All  that  may  make  me  none  of  mine. 
South-Sea  subscriptions  take  who  please, 
Leave  me  but  liberty  and  ease: 

’T  was  what  I said  to  Craggs  and  Child, 
Who  praised  my  modesty,  and  smil’d. 

‘ Give  me,’  I cried  (enough  for  me) 

‘ My  bread  and  independency!  ’ 70 

So  bought  an  annual  rent  or  two, 

And  lived  — just  as  you  see  I do; 


2I7 


NINTH  ODE  OF  THE  FOURTH  BOOK  OF  HORACE 


Near  fifty,  and  without  a wife, 

J trust  that  sinking  fund,  my  life. 

Can  I retrench  ? xes,  mighty  well, 

Shrink  back  to  my  paternal  cell, 

A little  house,  with  trees  a row, 

And,  like  its  master,  very  low; 

There  died  my  father,  no  man’s  debtor, 
And  there  I ’ll  die,  nor  worse  nor  better.  80 
lo  set  this  matter  full  before  ye, 

Our  old  friend  Swift  will  tell  his  story. 

‘Harley,  the  nation’s  great  support  ’ ■ — 
But  you  may  read  it,  I stop  short. 


THE  FIRST  ODE  OF  THE 
FOURTH  BOOK  OF  HORACE 

TO  VENUS 

Again  ? new  tumults  in  my  breast  ? 

Ah,  spare  me,  Venus  ! let  me,  let  me  rest  ! 
I am  not  now,  alas  ! the  man 
As  in  the  gentle  reign  of  my  Queen  Anne. 
Ah  ! sound  no  more  thy  soft  alarms, 

Nor  circle  sober  fifty  with  thy  charms. 
Mother  too  fierce  of  dear  desires  ! 

Turn,  turn  to  willing  hearts  your  wanton 
fires: 

To  number  Jive  direct  your  doves, 

There  spread  round  Murray  all  your  bloom- 
ing Loves;  IO 

Noble  and  young,  who  strikes  the  heart 
With  ev’ry  sprightly,  ev’ry  decent  part; 
Equal  the  injured  to  defend, 

To  charm  the  Mistress,  or  to  fix  the  Friend. 
He,  with  a hundred  arts  refin’d, 

Shall  stretch  thy  conquests  over  half  the 
kind: 

To  him  each  rival  shall  submit, 

Make  but  his  Riches  equal  to  his  Wit. 

Then  shall  thy  form  the  marble  grace, 

(Thy  Grecian  form)  and  Chloe  lend  the 
face: 

His  house,  embosom’d  in  the  grove, 

Sacred  to  social  life  and  social  love, 

Shall  glitter  o’er  the  pendant  green, 

Where  Thames  reflects  the  visionary  scene: 
Thither,  the  silver-sounding  lyres 
shall  call  the  smiling  Loves,  and  young  De- 
sires; 

There,  ev’ry  Grace  and  Muse  shall  throng, 


Exalt  the  dance,  or  animate  the  song; 
There  Youths  and  Nymphs,  in  concert  gay, 
Shall  hail  the  rising,  close  the  parting  day. 
With  me,  alas  ! those  joys  are  o’er;  3I 
F or  me,  the  vernal  garlands  bloom  no  more. 
Adieu,  fond  hope  of  mutual  fire, 

The  still-believing,  still-renew’d  desire; 
Adieu,  the  heart-expanding  bowl, 

And  all  the  kind  deceivers  of  the  soul  1 
But  why  ? ah  tell  me,  ah  too  dear  ! 

Steals  down  my  cheek  th’  involuntary 
Tear  ? 

Why  words  so  flowing,  thoughts  so  free, 
Stop,  or  turn  nonsense,  at  one  glance  of 
thee  ? 4o 

Thee,  drest  in  Fancy’s  airy  beam, 

Absent  I follow  thro’  th’  extended  Dream; 
Now,  now  I seize,  I clasp  thy  charms, 

And  now  you  burst  (ah  cruel  !)  from  my 
arms; 

And  swiftly  shoot  along  the  Mall, 

Or  softly  glide  by  the  Canal, 

Now,  shown  by  Cynthia’s  silver  ray, 

And  now,  on  rolling  waters  snatch’d  away. 

THE  NINTH  ODE  OF  THE 
FOURTH  BOOK  OF  HORACE 

A FRAGMENT 

Lest  you  should  think  that  verse  shall  die 
Which  sounds  the  silver  Thames  along, 
Taught  on  the  wings  of  truth  to  fly 
Above  the  reach  of  vulgar  song; 

Tho’  daring  Milton  sits  sublime, 

In  Spenser  native  muses  play; 

Nor  yet  shall  Waller  yield  to  time, 

Nor  pensive  Cowley’s  moral  lay  — 

Sages  and  Chiefs  long  since  had  birth 
Ere  Csesar  was  or  Newton  named; 

These  rais’d  new  empires  o’er  the  earth, 
And  those  new  lieav’ns  and  systems 
framed. 

Vain  was  the  Chief’s,  the  Sage’s  Pride  ! 

They  had  no  Poet,  and  they  died. 

In  vain  they  schemed,  in  vain  they  bled  ! 
They  had  no  Poet,  and  are  dead. 


2l8 


THE  DUNCIAD 


THE  DUNCIAD 

IN  FOUR  BOOKS 


Thk  first  edition  of  The  Dunciad  was  pub- 
lished in  the  spring1  of  1728,  and  included  the 
first  three  books.  In  1729  an  edition  with  notes 
and  other  illustrative  matter  appeared,  the  ori- 
ginal frontispiece  of  the  owl  being  superseded 
by  a vignette  of  a donkey  bearing  a pile  of  books 
upon  which  an  owl  perched.  In  this  edition  ap- 
peared the  Dedication  to  Swift  and  the  Letter  to 
the  Publisher.  William  Cleland,  whose  name  is 
signed  to  this  letter,  was  a real  person  and  an 
acquaintance  of  Pope’s,  but  it  is  generally  con- 

MARTINUS  SCRIBLERUS  OF  THE 
POEM 

This  poem,  as  it  celebrateth  the  most  grave 
and  ancient  of  things,  Chaos,  Night,  and  Dul- 
ness,  so  is  it  of  the  most  grave  and  ancient 
kind.  ’ Homer  (saith  Aristotle)  was  the  first 
who  gave  the  form,  and  (saith  Horace)  who 
adapted  the  measure,  to  heroic  poesy.  But 
even  before  this  may  be  rationally  presumed, 
from  what  the  ancients  have  left  written,  was 
a piece  by  Homer,  composed  of  like  nature 
and  matter  with  this  of  our  poet ; for  of  epic 
sort  it  appeareth  to  have  been,  yet  of  matter 
surely  not  unpleasant ; witness  what  is  reported 
of  it  by  the  learned  Archbishop  Eustathius,  in 
Odyssey  X.  And  accordingly  Aristotle,  in  his 
Poetic,  chap.  iv..  doth  further  set  forth,  that  as 
the  Iliad  and  Odyssey  gave  an  example  to  Trag- 
edy, so  did  this  poem  to  Comedy  its  first  idea. 

From  these  authors  also  it  should  seem  that 
the  hero,  or  chief  personage  of  it,  was  no  less 
obscure,  and  his  understanding  and  sentiments 
no  less  quaint  and  strange  (if  indeed  not  more 
so)  than  any  of  the  actors  of  our  poem.  Mar- 
gites  was  the  name  of  this  personage,  whom 
antiquity  recordeth  to  have  been  Dunce  the 
First ; and  surely,  from  what  we  hear  of  him, 
not  unworthy  to  be  the  root  of  so  spreading  a 
tree,  and  so  numerous  a posterity.  The  poem, 
therefore,  celebrating  him,  was  properly  and 
absolutely  a Dunciad  ; which  though  now  un- 
happily lost,  yetis  its  nature  sufficiently  known 
by  the  infallible  tokens  aforesaid.  And  thus 
it  doth  appear  that  the  first  Dunciad  yas  the 
first  epic  poem,  written  by  Homer  himself,  and 
anterior  even  to  the  Iliad  or  Odyssey. 

Now,  forasmuch  as  our  poet  hath  translated 
those  two  famous  works  of  Homer  which  are 
yet  left,  he  did  conceive  it  in  some  sort  his 
duty  to  imitate  that  also  which  was  lost ; and 


ceded  that  the  letter  is  directly  or  indirectly 
the  work  of  Pope  himself.  The  fourth  book, 
then  called  The  New  Dunciad , was  published 
separately  in  1742.  In  the  complete  edition  of 
1743,  Cibber  takes  the  place  of  Theobald  as 
hero  of  the  poem.  During  these  fifteen  years, 
public  interest  in  the  satire,  which  was  un- 
doubtedly great,  was  artificially  stimulated  by 
Pope.  So  subtle  were  his  mystifications  that 
the  confusion  into  which  he  threw  his  commen- 
tators has  only  recently  been  set  straight. 

was  therefore  induced  to  bestow  on  it  the  same 
form  which  Homer’s  is  reported  to  have  had, 
namely,  that  of  epic  poem ; with  a title  also 
framed  after  the  ancient  Greek  manner,  to  wit, 
that  of  Dunciad. 

Wonderful  it  is  that  so  few  of  the  moderns 
have  been  stimulated  to  attempt  some  Dun- 
ciad ; since,  in  the  opinion  of  the  multitude,  it 
might  cost  less  pain  and  toil  than  an  imitation 
of  the  greater  epic.  But  possible  it  is  also 
that,  on  due  reflection,  the  maker  might  find 
it  easier  to  paint  a Charlemagne,  a Brute,  or  a 
Godfrey,  with  just  pomp  and  dignity  heroic, 
than  a Margites,  a Codrus,  or  a Fleckno. 

We  shall  next  declare  the  occasion  and  the 
cause  which  moved  our  poet  to  this  particular 
work.  He  lived  in  those  days  when  (after 
Providence  had  permitted  the  invention  of 
printing  as  a scourge  for  the  sins  of  the  learned) 
paper  also  became  so  cheap,  and  printers  so 
numerous,  that  a deluge  of  authors  covered 
the  land  : whereby  not  only  the  peace  of  the 
honest  unwriting  subject  was  daily  molested, 
but  unmerciful  demands  were  made  of  his  ap- 
plause, yea,  of  his  money,  by  such  as  would 
neither  earn  the  one  nor  deserve  the  other. 
At  the  same  time  the  license  of  the  press  was 
such,  that  it  grew  dangerous  to  refuse  them 
either ; for  they  would  forthwith  publish  slan- 
ders unpunished,  the  authors  being  anonymous, 
and  skulking  under  the  wings  of  publishers,  a 
set  of  men  who  never  scrupled  to  vend  either 
calumny  or  blasphemy,  as  long  as  the  town 
would  call  for  it. 

1 Now  our  author,  living  in  those  times, 
did  conceive  it  an  endeavour  well  worthy  an 
honest  satirist,  to  dissuade  the  dull,  and  pun- 
ish the  wicked,  the  only  way  that  was  left. 
In  that  public-spirited  view  he  laid  the  Plan 
of  this  poem,  as  the  greatest  service  he  waa 
i Vide  Bossu,  du  Poeme  Epique,  chap.  viii. 


THE  DUNCIAD 


2 19 


capable  (without  much  hurt,  or  being-  slain)  to 
render  his  dear  country.  First,  taking-  thing's 
from  their  original,  he  considereth  the  causes 
creative  of  such  authors,  namely,  dulness  and 
poverty  ; the  one  born  with  them,  the  other 
contracted  by  neglect  of  their  proper  talents, 
through  self-conceit  of  greater  abilities.  This 
truth  he  wrappeth  in  an  allegory  1 (as  the  con 
struction  of  epic  poesy  requireth),  and  feigns 
that  one  of  these  goddesses  had  taken  up  her 
abode  with  the  other,  and  that  they  jointly 

■ inspired  all  such  writers  and  such  works. 1 He 
proceedeth  to  show  the  qualities  they  bestow 
on  these  authors,  and  the  effects  they  produce  ; 3 
then  the  materials,  or  stock,  with  which  they 
furnish  them  ; 4 and  (above  all)  that  self-opin- 
ion 0 which  causeth  it  to  seem  to  themselves 
vastly  greater  than  it  is,  and  is  the  prime  mo- 
tive of  their  setting  up  in  this  sad  and  sorry 
merchandise.  . The  great  power  of  these  god- 
desses acting  in  alliance  (whereof  as  the  one 
is  the  mother  of  industry,  so  is  the  other  of 
plodding)  was  to  be  exemplified  in  some  one 

. great  and  remarkable  action  ; 6 and  none  could 
be  more  so  than  that  which  our  poet  hath 
chosen,  viz.  the  restoration  of  the  reign  of 
Chaos  and  Night,  by  the  ministry  of  Dulness 
their  daughter,  in  the  removal  of  her  imperial 
seat  from  the  city  to  the  polite  world  ; as  the 
action  of  the  .dSneid  is  the  restoration  of  the 
empire  of  Troy,  by  the  removal  of  the  race 
from  thence  to  Latium.  But  as  Homer,  sing- 
ing only  the  wrath  of  Achilles,  yet  includes  in 
his  poem  the  whole  history  of  the  Trojan  war ; 
in  like  manner,  our  author  has  drawn  into  this 
single  action  the  whole  history  of  Dulness  and 
her  children. 

A Person  must  next  be  fixed  upon  to  sup- 
port this  action.  This  phantom,  in  the  poet’s 
mind,  must  have  a name.7  He  finds  it  to  be 

: and  he  becomes  of  course  the  hero  of 

the  poem. 

' The  Fable  being  thus,  according  to  the  best 
1 example,  one  and  entire,  as  contained  in  the 
) proposition ; the  machinery  is  a continued 
1 chain  of  allegories,  setting  forth  the  whole 
power,  ministry,  and  empire  of  Dulness,  ex- 
f tended  through  her  subordinate  instruments,  in 
i all  her  various  operations, 
jj  This  is  branched  into  Episodes,  each  of  which 

■ hath  its  moral  apart,  though  all  conducive  to 
f the  main  end.  The  crowd  assembled  in  the 

second  Book  demonstrates  the  design  to  be 
more  extensive  than  to  bad  poets  only,  and 
; that  we  may  expect  other  episodes  of  the  pa- 
1 trons,  encouragers,  or  paymasters  of  such  au- 
[ thors,  as  occasion  shall  bring  them  fortho 

1 Bossu,  chap.  vii. 

2 Book  i.  ver.  32,  &c. 

3 Book  i.  ver.  45  to  54. 

* Ver.  57  to  77. 


And  the  third  Book,  if  well  considered,  seem 
eth  to  embrace  the  whole  world.  Each  of  the 
games  relateth  to  some  or  other  vile  class  of 
writers.  The  first  concerneth  the  plagiary,  to 
whom  he  giveth  the  name  of  Moore  ; the  sec- 
ond the  libellous  novelist,  whom  he  styleth 
Eliza  ; the  third,  the  flattering  dedicator  ; the 
fourth,  the  bawling  critic,  or  noisy  poet ; the 
fifth  the  dark  and  dirty  party-writer ; and  so 
of  the  rest ; assigning  to  each  some  proper 
name  or  other,  such  as  he  could  find. 

As  for  the  Characters,  the  public  hath  al 
ready  acknowledged  how  justly  they  are 
drawn.  The  manners  are  so  depicted,  and  the 
sentiments  so  peculiar  to  those  to  whom  ap 
plied,  that  surely  to  transfer  them  to  any  other 
or  wiser  personages  would  be  exceeding  diffi- 
cult ; and  certain  it  is  that  every  person  con 
cerned,  being  consulted  apart,  hath  readily 
owned  the  resemblance  of  every  portrait,  his 
own  excepted.  So  Mr.  Cibber  calls  them  ‘ a 
parcel  of  poor  wretches,  so  many  silly  flies  ; ’ 
but  adds,  ‘ our  author’s  wit  is  remarkably 
more  bare  and  barren  whenever  it  would  fall 
foul  on  Cibber  than  upon  any  other  person 
whatever.’ 

The  Descriptions  are  singular,  the  compari- 
sons very  quaint,  the  narrations  various,  yet  of 
one  colour,  the  purity  and  chastity  of  diction 
is  so  preserved,  that  in  the  places  most  suspi- 
cious, not  the  words,  but  only  the  images,  have 
been  censured;  and  yet  are  those  images  no 
other  than  have  been  sanctified  by  ancient  and 
classical  authority  (though,  as  was  the  manner 
of  those  good  times,  not  so  curiously  wrapped 
up),  yea,  and  commented  upon  by  the  most 
grave  doctors  and  approved  critics. 

As  it  beareth  the  name  of  Epic,  it  is  thereby 
subjected  to  such  severe  indispensable  rules  as 
are  laid  on  all  neoterics,  a strict  imitation  of 
the  ancients ; insomuch  that  any  deviation,  ac- 
companied with  whatever  poetic  beauties,  hath 
always  been  censured  by  the  sound  critic. 
How  exact  that  imitation  hath  been  in  this 
piece,  appeareth  not  only  by  its  general  struc- 
ture, but  by  particular  allusions  infinite,  many 
whereof  have  escaped  both  the  commentator 
and  poet  himself  ; yea  divers,  by  his  exceeding 
diligence,  are  so  altered  and  interwoven  with 
the  rest,  that  several  have  already  been,  and 
more  will  be,  by  the  ignorant  abused,  as  alto- 
gether and  originally  his  own. 

In  a word,  the  whole  Poem  proveth  itself  to 
be  the  work  of  our  author,  when  his  faculties 
were  in  full  vigour  and  perfection ; at  that  ex- 
act time  when  years  have  ripened  the  judg- 
ment without  diminishing  the  imagination 

5 Ver.  80. 

6 Bossu,  chap,  vii.,  viii. 

7 Bossu,  chap.  viii.  Vido  Aristot.  Poetic,  cap.  ix. 


A 


220 


THE  DUNCIAD 


which,  by  good  critics,  is  held  to  be  punctually 
at  forty  : for  at  that  season  it  was  that  Virgil 
finished  his  Georgies ; and  Sir  Richard  Black- 
more,  at  the  like  age  composing-  his  Arthurs , 
declared  the  same  to  be  the  very  acme  and 
pitch  of  life  for  epic  poesy ; though,  since,  he 
hath  altered  it  to  sixty,  the  year  in  which  he 
published  his  Alfred.  True  it  is  that  the  tal- 
ents for  criticism,  namely,  smartness,  quick 
censure,  vivacity  of  remark,  certainty  of  as- 
severation, indeed  all  but  acerbity,  seem  rather 
the  gifts  of  youth  than  of  riper  age  : but  it  is 
far  otherwise  in  poetry ; witness  the  works  of 
Mr.  Rymer  and  Mr.  Dennis,  who,  beginning 
with  criticism,  became  afterwards  such  poets 
as  no  age  hath  paralleled.  With  good  reason, 
therefore,  did  our  author  choose  to  write  his 
Essay  on  that  subject  at  twenty,  and  reserve 
for  his  maturer  years  this  great  and  wonderful 
work  of  The  Dunciad. 


PREFACE 

PREFIXED  TO  THE  FIVE  FIRST  IMPER- 
FECT EDITIONS  OF  THE  DUNCIAD,  IN 
THREE  BOOKS,  PRINTED  AT  DUBLIN 
AND  LONDON,  IN  OCTAVO  AND  DUO- 
DECIMO, 1727. 

THE  PUBLISHER  TO  THE  READER 

It  will  be  found  a true  observation,  though 
somewhat  surprising,  that  when  any  scandal  is 
vented  against  a man  of  the  highest  distinction 
and  character,  either  in  the  state  or  literature, 
the  public  in  general  afford  it  a most  quiet 
reception,  and  the  larger  part  accept  it  as  fa- 
vourably as  if  it  were  some  kindness  done  to 
themselves  : whereas,  if  a known  scoundrel  or 
blockhead  but  chance  to  be  touched  upon,  a 
whole  legion  is  rrp  in  arms,  and  it  becomes  the 
common  cause  of  all  scribblers,  booksellers, 
and  printers  whatsoever. 

Not  to  search  too  deeply  into  the  reason 
hereof,  I will  only  observe  as  a fact,  that  every 
week,  for  these  two  months  past,  the  town  has 
been  persecuted  with  pamphlets,  advertise- 
ments, letters,  and  weekly  essays,  not  only 
against  the  wit  and  writings,  but  against  the 
character  and  person  of  Mr.  Pope  ; and  that  of 
all  those  men  who  have  received  pleasure  from 
his  works  (which  by  modest  computation  may 
be  about  a hundred  thousand  in  these  king- 
doms of  England  and  Ireland,  not  to  mention 
Jersey,  Guernsey,  the  Orcades,  those  in  the 
New  World,  and  foreigners  who  have  trans- 
lated him  into  their  languages),  of  all  this  num- 
ber not  a man  hath  stood  up  to  say  one  word 
in  his  defence. 


The  only  exception  is  the  author  of  the  fol 
lowing  poem,  who  doubtless  had  either  a bettei 
insight  into  the  grounds  of  this  clamour,  or  a 
better  opinion  of  Mr.  Pope’s  integrity,  joined 
with  a greater  personal  love  for  him  than  any 
other  of  his  numerous  friends  and  admirers. 

Farther,  that  he  was  in  his  peculiar  intimacy, 
appears  from  the  knowledge  he  manifests  of 
the  most  private  authors  of  all  the  anonymous 
pieces  against  him,  and  from  his  having  in  this 
poem  attacked  no  man  living  who  had  not  be- 
fore printed  or  published  some  scandal  against 
this  gentleman. 

How  I came  possessed  of  it,  is  no  concern  to 
the  reader  ; but  it  would  have  been  a wrong  to 
him  had  I detained  the  publication  ; since  those 
names  which  are  its  chief  ornaments  die  off 
daily  so  fast,  as  must  render  it  too  soon  unin- 
telligible. If  it  provoke  the  author  to  give  us 
a more  perfect  edition,  I have  my  end. 

Who  he  is  I cannot  say,  and  (which  is  a great 
pity)  there  is  certainly  nothing  in  his  style  and 
manner  of  writing  which  can  distinguish  or 
discover  him ; for  if  it  bears  any  resemblance 
to  that  of  Mr.  Pope,  it  is  not  improbable  but 
it  might  be  done  on  purpose,  writh  a view  to 
have  it  pass  for  his.  But  by  the  frequency  of 
his  allusions  to  Virgil,  and  a laboured  (not  to 
say  affected)  shortness  in  imitation  of  him,  I 
should  think  him  more  an  admirer  of  the  Ro- 
man poet  than  of  the  Grecian,  and  in  that  not 
of  the  same  taste  with  his  friend. 

I have  been  well  informed  that  this  w^ork 
was  the  labour  of  full  six  years  of  his  life,  and 
that  he  wholly  retired  himself  from  all  the 
avocations  and  pleasures  of  the  world  to  attend 
diligently  to  its  correction  and  perfection  ; and 
six  years  more  he  intended  to  bestow  upon  it, 
as  it  should  seem  by  this  verse  of  Statius,  w hich 
was  cited  at  the  head  of  his  manuscript : — 

‘ Oh  milii  bissenos  multum  vigilata  per  annos, 
Duncia ! ’ 

Hence  also  we  learn  the  true  title  of  the 
poem ; which,  w'ith  the  same  certainty  as  we 
call  that  of  Homer  the  Iliad,  of  Virgil  the 
.TEneid,  of  Camoens  the  Lusiad,  we  may  pro- 
nounce could  have  been,  and  can  be,  no  other 
than 

THE  DUNCIAD 

It  is  styled  heroic,  as  being  doubly  so ; not 
only  with  respect  to  its  nature,  w'hich,  accord- 
ing to  the  best  rules  of  the  ancients,  and  strict- 
est ideas  of  the  moderns,  is  critically  such  ; 
but  also  with  regard  to  the  heroical  disposition 
and  high  courage  of  the  writer,  who  dared  to 
stir  up  such  a formidable,  irritable,  and  impla- 
cable race  of  mortals. 

There  may  arise  some  obscurity  in  chrono* 
logy  from  the  names  in  the  poem,  by  the 


THE  DUNCIAD 


22  I 


inevitable  removal  of  some  authors,  and  inser- 
tion of  others  in  their  niches  : for,  whoever  will 
consider  the  unity  of  the  whole  design,  will  be 
sensible  that  the  poem  was  not  made  for  these 
authors,  but  these  authors  for  the  poem.  I 
should  judge  that  they  were  clapped  in  as  they 
rose,  fresh  and  fresh,  and  changed  from  day  to 
day ; in  like  manner  as  when  the  old  boughs 
wither  we  thrust  new  ones  into  a chimney. 

I would  not  have  the  reader  too  much  trou- 
bled or  anxious,  if  he  cannot  decipher  them ; 
since,  when  he  shall  have  found  them  out,  he 
will  probably  know  no  more  of  the  persons 
than  before. 

Yet  we  judged  it  better  to  preserve  them  as 
they  are,  than  to  change  them  for  fictitious 
names  ; by  which  the  satire  would  only  be 
multiplied,  and  applied  to  many  instead  of  one. 
Had  the  hero,  for  instance,  been  called  Codrus, 
how  many  would  have  affirmed  him  to  have 
been  Mr.  T.,  Mr.  E.,  Sir  R.  B.  ? &c.,  but  now 
all  that  unjust  scandal  is  saved,  by  calling  him 
by  a name  which,  by  good  luck,  happens  to  be 
that  of  a real  person. 


A LETTER  TO  THE  PUBLISHER 

OCCASIONED  BY  THE  FIRST  CORRECT 
EDITION  OF  THE  DUNCIAD 

It  is  with  pleasure  I hear  that  you  have  pro- 
cured a correct  copy  of  the  Dunciad,  which 
the  many  surreptitious  ones  have  rendered  so 
necessary  ; and  it  is  yet  with  more,  that  I am 
informed  it  will  be  attended  with  a Commen- 
tary ; a work  so  requisite,  that  I cannot  think 
the  author  himself  would  have  omitted  it,  had 
he  approved  of  the  first  appearance  of  this 
poem. 

Such  Notes  as  have  occurred  to  me  I here- 
with send  you  : you  will  oblige  me  by  inserting 
them  amongst  those  which  are,  or  will  be, 
transmitted  to  you  by  others  ; since  not  only 
the  author’s  friends,  but  even  strangers,  appear 
engaged  by  humanity,  to  take  some  care  of  an 
orphan  of  so  much  genius  and  spirit,  which  its 
I parent  seems  to  have  abandoned  from  the  very 
beginning,  and  suffered  to  step  into  the  world 
, naked,  unguarded,  and  unattended. 

It  was  upon  reading  some  of  the  abusive 
papers  lately  published,  that  my  great  regard 
to  a person  whose  friendship  I esteem  as  one 
of  the  chief  honours  of  my  life,  and  a much 
greater  respect  to  truth  than  to  him  or  any 
man  living,  engaged  me  in  inquiries  of  which 
the  enclosed  Notes  are  the  fruit. 

I perceived  that  most  of  these  authors  had 
been  (doubtless  very  wisely)  the  first  aggres- 
sors. They  had  tried,  till  they  were  weary, 


what  was  to  be  got  by  railing  at  each  other : 
nobody  was  either  concerned  or  surprised  if 
this  or  that  scribbler  was  proved  a dunce,  but 
every  one  was  curious  to  read  what  could  be  said 
to  prove  Mr.  Pope  one,  and  was  ready  to  pay 
something  for  such  a discovery  ; a stratagem 
which,  would  they  fairly  own  it,  might  not 
only  reconcile  them  to  me,  but  screen  them 
from  the  resentment  of  their  lawful  superiors, 
whom  they  daily  abuse,  only  (as  I charitably 
hope)  to  get  that  by  them,  which  they  cannot 
get  from  them. 

I found  this  was  not  all : ill  success  in  that 
had  transported  them  to  personal  abuse,  either 
of  himself,  or  ( what  I think  he  could  less  for- 
give) of  his  friends.  They  had  called  men  of 
virtue  and  honour  bad  men,  long  before  he  had 
either  leisure  or  inclination  to  call  them  bad 
writers  ; and  some  of  them  had  been  such  old 
offenders,  that  he  had  quite  forgotten  their 
persons,  as  well  as  their  slanders,  till  they  were 
pleased  to  revive  them. 

Now  what  had  Mr.  Pope  done  before  to  in- 
cense them  ? He  had  published  those  works 
which  are  in  the  hands  of  every  body,  in  which 
not  the  least  mention  is  made  of  any  of  them. 
And  what  has  he  done  since  ? He  has  laughed, 
and  written  the  Dunciad.  What  has  that 
said  of  them  ? A very  serious  truth,  which 
the  public  had  said  before,  that  they  were 
dull ; and  what  it  had  no  sooner  said,  but  they 
themselves  were  at  great  pains  to  procure,  or 
even  purchase,  room  in  the  prints  to  testify 
under  their  hands  to  the  truth  of  it. 

I should  still  have  been  silent,  if  either  I 
had  seen  any  inclination  in  my  friend  to  be 
serious  with  such  accusers,  or  if  they  had  only 
meddled  with  his  writings  ; since  whoever  pub- 
lishes, puts  himself  on  his  trial  by  his  coun- 
try : but  when  his  moral  character  was  at- 
tacked, and  in  a manner  from  which  neither 
truth  nor  virtue  can  secure  the  most  innocent  ; 
in  a manner  which,  though  it  annihilates  the 
credit  of  the  accusation  with  the  just  and  im- 
partial, yet  aggravates  very  much  the  guilt 
of  the  accusers — I mean  by  authors  without 
names  — then  I thought,  since  the  danger  was 
common  to  all,  the  concern  ought  to  be  so  ; 
and  that  it  was  an  act  of  justice  to  detect  the 
authors,  not  only  on  this  account,  but  as  many 
of  them  are  the  same  who,  for  several  years 
past,  have  made  free  with  the  greatest  names 
in  church  and  state,  exposed  to  the  world  the 
private  misfortunes  of  families,  abused  all, 
even  to  women  ; and  whose  prostituted  papers 
(for  one  or  other  party  in  the  unhappy  divi- 
sions of  their  country)  have  insulted  the  fallen, 
the  friendless,  the  exiled,  and  the  dead. 

Besides  this,  which  I take  to  be  public  con- 
cern, I have  already  confessed  I had  a private 


222 


THE  DUNCIAD 


one.  I am  one  of  that  number  who  have  long- 
loved and  esteemed  Mr.  Pope ; and  had  often 
declared  it  was  not  his  capacity  or  writings 
(which  we  ever  thought  the  least  valuable  part 
of  his  character),  but  the  honest,  open,  and 
beneficent  man,  that  we  most  esteemed  and 
loved  in  him.  Now,  if  what  these  people  say 
■were  believed,  I must  appear  to  all  my  friends 
either  a fool  or  a knave  ; either  imposed  on 
myself,  or  imposing  on  them  ; so  that  I am  as 
much  interested  in  the  confutation  of  these 
calumnies  as  he  is  himself. 

I am  no  author,  and  consequently  not  to  be 
suspected  either  of  jealousy  or  resentment 
against  any  of  the  men.  of  whom  scarce  one  is 
known  to  me  by  sight ; and  as  for  their  writ- 
ings, I have  sought  them  (on  this  one  occasion) 
in  vain,  in  the  closets  and  libraries  of  all  my 
acquaintance.  I had  still  been  in  the  dark,  if 
a gentleman  had  not  procured  me  (I  suppose 
from  some  of  themselves,  for  they  are  gener- 
ally much  more  dangerous  friends  than  ene- 
mies) the  passages  I send  you.  I solemnly 
protest  I have  added  nothing  to  the  malice  or 
absurdity  of  them  ; which  it  behoves  me  to 
declare,  since  the  vouchers  themselves  will  be 
so  soon  and  so  irrecoverably  lost.  You  may, 
in  some  measure,  prevent  it,  by  preserving  at 
least  their  titles,  and  discovering  (as  far  as  you 
can  depend  on  the  truth  of  jrnur  information) 
the  names  of  the  concealed  authors. 

The  first  objection  I have  heard  made  to  the 
poem  is,  that  the  persons  are  too  obscure  for 
satire.  The  persons  themselves,  rather  than 
allow  the  objection,  would  forgive  the  satire ; 
and  if  one  could  be  tempted  to  afford  it  a seri- 
ous answer,  were  not  all  assassinates,  popular 
insurrections,  the  insolence  of  the  rabble  with- 
out doors,  and  of  domestics  within,  most  wrong- 
fully chastised,  if  the  meanness  of  offenders 
indemnified  them  from  punishment  ? On  the 
contrary,  obscurity  renders  them  more  danger- 
ous, as  less  thought  of  : law  can  pronounce 
judgment  only  on  open  facts ; morality  alone 
can  pass  censure  on  intentions  of  mischief ; so 
that  for  secret  calumny,  or  the  arrow  flying  in 
the  dark,  there  is  no  public  punishment  left 
but  what  a good  writer  inflicts. 

The  next  objection  is,  that  these  sort  of  au- 
thors are  poor.  That  might  be  pleaded  as  an 
excuse  at  the  Old  Bailey  for  lesser  crimes  than 
defamation  (for  it  is  the  case  of  almost  all  who 
are  tried  there),  but  sure  it  can  be  none  here  : 
for  who  will  pretend  that  the  robbing  another 
of  his  reputation  supplies  the  want  of  it  in 
himself  ? I question  not  but  such  authors  are 
poor,  and  heartily  wish  the  objection  were  re- 
moved by  any  honest  livelihood  ; but  poverty 
is  here  the  accident,  not  the  subject.  He  who 
describes  malice  and  villany  to  be  pale  and 


meagre,  expresses  not  the  least  anger  against 
paleness  or  leanness,  but  against  malice  and 
villany.  The  apothecary  in  Romeo  and  Juliet 
is  poor;  but  is  he  therefore  justified  in  vending 
poison  ? Not  but  poverty  itself  becomes  a just 
subject  of  satire,  when  it  is  the  consequence  of 
vice,  prodigality,  or  neglect  of  one’s  lawful 
calling  ; for  then  it  increases  the  public  burden, 
fills  the  streets  and  highways  with  robbers,  and 
the  garrets  with  clippers,  coiners,  and  weekly 
journalists. 

But  admitting  that  two  or  three  of  these 
offend  less  in  their  morals  than  in  their  writ- 
ings ; must  poverty  make  nonsense  sacred  ? If 
so,  the  fame  of  bad  authors  would  be  much 
better  consulted  than  that  of  all  the  good  ones 
in  the  world ; and  not  one  of  a hundred  had 
ever  been  called  by  his  right  name. 

They  mistake  the  whole  matter : it  is  not 
charity  to  encourage  them  in  the  way  they  fol- 
low, but  to  get  them  out  of  it ; for  men  are  not 
bunglers  because  they  are  poor,  but  they  are 
poor  because  they  are  bunglers. 

Is  it  not  pleasant  enough  to  hear  our  authors 
crying  out  on  the  one  hand,  as  if  their  persons 
and  characters  were  too  sacred  for  satire  ; and 
the  public  objecting,  on  the  other,  that  they  are 
too  mean  even  for  ridicule  ? But  whether 
bread  or  fame  be  their  end,  it  must  be  allowed, 
our  author,  by  and  in  this  poem,  has  mercifully 
given  them  a little  of  both. 

There  are  two  or  three  who,  by  their  rank 
and  fortune,  have  no  benefit  from  the  former 
objections,  supposing  them  good,  and  these  I 
was  sorry  to  see  in  such  company  : but  if,  with- 
out any  provocation,  two  or  three  gentlemen 
will  fall  upon  one.  in  an  affair  wherein  his  in- 
terest and  reputation  are  equally  embarked, 
they  cannot,  certainly,  after  they  have  been 
content  to  print  themselves  his  enemies,  com- 
plain of  being  put  into  the  number  of  them. 

Others,  I am  told,  pretend  to  have  been  once 
his  friends.  Surely  they  are  their  enemies  who 
say  so.  since  nothing  can  be  more,  odious  than 
to  treat  a friend  as  they  have  done.  But  of 
this  I cannot  persuade  myself,  when  I consider 
the  constant  and  eternal  aversion  of  all  bad 
writers  to  a good  one. 

Such  as  claim  a merit  from  being  his  admir- 
ers, I would  gladly  ask,  if  it  lays  him  under  a 
personal  obligation.  At  that  rate,  he  would  be 
the  most  obliged  humble  servant  in  the  world. 
I dare  swear  for  these  in  particular,  he  never 
desired  them  to  be  his  admirers,  nor  promised 
in  return  to  be  theirs  : that  had  truly  been  a 
sign  he  was  of  their  acquaintance ; but  would 
not  the  malicious  world  have  suspected  such 
an  approbation  of  some  motive  worse  than 
ignorance,  in  the  author  of  the  Essay  on  Crit- 
icism ? Be  it  as  it  will,  the  reasons  of  their 


THE  DUNCIAD 


223 


admiration  and  of  his  contempt  are  equally  sub- 
sisting-, for  his  works  and  theirs  are  the  very 
same  that  they  were. 

One,  therefore,  of  their  assertions  I believe 
may  be  true,  ‘ that  he  has  a contempt  for  their 
writings  : ’ and  there  is  another  which  would 
probably  be  sooner  allowed  by  himself  than 
by  any  good  judge  beside,  ‘ that  his  own  have 
found  too  much  success  with  the  public.’  But 
as  it  cannot  consist  with  his  modesty  to  claim 
this  as  a justice,  it  lies  not  on  him,  but  en- 
tirely on  the  public,  to  defend  its  own  judg- 
ment. 

There  remains,  what,  in  my  opinion,  might 
seem  a better  plea  for  these  people  than  any 
they  have  made  use  of : — If  obscurity  or  pov- 
erty were  to  exempt  a man  from  satire,  much 
more  should  folly  or  dulness,  which  are  still 
more  involuntary ; nay,  as  much  so  as  personal 
deformity.  But  even  this  will  not  help  them  : 
deformity  becomes  an  object  of  ridicule  when 
a man  sets  up  for  being  handsome ; and  so 
must  dulness,  when  he  sets  up  for  a wit.  They 
are  not  ridiculed  because  ridicule  in  itself  is,  or 
ought  to  be,  a pleasure  ; but  because  it  is  just 
to  undeceive  and  vindicate  the  honest  and  un- 
pretending part  of  mankind  from  imposition ; 
because  particular  interest  ought  to  yield  to 
general,  and  a great  number,  who  are  not  nat- 
urally fools,  ought  never  to  be  made  so,  in 
complaisance  to  those  who  are.  Accordingly 
we  find  that  in  all  ages  all  vain  pretenders, 
were  they  ever  so  poor,  or  ever  so  dull,  have 
been  constantly  the  topics  of  the  most  candid 
satirists,  from  the  Codr  us  of  Juvenal  to  the 
Damon  of  Boileau. 

Having  mentioned  Boileau,  the  greatest  poet 
and  most  judicious  critic  of  his  age  and  country, 
admirable  for  his  talents,  and  yet  perhaps  more 
admirable  for  his  judgment  in  the  proper  ap- 
plication of  them,  I cannot  help  remarking  the 
resemblance  betwixt  him  and  our  author,  in 
qualities,  fame,  and  fortune  ; in  the  distinctions 
shown  them  by  their  superiors,  in  the  general 
esteem  of  their  equals,  and  in  their  extended 
reputation  amongst  foreigners  ; in  the  latter  of 
which  ours  has  met  with  the  better 'fate,  as  he 
has  had  for  his  translators  persons  of  the  most 
eminent  rank  and  abilities  in  their  respective 

1 nations.1  But  the  resemblance  holds  in  no- 
thing more  than  in  their  being  equally  abused 

1 Essay  on  Criticism , in  French  verse,  by  General 

Hamilton  ; the  same,  in  verse  also,  by  Monsieur  Robo- 
ton,  counsellor  and  privy  secretary  to  King  George  I., 
after  by  the  Abb6  Resnel,  in  verse,  with  notes.  Rape 
j of  the  Lock , in  French,  by  the  Princess  of  Conti,  Paris, 
1728  ; and  in  Italian  verse  by  the  Abb£  Conti,  a noble 
Venetian;  and  by  the  Marquis  Rangoni,  envoy  extraor- 
dinary from  Modena  to  King  George  II.  Others  of 
his  works  by  Salvini  of  Florence,  &c.  His  Essays  and 
Dissertations  on  Homer , several  times  translated  into 
French.  Essay  on  Man , by  the  Abbd  Resnel,  in  verse, 


by  the  ignorant  pretenders  to  poetry  of  their 
times  ; of  which  not  the  least  memory  will  re- 
main but  in  their  own  writings,  and  in  the  notes 
made  upon  them.  What  Boileau  has  done  in 
almost  all  his  poems,  our  author  has  only  in 
this.  I dare  answer  for  him  he  will  do  it  in 
no  more ; and  on  this  principle,  of  attacking 
few  but  who  had  slandered  him,  he  could  not 
have  done  it  at  all,  had  he  been  confined  from 
censuring  obscure  and  worthless  persons  : for 
scarce  any  other  were  his  enemies.  However, 
as  the  parity  is  so  remarkable,  I hope  it  will 
continue  to  the  last ; and  if  ever  he  should  give 
us  an  edition  of  this  poem  himself,  I may  see 
some  of  them  treated  as  gently,  011  their  re- 
pentance or  better  merit,  as  Perrault  and  Qui- 
nault  were  at  last  by  Boileau. 

In  one  point  I must  be  allowed  to  think  the 
character  of  our  English  poet  the  more  ami- 
able ; he  has  not  been  a follower  of  fortune  or 
success  ; he  has  lived  with  the  great  without 
flattery  ; been  a friend  to  men  in  power  with- 
out pensions,  from  whom,  as  he  asked,  so  he 
received,  no  favour,  but  what  was  done  him  in 
his  friends.  As  his  satires  were  the  more  just 
for  being  delayed,  so  were  his  panegyrics ; be- 
stowed only  on  such  persons  as  he  had  famil- 
iarly known,  only  for  such  virtues  as  he  had 
long  observed  in  them,  and  only  at  such  times 
as  others  cease  to  praise,  if  not  begin  to  ca- 
lumniate them  — I mean  when  out  of  power, 
or  out  of  fashion.2  A satire,  therefore,  on 
writers  so  notorious  for  the  contrary  practice, 
became  no  man  so  well  as  himself ; as  none,  it 
is  plain,  was  so  little  in  their  friendships,  or  so 
much  in  that  of  those  whom  they  had  most 
abused ; namely,  the  greatest  and  best  of  all 
parties.  Let  me  add  a further  reason,  that 
though  engaged  in  their  friendships,  he  never 
espoused  their  animosities ; and  can  almost 
singly  challenge  this  honour,  not  to  have  writ- 
ten a line  of  any  man  which,  through  guilt, 
through  shame,  or  through  fear,  through  vari- 
ety of  fortune,  or  change  of  interests,  he  was 
ever  unwilling  to  own. 

1 shall  conclude  with  remarking,  what  a 
pleasure  it  must  be  to  every  reader  of  human- 
ity to  see  all  along  that  our  author,  in  his  very 
laughter,  is  not  indulging  his  own  ill  nature, 
but  only  punishing  that  of  others.  As  to  his 
poem,  those  alone  are  capable  of  doing  it  jus- 

by  Monsieur  Silhouette,  in  prose,  1737 ; and  since  by 
others  in  French,  Italian,  and  Latin. 

2 As  Mr.  Wycherley,  at  the  time  the  town  declaimed 
against  his  book  of  poems ; Mr.  Walsh,  after  his  death  ; 
Sir  William  Trumbull,  when  he  had  resigned  the  office 
of  Secretary  of  State ; Lord  Bolingbroke,  at  his  leaving 
England,  after  the  Queen's  death  ; Lord  Oxford,  in  his 
last  decline  of  life  ; Mr.  Secretary  Craggs,  at  the  end 
of  the  South-Sea  year,  and  after  his  death ; others  only 
in  Epitaphs. 


224 


THE  DUNCIAD 


tice  who,  to  use  the  words  of  a great  writer, 
know  how  hard  it  is  (with  regard  both  to  his 
subject  and  his  manner)  vetustis  dare  novitatem , 
obsoletis  nitorem,  obscuris  lucem , fastiditis  gra- 
tiam.  I am 

Your  most  humble  Servant, 

William  Cleland.1 

St.  James’s,  Dec.  22,  1728. 


ADVERTISEMENT  TO  THE  FIRST  EDITION 
WITH  NOTES,  QUARTO,  1729 

It  will  be  sufficient  to  say  of  this  edition,  that 
the  reader  has  here  a much  more  correct 
and  complete  copy  of  the  Dunciad  than  has 
hitherto  appeared.  I cannot  answer  but 
some  mistakes  may  have  slipt  into  it,  but  a 
vast  number  of  others  will  be  prevented  by 
the  names  being-  now  not  only  set  at  length, 
but  justified  by  the  authorities  and  reasons 
given.  I make  no  doubt  the  author’s  own 
motive  to  use  real  rather  than  feigned  names, 
was  his  care  to  preserve  the  innocent  from 
any  false  application  ; whereas,  in  the  former 
editions,  which  had  no  more  than  the  initial 
letters,  he  was  made,  by  keys  printed  here, 
to  hurt  the  inoffensive  ; and  (what  was  worse) 
to  abuse  his  friends,  by  an  impression  at 
Dublin. 

The  commentary  which  attends  this  poem  was 
sent  me  from  several  hands,  and  consequently 
must  be  unequally  written  ; yet  will  have  one 
advantage  over  most  commentaries,  that  it  is 
not  made  upon  conjectures,  or  at  a remote 
distance  of  time  : and  the  reader  cannot  but 
derive  one  pleasure  from  the  very  obscurity 
of  the  persons  it  treats  of,  that  it  partakes  of 
the  nature  of  a secret,  which  most  people 
love  to  be  let  into,  though  the  men  or  the 
things  be  ever  so  inconsiderable  or  trivial. 

Of  the  persons,  it  was  judged  proper  to  give 
some  account : for,  since  it  is  only  in  this  mon- 
ument that  they  must  expect  to  survive  (and 
here  survive  they  will,  as  long  as  the  English 
tongue  shall  remain  such  as  it  was  in  the 
reigns  of  Queen  Anne  and  King  George),  it 
seemed  but  humanity  to  bestow  a word  or  two 
upon  each,  just  to  tell  what  he  was,  what  he 
writ,  when  he  lived,  and  when  he  died. 

If  a word  or  two  more  are  added  upon  the 
chief  offenders,  it  is  only  as  a paper  pinned 
upon  the  breast  to  mark  the  enormities  for 
which  they  suffered ; lest  the  correction  only 

1 This  gentleman  was  of  Scotland,  and  bred  at  the 
University  of  Utrecht  with  the  Earl  of  Mar.  He  served 
in  Spain  under  Earl  Rivers.  After  the  peace,  lie  was 
made  one  of  the  commissioners  of  the  customs  in  Scot- 
land. and  then  of  taxes  in  England  ; in  which  having 
shown  himself  for  twenty  years  diligent,  punctual,  and 
incorruptible  (though  without  any  other  assistance  of 


should  be  remembered,  and  the  crime  forgot- 
ten. 1 

In  some  articles  it  was  thought  sufficient 
barely  to  transcribe  from  Jacob,  Curll,  and 
other  writers  of  their  own  rank,  who  were 
much  better  acquainted  with  them  than  any 
of  the  authors  of  this  comment  can  pretend  to 
be.  Most  of  them  had  drawn  each  other’s 
characters  on  certain  occasions ; but  the  few 
here  inserted  are  all  that  could  be  saved  from 
the  general  destruction  of  such  works. 

Of  the  part  of  Scriblerus  I need  say  nothing  : 
his  manner  is  well  enough  known,  and  ap- 
proved by  all  but  those  who  are  too  much  con- 
cerned to  be  judges. 

The  imitations  of  the  ancients  are  added,  to 
gratify  those  who  either  never  read,  or  may 
have  forgotten  them  ; together  with  some  of 
the  parodies  and  allusions  to  the  most  excel- 
lent of  the  moderns.  If,  from  the  frequency 
of  the  former,  any  man  think  the  poem  too 
much  a cento,  our  poet  will  but  appear  to  have 
done  the  same  thing  in  jest  which  Boileau  did 
in  earnest,  and  upon  w hich  Vida,  Fraeastorius, 
and  many  of  the  most  eminent  Latin  poets, 
professedly  valued  themselves. 


ADVERTISEMENT  TO  THE  FIRST  EDITION  OF 
THE  FOURTH  BOOK  OF  THE  DUNCIAD,  WHEN 
PRIM  TED  SEPARATELY  IN  THE  YEAR  1742 

We  apprehend  it  can  be  deemed  no  injury  to  the 
author  of  the  three  first  books  of  the  Dun- 
ciad that  we  publish  this  fourth.  It  was 
found  merely  by  accident,  in  taking  a survey 
of  the  library  of  a late  eminent  nobleman  ; 
but  in  so  blotted  a condition,  and  in  so  many 
detached  pieces,  as  plainly  showred  it  to  be 
not  only  incorrect,  but  unfinished.  That  the 
author  of  the  three  first  books  had  a design 
to  extend  and  complete  his  poem  in  this 
manner,  appears  from  the  dissertation  pre- 
fixed to  it,  where  it  is  said,  that  ‘ The  design 
is  more  extensive,  and  that,  we  may  expect 
other  episodes  to  complete  it ; ’ and,  from  the 
declaration  in  the  argument  to  the  third  book, 
that  * The  accomplishment  of  the  prophecies 
therein  would  be  the  theme  hereafter  of  a 
greater  Dunciad.’  But  w hether  or  no  he  be 
the  author  of  this,  we  declare  ourselves  ig- 
norant. If  he  be,  we  are  no  more  to  be 
blamed  for  the  publication  of  it,  than  Tucca 
and  Varius  for  that  of  the  last  six  books  of 

fortune),  he  was  suddenly  displaced  by  the  minister,  in 
the  sixty-eighth  year  of  his  age,  and  died  two  months 
after,  in  1741.  He  was  a person  of  universal  learning, 
and  an  enlarged  conversation  ; no  man  had  a warmer 
heart  for  his  friend,  ora  sincerer  attachment  to  the  con- 
stitution of  his  country  ; and  yet,  for  all  this,  the  publio 
would,  never  believe  him  to  be  the  author  of  this  Letter. 


THE  DUNCIAD 


225 


the  H5neid,  though,  perhaps,  inferior  to  the 
former. 

If  any  person  be  possessed  of  a more  perfect 
copy  of  this  work,  or  of  any  other  fragments 
of  it,  and  will  communicate  them  to  the  pub- 
lisher, we  shall  make  the  next  edition  more 
complete  : in  which  we  also  promise  to  insert 
any  criticisms  that,  shall  be  published  (if  at 
all  to  the  purpose),  with  the  names  of  the 
authors  ; or  any  letters  sent  us  (though  not 
to  the  purpose)  shall  yet  be  printed,  under 
the.  title  of  Epistolce  obscurorum  virorum ; 
which,  together  with  some  others  of  the 
same  kind,  formerly  laid  by  for  that  end, 
may  make  no  unpleasant  addition  to  the 
future  impressions  of  this  poem. 


ADVERTISEMENT  TO  THE  COMPLETE  EDITION 
OF  1743 

I have  long  had  a design  of  giving  some  sort 
of  notes  on  the  works  of  this  poet.  Before 
I had  the  happiness  of  his  acquaintance,  I 
had  written  a commentary  on  his  Essay  on 
Man,  and  have  since  finished  another  on  the 
Essay  on  Criticism.  There  was  one  already 
on  the  Dunciad,  which  had  met  with  general 
approbation  ; but  I still  thought  some  addi- 
tions were  wanting  (of  a more  serious  kind) 
to  the  humorous  notes  of  Scriblerus,  and  even 
to  those  written  by  Mr.  Cleland,  Dr.  Ar- 
buthnot,  and  others.  I had  lately  the  plea- 
sure to  pass  some  months  with  the  author  in 
the  country,  where  I prevailed  upon  him  to 
do  what  I had  long  desired,  and  favour  me 
with  his  explanation  of  several  passages  in 
his  works.  It  happened,  that  just  at  that 
juncture  was  published  a ridiculous  book 
against  him,  full  of  personal  reflections, 
which  furnished  him  with  a lucky  opportun- 
ity of  improving  this  poem,  by  giving  it  the 
only  thing  it  wanted,  a more  considerable 
hero.  He  was  always  sensible  of  its  defect 
in  that  particular,  and  owned  he  had  let  it 
pass  with  the  hero  it  had,  purely  for  want 
of  a better,  not  entertaining  the  least  expec- 
tation that  such  a one  was  reserved  for  this 
post  as  has  since  obtained  the  laurel  : but 
since  that  had  happened,  he  could  no  longer 
deny  this  justice  either  to  him  or  the  Dun- 
ciad. 

And  yet  I will  venture  to  say,  there  was  an- 
other motive  which  had  still  more  weight 
with  our  author : this  person  was  one  who, 
from  every  folly  (not  to  say  vice)  of  which 
another  would  be  ashamed,  has  constantly 
derived  a vanity  ; and  therefore  was  the  man 
in  the  world  who  would  least  be  hurt  bv  it. 

W.  W. 


BY  AUTHORITY 

By  virtue  of  the  Authority  in  us  vested  by 
the  Act  for  subjecting  Poets  to  the  power  of  a 
Licenser,  we  have  revised  this  Piece ; where 
finding  the  style  and  appellation  of  King  to 
have  been  given  to  a certain  Pretender , Pseudo- 
poet,  or  Phantom,  of  the  name  of  Tibbald  ; 
and  apprehending  the  same  may  be  deemed  in 
some  sort  a reflection  on  Majesty,  or  at  least  an 
insult  on  that  Legal  Authority  which  has  be- 
stowed  on  another  person  the  Crown  of  Poesy : 
we  have  ordered  the  said  Pretender,  Pseudo- 
poet, or  Phantom,  utterly  to  vanish  and  evapo- 
rate out  of  this  work  ; and  do  declare  the  said 
Throne  of  Poesy  from  henceforth  to  be  abdi- 
cated and  vacant,  unless  duly  and  lawfully 
supplied  by  the  Laureate  himself.  And  it 
is  hereby  enacted  that  no  other  person  do  pre- 
sume to  fill  the  same. 

X.  Ch. 

THE  DUNCIAD 

TO  DR.  JONATHAN  SWIFT 
BOOK  I 
argument 

The  Proposition,  the  Invocation,  and  the  In- 
scription. Then  the  original  of  the  great 
Empire  of  Dulness,  and  cause  of  the  con- 
tinuance thereof.  The  College  of  the  God- 
dess in  the  city,  with  her  private  academy 
for  Poets  in  particular ; the  Governors  of  it, 
and  the  four  Cardinal  Virtues.  Then  the 
poem  hastes  into  the  midst  of  things,  pre- 
senting her,  on  the  evening  of  a Lord  Mayor’s 
day,  revolving  the  long  succession  of'  her 
sons,  and  the  glories  past  and  to  come.  She 
fixes  her  eye  on  Bayes,  to  be  the  Instrument 
of  that  great  event  which  is  the  Subject  of 
the  poem.  He  is  described  pensive  among 
his  books,  giving  up  the  Cause,  and  appre- 
hending the  Period  of  her  Empire.  After 
debating  whether  to  betake  himself  to  the 
Church,  or  to  Gaming,  or  to  Party-writing, 
he  raises  an  altar  of  proper  books,  and  (mak> 
ing  first  his  solemn  prayer  and  declaration) 
purposes  thereon  to  sacrifice  all  his  unsuc- 
cessful writings. . As  the  pile  is  kindled,  the 
Goddess,  beholding  the  flame  from  her  seat, 
flies  and  puts  it  out,  by  casting  upon  it  the 
poem  of  Thuld.  She  forthwith  reveals  her- 
self to  him,  transports  him  to  her  Temple, 
unfolds  her  Arts,  and  initiates  him  into  her 
Mysteries ; then  announcing  the  death  of 
Eusden,  the  Poet  Laureate,  anoints  him, 
carries  him  to  Court,  and  proclaims  him 
Successor. 


226 


THE  DUNCIAD 


The  Mighty  Mother,  and  her  son  who 
brings 

The  Smithfield  Muses  to  the  ear  of  Kings, 

I sing.  Say  you,  her  instruments  the 
great ! 

Call’d  to  this  work  by  Dulness,  Jove,  and 
Fate; 

You  by  whose  care,  in  vain  decried  and 
curst, 

Still  Dunce  the  second  reigns  like  Dunce 
the  first; 

Say  how  the  Goddess  bade  Britannia  sleep, 
And  pour’d  her  Spirit,  o’er  the  land  and 
deep. 

In  eldest  time,  ere  mortals  writ  or  read, 
Ere  Pallas  issued  from  the  Thund’rer’s 
head,  io 

Dulness  o’er  all  possess’d  her  ancient  right, 
Daughter  of  Chaos  and  eternal  Night: 

Fate  in  their  dotage  this  fair  idiot  gave, 
Gross  as  her  sire,  and  as  her  mother  grave; 
Laborious,  heavy,  busy,  bold,  and  blind, 

She  ruled,  in  native  anarchy,  the  mind. 

Still  her  old  empire  to  restore  she  tries, 
For,  born  a Goddess,  Dulness  never  dies. 

O thou!  whatever  title  please  thine  ear, 
Dean,  Drapier,  Bickerstaff,  or  Gulliver!  20 
Whether  thou  choose  Cervantes’  serious 
air, 

Or  laugh  and  shake  in  Rabelais’  easy  chair, 
Or  praise  the  Court,  or  magnify  Mankind, 
Or  thy  griev’d  country’s  copper  chains 
unbind; 

From  thy  Bceotia  tho’  her  power  retires, 
Mourn  not,  my  Swift!  at  aught  our  realm 
requires. 

Here  pleas’d  behold  her  mighty  wings  out- 
spread 

To  hatch  a new  Saturnian  age  of  Lead. 

Close  to  those  walls  where  Folly  holds 
her  throne, 

And  laughs  to  think  Monroe  would  take 
her  down,  30 

Where  o’er  the  gates,  by  his  famed  father’s 
hand, 

Great  Cibber’s  brazen,  brainless  brothers 
stand ; 

One  cell  there  is,  conceal’d  from  vulgar  eye, 
The  cave  of  Poverty  and  Poetry: 

Keen  hollow  winds  howl  thro’  the  bleak  re- 
cess, 

Emblem  of  Music  caus’d  by  Emptiness: 
Hence  bards,  like  Proteus  long  in  vain  tied 
down, 

Escape  in  monsters,  and  amaze  the  town; 


Hence  Miscellanies  spring,  the  weekly  boast 
Of  Curll’s  chaste  press,  and  Lintot’s  rubric 
post;  40 

Hence  hymning  Tyburn’s  elegiac  lines; 
Hence  Journals,  Medleys,  Merceries,  Maga- 
zines; 

Sepulchral  Lies,  our  holy  walls  to  grace, 
And  new-year  Odes,  and  all  the  Grub- 
street  race. 

In  clouded  majesty  here  Dulness  shone, 
Four  guardian  Virtues,  round,  support  her 
throne: 

Fierce  champion  Fortitude,  that  knows  no 
fears 

Of  hisses,  blows,  or  want,  or  loss  of  ears: 
Calm  Temperance,  whose  blessings  those 
partake, 

Who  hunger  and  who  thirst  for  scribbling 
sake : 50 

Prudence,  whose  glass  presents  th’  ap- 
proaching jail: 

Poetic  Justice,  with  her  lifted  scale, 

Where,  in  nice  balance,  truth  with  gold  she 
weighs, 

And  solid  pudding  against  empty  praise. 

Here  she  beholds  the  Chaos  dark  and 
deep, 

Where  nameless  somethings  in  their  causes 
sleep, 

Till  genial  Jacob,  or  a warm  third  day, 

Call  forth  each  mass,  a Poem  or  a Play  : 
How  hints,  like  spawn,  scarce  quick  in  em- 
bryo lie, 

How  new-born  nonsense  first  is  taught  to 
cry,  60 

Maggots,  half-form’d,  in  rhyme  exactly 
meet, 

And  learn  to  crawl  upon  poetic  feet. 

Here  one  poor  word  a hundred  clenches 
makes, 

And  ductile  Dulness  new  meanders  takes; 
There  motley  images  her  fancy  strike, 
Figures  ill  pair’d,  and  Similes  unlike. 

She  sees  a Mob  of  Metaphors  advance, 
Pleas’d  with  the  madness  of  the  mazy 
dance; 

How  Tragedy  and  Comedy  embrace; 

How  Farce  and  Epic  get  a jumbled  race;  70 
How  Time  himself  stands  still  at  her  com- 
mand, 

Realms  shift  their  place,  and  Ocean  turns 
to  land. 

Here  gay  description  Egypt  glads  with 
showers, 

Or  gives  to  Zembla  fruits,  to  Barca  flowers; 


THE  DUNCIAD 


227 


Glitt’ring  with  ice  here  hoary  hills  are  seen, 
There  painted  valleys  of  eternal  green; 

In  cold  December  fragrant  chaplets  blow, 
And  heavy  harvests  nod  beneath  the  snow. 

All  these,  and  more,  the  cloud-compell- 
ing Queen  79 

Beholds  thro’  fogs  that  magnify  the  scene. 
She,  tinsel’d  o’er  in  robes  of  varying  hues, 
With  self-applause  her  wild  creation  views; 
Sees  momentary  monsters  rise  and  fall, 
And  with  her  own  fools-colours  gilds  them 
all. 

’T  was  on  the  day  when  Thorold,  rich 
and  grave, 

Like  Cimon,  triumph’d  both  on  land  and 
wave 

(Pomps  without  guilt,  of  bloodless  swords 
and  maces, 

Glad  chains,  warm  furs,  broad  banners,  and 
broad  faces): 

Now  Night  descending,  the  proud  scene 
was  o’er, 

But  lived  in  Settle’s  numbers  one  day  more. 
Now  Mayors  and  Shrieves  all  hush’d  and 
satiate  lay,  9I 

Yet  eat,  in  dreams,  the  custard  of  the  day; 
While  pensive  Poets  painful  vigils  keep, 
Sleepless  themselves  to  give  their  readers 
sleep. 

Much  to  the  mindful  Queen  the  feast  re- 
calls 

What  city  swans  once  sung  within  the 
walls; 

Much  she  revolves  their  arts,  their  ancient 
praise, 

And  sure  succession  down  from  Heywood’s 
days. 

She  saw  with  joy  the  line  immortal  run, 
Each  sire  imprest  and  glaring  in  his  son.  100 
So  watchful  Bruin  forms,  with  plastic  care, 
Each  growing  lump,  and  brings  it  to  a 
bear. 

She  saw  old  Prynne  in  restless  Daniel 
shine, 

And  Eusden  eke  out  Blackmore’s  endless 
line; 

She  saw  slow  Philips  creep  like  Tate’s  poor 
page, 

And  all  the  mighty  mad  in  Dennis  rage. 

In  each  she  marks  her  image  full  exprest, 
But  chief  in  Bayes’s  monster-breeding 
breast; 

Bayes,  form’d  by  nature  stage  and  town  to 
bless,  109 

And  act,  and  be,  a coxcomb  with  success; 


Dulness  with  transport  eyes  the  lively 
dunce, 

Rememb’ring  she  herself  was  Pertness 
once. 

Now  (shame  to  Fortune  !)  an  ill  run  at  play 
Blank’d  his  bold  visage,  and  a thin  third 
day  : 

Swearing  and  supperless  the  hero  sate, 
Blasphemed  his  gods  the  dice,  and  damn’d 
his  fate; 

Then  gnaw’d  his  pen,  then  dash’d  it  on  the 
ground, 

Sinking  from  thought  to  thought,  a vast 
profound  ! 

Plunged  for  his  sense,  but  found  no  bottom 
there, 

Yet  wrote  and  flounder’d  on  in  mere  de- 
spair. I20 

Round  him  much  Embryo,  much  Abortion 
Hy, 

Much  future  Ode,  and  abdicated  Play; 
Nonsense  precipitate,  like  running  lead, 
That  slipp’d  thro’  cracks  and  zigzags  of 
the  head; 

All  that  on  folly  frenzy  could  beget, 

Fruits  of  dull  heat,  and  Sooterkins  of  wit. 
Next  o’er  his  books  his  eyes  began  to  roll, 
In  pleasing  memory  of  all  he  stole; 

How  here  he  sipp’d,  how  there  he  plunder’d 
snug,  I29 

And  suck’d  all  o’er  like  an  industrious  bug. 
Here  lay  poor  Fletcher’s  half-eat  scenes, 
and  here 

The  frippery  of  crucified  Moli&re; 

There  hapless  Shakspeare,  yet  of  Tibbald 
sore, 

W ish’d  he  had  blotted  for  himself  before. 
The  rest  on  outside  merit  but  presume, 

Or  serve  (like  other  fools)  to  fill  a room; 
Such  with  their  shelves  as  due  proportion 
hold, 

Or  their  fond  parents  dress’d  in  red  and 
gold; 

Or  where  the  pictures  for  the  page  atone, 
And  Quarles  is  saved  by  beauties  not  his 
own.  I40 

Here  swells  the  shelf  with  Ogilby  the  great; 
There,  stamp’d  with  arms,  Newcastle  shines 
complete: 

Here  all  his  suff’ring  brotherhood  retire, 
And  ’scape  the  martyrdom  of  jakes  and 
fire: 

A Gothic  library!  of  Greece  and  Rome 
Well  purged,  and  worthy  Settle,  Banks, 
and  Broome. 


228 


THE  DUNCIAD 


But,  high  above,  more  solid  Learning 
shone, 

The  classics  of  an  age  that  heard  of  none; 
There  Caxton  slept,  with  Wynkyn  at  his 
side, 

One  clasp’d  in  wood,  and  one  in  strong 
cow-hide;  150 

There,  saved  by  spice,  like  mummies,  many 
a year, 

Dry  bodies  of  Divinity  appear: 

De  Lyra  there  a dreadful  front  extends, 
And  here  the  groaning  shelves  Philemon 
bends. 

Of  these,  twelve  volumes,  twelve  of  am- 
plest size, 

Redeem’d  from  tapers  and  defrauded  pies, 
Inspired  he  seizes:  these  an  altar  raise; 

A hecatomb  of  pure  unsullied  lays 
That  altar  crowns;  a folio  Commonplace 
Founds  the  whole  pile,  of  all  his  works  the 
base:  160 

Quartos,  octavos,  shape  the  less’ning  pyre, 
A twisted  Birth-day  Ode  completes  the 
spire. 

Then  he:  ‘ Great  tamer  of  all  human  art! 
First  in  my  care,  and  ever  at  my  heart; 
Dulness!  whose  good  old  cause  I yet  defend, 
With  whom  my  Muse  began,  with  whom 
shall  end, 

E’er  since  Sir  Fopling’s  periwig  was  praise, 
To  the  last  honours  of  the  Butt  and  Bays: 
O thou!  of  bus’ness  the  directing  soul 
To  this  our  head,  like  bias  to  the  bowl,  170 
Which,  as  more  pond’rous,  made  its  aim 
more  true, 

Obliquely  waddling  to  the  mark  in  view: 
Oh!  ever  gracious  to  perplex’d  mankind, 
Still  spread  a healing  mist  before  the  mind ; 
And,  lest  we  err  by  Wit’s  wild  dancing 
light. 

Secure  us  kindly  in  our  native  night. 

Or,  if  to  Wit  a coxcomb  make  pretence, 
Guard  the  sure  barrier  between  that  and 
Sense ; 

Or  quite  unravel  all  the  reas’ning  thread, 
And  hang  some  curious  cobweb  in  its  stead! 
As,  forced  from  wind-guns,  lead  itself  can 
flv,  > i8t 

And  pond’rous  slugs  cut  swiftly  thro’  the 
sky ; 

As  clocks  to  weight  their  nimble  motion 
owe, 

The  wheels  above  urged  by  the  load  below; 
Me  Emptiness  and  Dulness  could  inspire, 
And  were  my  elasticity  and  fire. 


Some  Daemoti  stole  my  pen  (forgive  til’ 
offence), 

And  once  betray’d  me  into  common  sense: 
Else  all  my  prose  and  verse  were  much  the 
same;  189 

This  prose  on  stilts,  that  poetry  fall’11  lame. 
Did  on  the  stage  my  fops  appear  confin’d  ? 
My  life  gave  ampler  lessons  to  mankind. 
Did  the  dead  letter  unsuccessful  prove  ? 
The  brisk  example  never  fail’d  to  move. 

Yet  sure,  had  Heav’n  decreed  to  save  the 
state, 

Heav’n  had  decreed  these  works  a longer 
date. 

Could  Troy  be  saved  by  any  single  hand, 
This  gray-goose  weapon  must  have  made 
her  stand. 

What  can  I now  ? my  Fletcher  cast  aside, 
Take  up  the  Bible,  once  my  better  guide  ? 
Or  tread  the  path  by  venturous  heroes 
trod,  201 

This  box  my  Thunder,  this  right  hand  my 
God? 

Or  chair’d  at  White’s,  amidst  the  doctors 
sit, 

Teach  oaths  to  Gamesters,  and  to  Nobles 
Wit? 

O bidd’st  thou  rather  Party  to  embrace  ? 
(A  friend  to  party  thou,  and  all  her  race; 

’T  is  the  same  rope  at  different  ends  they 
twist; 

To  Dulness  Ridpath  is  as  dear  as  Mist;) 
Shall  I,  like  Curtius,  desp’rate  in  my  zeal, 
O’er  head  and  ears  plunge  for  the  Com- 
monweal ? 210 

Or  rob  Rome’s  ancient  geese  of  all  their 
glories, 

And  cackling  save  the  monarchy  of  Tories  ? 
Hold  — to  the  Minister  I more  incline; 

To  serve  his  cause,  O Queen!  is  serving 
thine. 

And  see!  thy  very  Gazetteers  give  o’er, 
Ev’11  Ralph  repents,  and  Henley  writes  no 
more. 

What  then  remains  ? Ourself.  Still,  still 
remain 

Cibberian  forehead,  and  Cibberian  brain; 
This  brazen  brightness  to  the  ’Squire  so 
dear; 

This  polish’d  hardness  that  reflects  the 
Peer;  220 

This  arch  absurd,  that  wit  and  fool  de- 
lights ; 

This  mess,  toss’d  up  of  Hockley-hole  and 
White’s; 


THE  DUNCIAD 


Where  dukes  and  butchers  join  to  wreathe 
my  crown, 

At  once  the  Bear  and  fiddle  of  the  town. 

‘ O born  in  sin,  and  forth  in  folly  brought! 
Works  damn’d  or  to  be  damn’d  (your  fa- 
ther’s fault)! 

Go,  purified  by  flames,  ascend  the  sky, 

My  better  and  more  Christian  progeny! 
Unstain’d,  untouch’d,  and  yet  in  maiden 
sheets, 

While  all  your  smutty  sisters  walk  the 
streets.  230 

Ye  shall  not  beg,  like  gratis-given  Bland, 
Sent  with  a pass  and  vagrant  thro’  the 
land ; 

Not  sail  with  Ward  to  ape-and-monkey 
climes, 

W here  vile  Mundungus  trucks  for  viler 
rhymes; 

Not  sulphur-tipt,  emblaze  an  alehouse  fire! 
Not  wrap  up  oranges  to  pelt  your  sire! 

0!  pass  more  innocent,  in  infant  state, 

To  the  mild  limbo  of  our  Father  Tate: 

Or  peaceably  forgot,  at  once  be  blest 
In  Shadwell’s  bosom  with  eternal  rest!  240 
Soon  to  that  mass  of  nonsense  to  return, 
Where  things  destroy’d  are  swept  to  things 
unborn.’ 

With  that,  a tear  (portentous  sign  of 
grace!) 

Stole  from  the  master  of  the  sev’nfold 
face; 

And  thrice  he  lifted  high  the  Birthday 
brand, 

And  thrice  he  dropt  it  from  his  quiv’ring 
hand ; 

Then  lights  the  structure  with  averted 
eyes: 

The  rolling  smoke  involves  the  sacrifice. 

The  opening  clouds  disclose  each  work  by 
turns, 

Now  flames  the  Cid,  and  now  Perolla 

bunis5  250 

jreat  Caesar  roars  and  hisses  in  the  fires; 
King  John  in  silence  modestly  expires: 

No  merit  now  the  dear  Nonjuror  claims, 
VIoliere’s  old  stubble  in  a moment  flames. 
Tears  gush’d  again,  as  from  pale  Priam’s 
eyes, 

iVhen  the  last  blaze  sent  Ilion  to  the 
skies. 

Rous’d  by  the  light,  old  Dulness  heav’d 
U the  head, 

Then  snatch’d  a sheet  of  Thuld  from  her 
bed; 


Sudden  she  flies,  and  whelms  it  o’er  the 
pyre: 

Down  sink  the  flames,  and  with  a hiss 
expire.  z6c 

Her  ample  presence  fills  up  all  the 
place ; 

A veil  of  fogs  dilates  her  awful  face: 

Great  in  her  charms!  as  when  on  Shrieves 
and  Mayors 

She  looks,  and  breathes  herself  into  their 
airs. 

She  bids  him  wait  her  to  her  sacred  dome: 
Well  pleas’d  he  enter’d,  and  confess’d  his 
home. 

So  spirits  ending  their  terrestrial  race 
Ascend,  and  recognize  their  Native  Place. 
This  the  Great  Mother  dearer  held  than 
all 

The  clubs  of  Quidnuncs,  or  her  own  Guild- 
hall: 

Here  stood  her  opium,  here  she  nursed  her 
owls, 

And  here  she  plann’d  th’  imperial  seat  of 
Fools. 

Here  to  her  chosen  all  her  works  she 
shows, 

Prose  swell’d  to  verse,  verse  loit’ring  into 
prose: 

How  random  thoughts  now  meaning  chance 
to  find, 

Now  leave  all  memory  of  sense  behind: 

How  Prologues  into  Prefaces  decay, 

And  these  to  Notes  are  fritter’d  quite 
away: 

How  index-learning  turns  no  student  pale, 
Yet  holds  the  eel  of  science  by  the  tail: 

How,  with  less  reading  than  makes  felons 
scape,  2gl 

Less  human  genius  than  God  gives  an  ape, 
Small  thanks  to  France,  and  none  to  Rome 
or  Greece, 

A past,  vamp’d  future,  old  revived,  new 
piece, 

’Twixt  Plautus,  Fletcher,  Shakspeare,  and 
Corneille, 

Can  make  a Cibber,  Tibbald,  or  Ozell. 

The  Goddess  then  o’er  his  anointed  head, 
With  mystic  words,  the  sacred  opium  shed. 
And  lo!  her  bird  (a  monster  of  a fowl, 
Something  betwixt  a heideggre  and  an 

_ , owl)  290 

Perch  d on  Ins  crown:  — ‘All  hail!  and 
hail  again, 

My  son!  the  promised  land  expects  thy 
1 reign. 


THE  DUNCIAD 


230 


Know  Eusden  thirsts  no  more  for  sack  or 
praise ; 

He  sleeps  among  the  dull  of  ancient  days ; 

Safe  where  no  critics  damn,  no  duns 
molest, 

Where  wretched  Withers,  Ward,  and  Gil- 
don  rest, 

And  high-born  Howard,  more  majestic 
sire, 

With  fool  of  quality  completes  the  quire. 

Thou,  Cibber  ! thou  his  laurel  shalt  sup- 
port; 299 

Folly,  my  son,  has  still  a Friend  at  Court. 

Lift  up  your  gates,  ye  princes,  see  him 
come! 

Sound,  sound  ye  viols,  be  the  cat-call 
dumb! 

Bring,  bring  the  madding  Bay,  the  drunken 
Vine, 

The  creeping,  dirty,  courtly  Ivy  join. 

And  thou ! his  Aicl-de-camp,  lead  on  my 
sons, 

Light-arm ’d  with  Points,  Antitheses,  and 
Puns. 

Let  Bawdry,  Billingsgate,  my  daughters 
dear, 

Support  his  front,  and  Oaths  bring  up  the 
rear: 

And  under  his,  and  under  Archer’s  wing, 

Gaming  and  Grub-street  skulk  behind  the 
King.  31° 

* Oh ! when  shall  rise  a monarch  all  our 
own, 

And  I,  a nursing  mother,  rock  the  throne; 

’Twixt  Prince  and  People  close  the  curtain 
draw, 

Shade  him  from  light,  and  cover  him  from 
law; 

Fatten  the  Courtier,  starve  the  learned 
band, 

And  suckle  Armies,  and  dry-nurse  the 
land ; 

Till  Senates  nod  to  lullabies  divine, 

And  all  be  sleep,  as  at  an  Ode  of  thine  ? ’ 
She  ceas’d.  Then  swells  the  Chapel- 
royal  throat; 

‘ God  save  King  Cibber  ! ’ mounts  in  every 
note.  320 

Familiar  White’s,  ‘God  save  King  Colley!  ’ 
cries, 

‘God  save  King  Colley!’  Drury-lane  re- 
plies. 

To  Needham’s  quick  the  voice  triumphant 
rode, 

But  pious  Needham  dropt  the  name  of  God; 


Back  to  the  Devil  the  last  echoes  roll, 

And  ‘ Coll  ! ’ each  butcher  roars  at  Hock- 
ley-hole. 

So  when  Jove’s  block  descended  from  on 
high 

(As  sings  thy  great  forefather  Ogilby), 

Loud  thunder  to  its  bottom  shook  the 
bog, 

And  the  hoarse  nation  croak’d,  ‘ God  save 
King  Log  ! ’ 330 

BOOK  II 

ARGUMENT 

The  King  being  proclaimed,  the  solemnity  is 
graced  with  public  games  and  sports  of  vari- 
ous kinds ; not  instituted  by  the  Hero,  as  by 
HSneas  in  Virgil,  but  for  greater  honour  by 
the  Goddess  in  person  (in  like  manner  as  the 
games  Pythia,  Isthmia,  ttec.  were  anciently; 
said  to  be  ordained  by  tbe  Gods,  and  as  The- 
tis herself  appearing,  according  to  Homer, 
Odyssey  xxiv.  proposed  the  prizes  in  honour 
of  her  son  Achilles).  Hither  flock  the  Poets 
and  Critics,  attended,  as  is  but  just,  with 
their  Patrons  and  Booksellers.  The  Goddess 
is  first  pleased,  for  her  disport,  to  propose 
games  to  the  Booksellers,  and  setteth  up  the 
phantom  of  a Poet,  which  they  contend  to 
overtake.  The  Races  described,  with  their 
divers  accidents.  Next,  the  game  for  a 
Poetess.  Then  follow  the  exercises  for  the 
Poets,  of  tickling,  vociferating,  diving ; the 
first  holds  forth  the  arts  and  practices  of 
Dedicators,  the  second  of  Disputants  and 
fustian  Poets,  the  third  of  profound,  dark, 
and  dirty  Party-writers.  Lastly,  for  the 
Critics  the  Goddess  proposes  (with  great  pro- 
priety) an  exercise,  not  of  their  parts,  but 
their  patience,  in  hearing  the  works  of  two 
voluminous  authors,  the  one  in  verse  and  the 
other  in  prose,  deliberately  read,  without 
sleeping ; the  various  effects  of  which,  with 
the  several  degrees  and  manners  of  their  op- 
eration, are  here  set  forth,  till  the  whole 
number,  not  of  Critics  only,  but  of  specta- 
tors, actors,  and  all  present,  fall  fast  asleep; 
which  naturally  and  necessarily  ends  the 
games. 

High  on  a gorgeous  seat,  that  far  out- 
shone 

Henley’s  gilt  tub  or  Fleckno’s  Irish  throne, 

Or  that  whereon  her  Curlls  the  public 
pours, 

All  bounteous,  fragrant  grains  and  golden 
showers, 


THE  DUNCIAD 


2 3 


Great  Cibber  sate;  the  proud  Parnassian 
sneer, 

The  conscious  simper,  and  the  jealous  leer, 
Mix  on  his  look:  all  eyes  direct  their 
rays 

On  him,  and  crowds  turn  coxcombs  as  they 
gaze. 

His  peers  shine  round  him  with  reflected 
grace, 

New-edge  their  dulness,  and  new-bronze 
their  face.  IO 

So  from  the  sun’s  broad  beam,  in  shallow 
urns, 

HeavVs  twinkling  sparks  draw  light,  and 
point  their  horns. 

Not  with  more  glee,  by  hands  pontific 
crown’d, 

With  scarlet  hats  wide  - waving  circled 
round, 

Rome,  in  her  capitol  saw  Querno  sit, 
Throned  on  sev’n  hills,  the  Antichrist  of 
wit. 

And  now  the  Queen,  to  glad  her  sons, 
proclaims 

By  herald  hawkers,  high  heroic  games. 

They  summon  all  her  race:  an  endless 
band 

Pours  forth,  and  leaves  unpeopled  half  the 

A A,Iand;. 

A motley  mixture!  in  long  wigs,  in  bags, 

In  silks,  in  crapes,  in  Garters,  and  in  Rags, 
From  drawing  rooms,  from  colleges,  from 
garrets, 

On  horse,  on  foot,  in  hacks,  and  gilded 
chariots; 

^.11  who  true  Dunces  in  her  cause  appear’d, 
And  all  who  knew  those  Dunces  to  reward. 
Amid  that  area  wide  they  took  their 
stand, 

Where  the  tall  Maypole  once  o’erlook’d  the 
Strand, 

3ut  now  (so  Anne  and  Piety  ordain) 

A Church  collects  the  saints  of  Drury-lane. 
With  Authors,  Stationers  obey’d  the 
call  3I 

'The  field  of  glory  is  a field  for  all) ; 
llory  and  gain  th’  industrious  tribe  pro- 
voke, 

i.nd  gentle  Dulness  ever  loves  a joke, 
i poet  s form  she  placed  before  their  eyes, 
aid  bade  the  nimblest  racer  seize  the 
prize; 

To  meagre,  Muse-rid  Mope,  adust  and 
thin, 

a a dun  nightgown  of  his  own  loose  skin, 


But  such  a bulk  as  no  twelve  bards  could 
raise, 

Twelve  starveling  bards  of  these  degen’rate 

days-  4o 

All  as  a partridge  plump,  full  fed  and  fair, 
She  form’d  this  image  of  well-bodied  air; 
With  pert  flat  eyes  she  window’d  well  its 
head, 

A brain  of  Feathers,  and  a heart  of  Lead; 
And  empty  words  she  gave,  and  sounding 
strain, 

But  senseless,  lifeless!  idol  void  and  vain! 
Never  was  dash’d  out,  at  one  lucky  hit, 

A Fool  so  just  a copy  of  a Wit; 

So  like,  that  Critics  said,  and  Courtiers 
swore, 

A Wit  it  was,  and  call’d  the  phantom 
Moore.  so 

All  gaze  with  ardour:  some  a poet’s 
name, 

Others  a swordknot  and  laced  suit  inflame. 
But  lofty  Lintot  in  the  circle  rose: 

‘This  prize  is  mine,  who  tempt  it  are  my 
foes; 

With  me  began  this  genius,  and  shall  end.’ 
He  spoke;  and  who  with  Lintot  shall  con- 
tend ? 

Fear  held  them  mute.  Alone  untaught 
to  fear, 

Stood  dauntless  Curll:  ‘Behold  that  rival 
here ! 

The  race  by  vigour,  not  by  vaunts,  is  won; 
So  take  the  hindmost,  Hell,’  he  said,  and 
run.  6o 

Swift  as  a bard  the  bailiff  leaves  behind, 

He  left  huge  Lintot,  and  outstript  the  wind. 
As  when  a dabchick  waddles  thro’  the 
copse 

On  feet  and  wings,  and  flies,  and  wades, 
and  hops; 

So  lab’ring  on,  with  shoulders,  hands,  and 
head, 

Wide  as  a windmill  all  his  figure  spread, 
With  arms  expanded  Bernard  rows  his  state, 
And  left-legg’d  Jacob  seems  to  emulate. 

Full  in  the  middle  way  there  stood  a lake, 
Which  Curll’s  Corinna  chanced  that  morn 
to  make  ?Q 

(Such  was  her  wont,  at  earlv  dawn  to  drop 
Her  ev’ning  cates  before  his  neighbour’s 
shop) : 

Here  fortuned  Curll  to  slide;  loud  shout 
the  band, 

And  ‘Bernard!  Bernard!’  rings  thro’  all 
the  Strand. 


232 


THE  DUNCIAD 


Obscene  witli  filth  the  miscreant  lies  be- 
wray’d, 

Fall’n  in  the  plash  his  wickedness  had  laid: 
Then  first  (if  Poets  aught  of  truth  declare) 
The  caitiff  Vaticide  conceiv’d  a prayer. 

‘ Hear,  Jove!  whose  name  my  bards  and 
I adore, 

As  much  at  least  as  any  God’s,  or  more;  80 
And  him  and  his,  if  more  devotion  warms, 
Down  with  the  Bible,  up  with  the  Pope’s 
Arms.’ 

A place  there  is  betwixt  earth,  air,  and 
seas, 

Where,  from  ambrosia,  Jove  retires  for 
ease. 

There  in  his  seat  two  spacious  vents  ap- 
pear, 

On  this  he  sits,  to  that  he  leans  his  ear, 

And  hears  the  various  vow's  of  fond  Man- 
kind ; 

Some  beg  an  eastern,  some  a western  wind: 
All  vain  petitions,  mounting  to  the  sky, 
With  reams  abundant  this  abode  supply:  9o 
Amused  he  reads,  and  then  returns  the  bills, 
Sign’d  with  that  ichor  which  from  Gods 
distils. 

In  office  here  fair  Cloacina  stands, 

And  ministers  to  Jove  with  purest  hands. 
Forth  from  the  heap  she  pick’d  her  vot’ry’s 
prayer, 

And  placed  it  next  him,  a distinction  rare! 
Oft  had  the  Goddess  heard  her  servant’s 
call, 

From  her  black  grottos  near  the  temple 
wall, 

List’ning  delighted  to  the  jest  unclean 
Of  linkboys  vile,  and  watermen  obscene;  ioo 
"Where  as  he  fish’d  her  nether  realms  for 
wit, 

She  oft  had  favour’d  him,  and  favours  yet. 
Renew’d  by  ordure’s  sympathetic  force, 

As  oil’d  with  magic  juices  for  the  course, 
Vig’rous  he  rises;  from  th’  effluvia  strong; 
Imbibes  new  life,  and  scours  and  stinks 
along; 

Repasses  Lintot,  vindicates  the  race, 

Nor  heeds  the  brown  dishonours  of  his  face. 

And  now  the  victor  stretch’d  his  eager 
hand 

Where  the  tall  Nothing  stood,  or  seem’d  to 
stand ; i io 

A shapeless  shade,  it  melted  from  his 
sight, 

Like  forms  in  clouds,  or  visions  of  the 
night. 


To  seize  his  papers,  Curll,  was  next  thy  care ; i 
His  papers  light,  fly  diverse,  toss’d  in  air; 
Songs,  Sonnets,  Epigrams,  the  winds  uplift, 
And  whisk  ’em  back  to  Evans,  Young,  and 
Swift. 

Th’  embroider’d  suit  at  least  he  deem’d  his 
prey; 

That  suit  an  unpaid  tailor  snatch’d  away. 
No  rag,  no  scrap,  of  all  the  Beau  or  Wit, 
That  once  so  flutter’d  and  that  once  so 
writ.  120 

Heav’n  rings  with  laughter:  of  the 
laughter  vain, 

Dulness,  good  Queen,  repeats  the  jest 
again. 

Three  wicked  imps  of  her  own  Grub-street 
choir, 

She  deck’d  like  Congreve,  Addison,  and 
Prior; 

Mears,  Warner,  Wilkins,  run;  delusive 
thought! 

Breval,  Bond,  Bezaleel,  the  varlets  caught. 
Curll  stretches  after  Gay,  but  Gay  is  gone, 
He  grasps  an  empty  Joseph  for  a John: 

So  Proteus,  hunted  in  a nobler  shape, 
Became,  when  seized,  a puppy  or  an  ape. 

To  him  the  Goddess:  ‘ Son!  thy  grief  lay 
down,  131 

And  turn  this  whole  illusion  on  the  town. 

As  the  sage  dame,  experienced  in  her  trade, 
By  names  of  toasts  retails  each  batter’d 
jade 

(Whence  hapless  Monsieur  much  complains 
at  Paris 

Of  wrongs  from  Duchesses  and  Lady  Ma- 
ries); 

Be  thine,  my  stationer!  this  magic  gift; 
Cook  shall  be  Prior;  and  Concanen  Swift; 
So  shall  each  hostile  name  become  our  own, 
And  we,  too,  boast  our  Garth  and  Addison.’ 
With  that  she  gave  him  (piteous  of  his 
case,  141 

Yet  smiling  at  his  rueful  length  of  face) 

A shaggy  tap’stry,  worthy  to  be  spread 
O11  Codrus’  old,  or  Dunton’s  modern  bed; 
Instructive  v^ork!  whose  wry-mouth’d  por- 
traiture 

Display’d  the  fates  her  confessors  endure. 
Earless  on  high  stood  unabash’d  De  Foe, 
And  Tutchin  flagrant  from  the  scourge  be- 
low: 

There  Ridpath,  Roper,  cudgell’d  might  ye 
view, 

The  very  worsted  still  look’d  black  and 
blue:  15* 


THE  DUNCIAD 


233 


Ilimself  among  the  storied  chiefs  he  spies, 
As,  from  the  blanket,  high  in  air  he  flies, 
And,  ‘Oh!  (he  cried)  what  street,  what 
lane  but  knows 

Our  purgings,  pumpings,  blanketings  and 
blows  ? 

In  every  loom  our  labours  shall  be  seen, 
And  the  fresh  vomit  run  for  ever  green!  ’ 
See  in  the  circle  next  Eliza  placed, 

Two  babes  of  love  close  clinging  to  her 
waist; 

Fair  as  before  her  works  she  stands  con- 
fess’d, 

In  flowers  and  pearls  by  bounteous  Kirkall 
dress’d.  160 

The  Goddess  then:  ‘Who  best  can  send 
on  high 

The  salient  spout,  far-streaming  to  the 
sky, 

His  be  you  Juno  of  majestic  size, 

With  cow-like  udders,  and  with  ox-like 
eyes. 

This  China  Jordan  let  the  chief  o’er- 
come 

Replenish,  not  ingloriously,  at  home.’ 
Osborne  and  Curll  accept  the  glorious 
strife 

(Tho’  this  his  son  dissuades,  and  that  his 
wife) ; 

One  on  his  manly  confidence  relies, 

1 One  on  his  vigour  and  superior  size.  170 
First  Osborne  lean’d  against  his  letter’d 
post; 

It  rose,  and  labour’d  to  a curve  at  most: 

So  Jove’s  bright  bow  displays  its  wat’ry 
round 

(Sure  sign  that  no  spectator  shall  be 
drown’d). 

A second  effort  brought  but  new  disgrace, 
The  wild  mseander  wash’d  the  Artist’s 
face: 

Thus  the  small  jet,  which  hasty  hands  un- 
lock, 

Spirts  in  the  gard’ner’s  eyes  who  turns  the 
cock. 

Not  so  from  shameless  Curll;  impetuous 
spread 

The  stream,  and  smoking  flourish’d  o’er  his 
head:  180 

So  (famed  like  thee  for  turbulence  and 
horns) 

Eridanus  his  humble  fountain  scorns; 

Thro’  half  the  heav’ns  he  pours  th’  exalted 
- urn ; 

His  rapid  waters  in  their  passage  burn. 


Swift  as  it  mounts,  all  follow  with  their 
eyes; 

Still  happy  Impudence  obtains  the  prize. 
Thou  triumph’st,  victor  of  the  high- wrought 
day, 

And  the  pleas’d  dame,  soft  smiling,  lead’st 
away. 

Osborne,  thro’  perfect  modesty  o’ercome, 
Crown’d  with  the  Jordan,  walks  contented 
home.  i9o 

But  now  for  Authors  nobler  palms  re- 
main; 

Room  for  my  Lord!  three  jockeys  in  his 
train ; 

Six  huntsmen  with  a shout  precede  his 
chair: 

He  grins,  and  looks  broad  nonsense  with  a 
stare. 

His  honour’s  meaning  Dulness  thus  exprest, 

‘ tie  wins  this  patron  who  can  tickle  best.’ 
He  chinks  his  purse,  and  takes  his  seat 
of  state; 

With  ready  quills  the  dedicators  wait; 

Now  at  his  head  the  dext’rous  task  com- 
mence, i99 

And,  instant,  fancy  feels  th’  imputed  sense; 
Now  gentle  touches  wanton  o’er  his  face, 
He  struts  Adonis,  and  affects  grimace; 

Rolli  the  feather  to  his  ear  conveys, 

Then  his  nice  taste  directs  our  operas; 
Bentley  his  mouth  with  classic  flatt’ry  opes, 
And  the  puff’d  orator  bursts  out  in  tropes. 
But  Welsted  most  the  poet’s  healing  balm 
Strives  to  extract  from  his  soft,  giving 
palm. 

Unlucky  Welsted!  thy  unfeeling  master, 
The  more  thou  ticklest,  gripes  his  fist  the 
faster.  2IO 

While  thus  each  hand  promotes  the  pleas- 
ing pain, 

And  quick  sensations  skip  from  vein  to  vein, 
A youth  unknown  to  Phcebus,  in  despair, 
Puts  his  last  refuge  all  in  Heav’n  and 
prayer. 

What  force  have  pious  vows!  The  Queen 
of  Love 

Her  sister  sends,  her  voPress  from  above. 
As  taught  by  Venus,  Paris  learn’d  the  art 
To  touch  Achilles’  only  tender  part; 

Secure,  thro’  her,  the  noble  prize  to  carry, 
He  marches  off,  his  Grace’s  Secretary.  220 
‘ Now  turn  to  diff’rent  sports  (the  God- 
dess cries), 

And  learn,  my  sons,  the  wondrous  power 
of  Noise. 


234 


THE  DUNCIAD 


To  move,  to  raise,  to  ravish  ev’ry  heart, 

With  Shakespeare’s  nature,  or  with  Jonson’s 
art, 

Let  others  aim ; ’t  is  yours  to  shake  the  soul 
With  thunder  rumbling  from  the  mustard 
bowl; 

With  horns  and  trumpets  now  to  madness 
swell, 

Now  sink  in  sorrow  with  a tolling  bell! 

Such  happy  arts  attention  can  command 
When  Fancy  flags,  and  Sense  is  at  a stand. 
Improve  we  these.  Three  Cat-calls  be  the 
bribe  231 

Of  him  whose  chatt’ring  shames  the  mon- 
key tribe; 

And  his  this  drum,  whose  hoarse  heroic  bass 
Drowns  the  loud  clarion  of  the  braying  ass.’ 

Now  thousand  tongues  are  heard  in  one 
loud  din: 

The  monkey  mimics  rush  discordant  in; 

’T  was  chatt’ring,  grinning,  mouthing,  jab- 
b’ring  all, 

And  noise  and  Norton,  brangling  and 
Breval, 

Dennis  and  dissonance,  and  captious  art, 
And  snipsnap  short,  and  interruption 
smart,  # 240 

And  demonstration  thin,  and  theses  thick, 
And  Major,  Minor,  and  Conclusion  quick. 

‘ Hold  (cried  the  Queen),  a Cat-call  each 
shall  win; 

Equal  your  merits!  equal  is  your  din! 

But  that  this  well-disputed  game  may  end, 
Sound  forth,  my  Brayers,  and  the  welkin 
rend.’ 

As  when  the  long-ear’d  milky  mothers 
wait 

At  some  sick  miser’s  triple-bolted  gate, 

For  their  defrauded  absent  foals  they  make 
A moan  so  loud,  that  all  the  guild  awake; 
Sore  sighs  Sir  Gilbert,  starting  at  the  bray, 
From  dreams  of  millions,  and  three  groats 
to  pay,  252 

So  swells  each  windpipe;  ass  intones  to  ass, 
Harmonic  twang!  of  leather,  horn,  and 
brass; 

Such  as  from  lab’ ring  lungs  th’  Enthusi- 
ast blows, 

High  sound,  attemper’d  to  the  vocal  nose; 
Or°such  as  bellow  from  the  deep  divine; 
There  Webster!  peal’d  thy  voice,  and, 
Whitefield!  thine. 

But  far  o’er  all, sonorous  Blackmore’s strain; 
Walls,  steeples,  skies,  bray  back  to  him 
again ; 260 


I11  Tot’nam  Fields  the  brethren,  with  amaze, 
Prick  all  their  ears  up,  and  forget  to  graze!  i 
Long  Chancery  Lane  retentive  rolls  the 
sound, 

And  courts  to  courts  return  it  round  and 
round ; 

Thames  wafts  it  thence  to  Rufus’  roaring 
hall, 

And  Hungerford  reechoes  bawl  for  bawl. 

All  hail  him  victor  in  both  gifts  of  song, 
Who  sings  so  loudly,  and  who  sings  so  long. 

This  labour  past,  by  Bridewell  all  de- 
scend 

(As  morning  prayer  and  flagellation  end)  270 
To  where  Fleet  Ditch,  with  disemboguing 
streams, 

Rolls  the  large  tribute  of  dead  dogs  to 
Thames; 

The  king  of  dykes!  than  whom  no  sluice  of 
mud 

With  deeper  sable  blots  the  silver  flood. 

‘ Here  strip,  my  children!  here  at  once 
leap  in; 

Here  prove  who  best  can  dash  thro’  thick 
and  thin, 

And  who  the  most  in  love  of  dirt  excel, 

Or  dark  dexterity  of  groping  well: 

Who  flings  most  filth,  and  wide  pollutes : 
around 

The  stream,  be  his  the  Weekly  Journals 
bound;  280 

A Pig  of  Lead  to  him  who  dives  the  best; 

A Peck  of  Coals  apiece  shall  glad  the  rest.’ 

In  naked  majesty  Oldmixon  stands, 

And,  Milo-like,  surveys  his  arms  and 
hands; 

Then  sighing,  thus,  ‘ And  am  I now  three- 
score ? 

Ah,  why,  ye  Gods!  should  two  and  two, 
make  four  ? ’ 

He  said,  and  climb’d  a stranded  lighter’s 
height, 

Shot  to  the  black  abyss,  and  plunged  down- 
right. 

The  senior’s  judgment  all  the  crowd  ad- 
mire, 28^ 

Who  but  to  sink  the  deeper  rose  the  higher. 

Next  Smedley  dived;  slow  circles  dim- 
pled o’er 

The  quaking  mud,  that  closed  and  oped  nc 
more. 

All  look,  all  sigh,  and  call  on  Smedle} 
lost; 

‘Smedley!  ’ in  vain  resounds  thro’  all  tin 
coast. 


THE  DUNCIAD 


235 


Then  [Hill]  essay’d;  scarce  vanish’d  out 
of  sight, 

He  buoys  up  instant,  and  returns  to  light; 
He  bears  no  tokens  of  the  sabler  streams, 
And  mounts  far  off  among  the  swans  of 
Thames. 

True  to  the  bottom,  see  Concanen  creep, 
A cold,  long-winded  native  of  the  deep;  3oo 
.f  perseverance  gain  the  diver’s  prize, 

^ot  everlasting  Blackmore  this  denies: 

*o  noise,  no  stir,  no  motion  canst  thou 
make; 

Eh’  unconscious  stream  sleeps  o’er  thee 
like  a lake. 

Next  plunged  a feeble,  but  a desp’rate 
pack, 

Vrith  each  a sickly  brother  at  his  back: 
mis  of  a Day!  just  buoyant  on  the  flood, 
hen  number’d  with  the  puppies  in  the 
mud. 

.sk  ye  their  names  ? I could  as  soon  dis- 
!<  close 

he  names  of  these  blind  puppies  as  of 
those. 

ast  by,  like  Niobe  (her  children  gone), 
its  mother  Osborne,  stupefied  to  stone! 
nd  monumental  brass  this  record  bears, 
These  are,  ah  no!  these  were  the  Gazet- 
teers! ’ 

i Not  so  bold  Arnall;  with  a weight  of  skull 
>urious  he  dives,  precipitately  dull. 

' hirlpools  and  storms  his  circling  arms 
invest, 

rith  all  the  might  of  gravitation  blest. 

Jo  crab  more  active  in  the  dirty  dance, 
ownward  to  climb,  and  backward  to  ad- 

1 v .vauce>  320 

e brings  up  half  the  bottom  on  his  head, 
nd  loudly  claims  the  Journals  and  the 
Lead. 

The  plunging  Prelate,  and  his  pond’rous 
Grace, 

i ith  holy  envy  gave  one  layman  place, 
hen  lo!  a burst  of  thunder  shook  the 
I flood, 

ow  rose  a form  in  majesty  of  mud; 
i aking  the  horrors  of  his  sable  brows, 
nd  each  ferocious  feature  grim  with  ooze, 
eater  he  looks,  and  more  than  mortal 
f stares ; 

en  thus  the  wonders  of  the  deep  de- 
1 [ dares.  33Q 

First  he  relates  how,  sinking  to  the  chin, 
mt  with  his  mien,  the  mud-nymphs  suck’d 
him  in; 


How  young  Lutetia,  softer  than  the  down, 
Nigrina  black,  and  Merdamante  brown, 
Vied  for  his  love  in  jetty  bowers  below, 

As  Hylas  fair  was  ravish’d  long  ago. 

Then  sung,  how  shown  him  by  the  nut- 
brown  maids 

A branch  of  Styx  here  rises  from  the 
shades, 

That  tinctured  as  it  runs  with  Lethe’s 
streams, 

And  wafting  vapours  from  the  land  of 
dreams  340 

(As  under  seas  Alpheus’  secret  sluice 
Bears  Pisa’s  offering  to  his  Arethuse), 
Pours  into  Thames;  and  hence  the  mingled 
wave 

Intoxicates  the  pert,  and  lulls  the  grave: 
Here,  brisker  vapours  o’er  the  Temple 
creep; 

There,  all  from  Paul’s  to  Algate  drink  and 
sleep. 

Thence  to  the  banks  \yhere  rev’rend 
bards  repose 

They  led  him  soft;  each  rev’rend  bard 
arose ; 

And  Milbourn  chief,  deputed  by  the  rest, 
Gave  him  the  cassock,  surcingle,  and  vest. 

* Receive  (he  said)  these  robes  which  once 
were  mine;  35I 

Dulness  is  sacred  in  a sound  divine.’ 

He  ceas’d,  and  spread  the  robe;  the  crowd 
confess 

The  rev’rend  flamen  in  his  lengthen’d  dress. 
Around  him  wide  a sable  army  stand, 

A low-born,  cell-bred,  selfish,  servile  band, 
Prompt  or  to  guard  or  stab,  or  saint  or 
damn, 

Heav’n’s  Swiss,  who  fight  for  any  God  or 
Man. 

Thro’  Lud’s  famed  gates,  along  the  well- 
known  Fleet, 

Rolls  the  black  troop,  and  overshades  the 
street,  s6o 

Tdl  showers  of  Sermons,  Characters,  Es- 
says, 

In  circling  fleeces  whiten  all  the  ways. 

So  clouds  replenish’d  from  some  bog  below, 
Mount  in  dark  volumes,  and  descend  in 
snow. 

Here  stopt  the  Goddess;  and  in  pomp  pro- 
claims 

A gentler  exercise  to  close  the  games. 

‘Ye  Critics!  in  whose  heads,  as  equal 
scales, 

I weigh  what  author’s  heaviness  prevails; 


236  the  dunciad 


Which  most  conduce  to  soothe  the  soul  in 
slumbers, 

My  Henley’s  periods,  or  my  Blackmore’s 
numbers;  370 

Attend  the  trial  we  propose  to  make: 

If  there  be  man  who  o’er  such  works  can 
wake, 

Sleep’s  all  subduing  charms  who  dares  defy, 
And  boasts  Ulysses’  ear  with  Argus’  eye; 

To  him  we  grant  our  amplest  powers  to  sit 
Judge  of  all  present,  past,  and  future  wit; 
To  cavil,  censure,  dictate,  right  or  wrong, 
Full  and  eternal  privilege  of  tongue.’ 

Three  college  Sophs,  and  three  pert 
Templars  came, 

The  same  their  talents,  and  their  tastes  the 
same!  380 

Each  prompt  to  query,  answer,  and  debate, 
And  sin  it  with  love  of  Poesy  and  Prate. 

The  pond’rous  books  two  gentle  readers 
bring ; 

The  heroes  sit,  the  vulgar  form  a ring; 

The  clam’rous  crowd  is  hush’d  with  mugs 
of  mum, 

Till  all  tuned  equal  send  a gen’ral  hum. 
Then  mount  the  clerks,  and  in  one  lazy  tone 
Thro’  the  long,  heavy,  painful  page  drawl 
on; 

Soft  creeping  words  on  words  the  sense 
compose, 

At  ev’ry  line  they  stretch,  they  yawn,  they 
doze.  39° 

As  to  soft  gales  top-heavy  pines  bow  low 
Their  heads,  and  lift  them  as  they  cease  to 
blow, 

Thus  oft  they  rear,  and  oft  the  head  de- 
cline, 

As  breathe,  or  pause,  by  fits,  the  airs 
divine ; 

And  now  to  this  side,  now  to  that  they  nod, 


As  what  a Dutchman  plumps  into  the  lakes) 
One  circle  first  and  then  a second  makes, 
What  Dulness  dropt  among  her  sons  im- 
prest 

Like  motion  from  one  cii*cle  to  the  rest: 

So  from  the  midmost  the  nutation  spreads 
Round  and  more  round,  o’er  all  the  sea  oi 
heads.  4i< 

At  last  Centlivre  felt  her  voice  to  fail; 
Motteux  himself  unfinish’d  left  his  tale; 
Boyer  the  state,  and  Law  the  stage  gave 
o’er; 

Morgan  and  Mandeville  could  prate  n( 
more; 

Norton,  from  Daniel  and  Ostrcea  sprung, 
Bless’d  with  his  father’s  front  and  mother’; 
tongue, 

Hung  silent  down  his  never-blushing  head 
And  all  was  hush’d,  as  Folly’s  self  la; 
dead. 

Thus  the  soft  gifts  of  sleep  conclude  th 
day, 

And  stretch’d  on  bulks,  as  usual  Poets  laj 
Why  should  I sing  what  bards  the  nightl 
Muse  42 

Did  slumb’ring  visit,  and  convey  to  stews 
Who  prouder  march’d,  with  magistrates  i 
state. 

To  some  famed  roundhouse,  ever-ope 
gate  ? 

How  Henley  lay  inspired  beside  a sink, 
And  to  mere  mortals  seem’d  a priest  i 
drink, 

While  others,  timely,  to  the  neighb’rin 
Fleet 

(Haunt  of  the  Muses)  made  their  safe  rt 
treat  ? 

BOOK  III 


As  verse,  or  prose,  infuse  the  drowsy  God. 

Thrice  Budgell  aim’d  to  speak,  but  thrice 
supprest 

By  potent  Arthur,  knock’d  his  chin  and 
breast. 

Toland  and  Tindal,  prompt  at  priests  to 
jeer, 

Yet  silent  bow’d  to  ‘Christ’s  no  kingdom 
here.’  4°° 

Who  sat  the  nearest,  by  the  words  o’ercome, 

Slept  first;  the  distant  nodded  to  the  hum, 

Then  down  are  roll’d  the  books;  stretch  d 
o’er  ’em  lies 

Each  gentle  clerk,  and  mutt’ring  seals  his 
eyes. 


ARGUMENT 

After  the  other  persons  are  disposed  in  the 
proper  places  of  rest,  the  Goddess  transpor 
the  King  to  her  Temple,  and  there  lays  hi 
to  slumber  with  his  head  on  her  lap  ; a pos 
tion  of  marvellous  virtue,  which  causes  £ 
the  visions  of  wild  enthusiasts,  projectoi 
politicians,  inamoratos,  castle-builders,  ch 
mists,  and  poets.  He  is  immediately  cu 
ried  on  the  wings  of  Fancy,  and  led  by 
mad  poetical  Sibyl,  to  the  Elysian  sliarh 
where,  on  the  banks  of  Lethe,  the  souls 
the  dull  are  dipped  by  Bavius,  befo 
their  entrance  into  this  world.  There 
is  met  by  the  ghost  of  Settle,  and  by  hi 


THE  DUNCIAD 


237 


nuide  acquainted  with  the  wonders  of  the 
place,  and  with  those  which  he  himself  is 
destined  to  perform.  He  takes  him  to  a 
Mount  of  Vision,  from  whence  he  shows  him 
the  past  triumphs  of  the  Empire  of  Dulness ; 
then,  the  present ; and,  lastly,  the  future  : 
how  small  a part  of  the  world  was  ever  con- 
quered by  Science,  how  soon  those  conquests 
were  stopped,  and  these  very  nations  again 
reduced  to  her  dominion.  Then  distinguish- 
ing the  island  of  Great  Britain,  shows  by 
what  aids,  by  what  persons,  and  by  what  de- 
grees, it  shall  be  brought  to  her  empire. 
Some  of  the  persons  he  causes  to  pass  in  re- 
view before  his  eyes,  describing  each  by  his 
proper  figure,  character,  and  qualifications. 
On  a sudden  the  scene  shifts,  and  a vast  num- 
ber of  miracles  and  prodigies  appear,  utterly 
surprising  and  unknown  to  the  King  himself, 

- till  they  are  explained  to  be  the  wonders  of 
his  own  reign  now  commencing.  On  this 
subject  Settle  breaks  into  a congratulation, 

I yet  not  unmixed  with  concern,  that  his  own 
times  were  but  the  types  of  these.  He  pro- 
phesies how  first  the  nation  shall  be  overrun 
with  Farces,  Operas,  and  Shows  ; how  the 
throne  of  Dulness  shall  be  advanced  over  the 
Theatres,  and  set  up  even  at  Court ; then  how 
her  sons  shall  preside  in  the  seats  of  Arts 
and  Sciences  ; giving  a glimpse,  or  Pisgah- 
sight,  of  the  future  fulness  of  her  glory,  the 
accomplishment  whereof  is  the  subject  of 
the  fourth  and  last  book. 

5ut  in  her  temple’s  last  recess  inclosed, 

)n  Dulness  lap  th’  anointed  head  reposed. 
Inn  close  she  curtains  round  with  vapours 
blue, 

r;nd  soft  besprinkles  with  Cimmerian  dew: 
’hen  raptures  high  the  seat  of  Sense  o’er- 
flow, 

fhich  only  heads  refin’d  from  Reason 
know. 

enee  from  the  straw  where  Bedlam’s 
prophet  nods, 

e hears  loud  oracles,  and  talks  with 
I Gods; 

, ence  the  fool’s  paradise,  the  statesman’s 
I scheme, 

he  air- built  castle,  and  the  golden  dream, 
die  maid  s romantic  wish,  the  chymist’s 
flame,  ir 

nd  poet’s  vision  of  eternal  Fame. 

And  now,  on  Fancy’s  easy  wing  convey’d, 
ae  king  descending  views  th’  Elysian 
a shade. 

slipshod  Sibyl  led  his  steps  along, 
lofty  madness  meditating  song; 


Her  tresses  staring  from  poetic  dreams, 
And  never  wash’d  hut  in  Castalia’s  streams. 
Taylor,  their  better  Charon,  lends  an  oar 
(Once  swnn  of  Thames,  tho’  now  he  sings 
no  more);  2C 

Benlowes,  propitious  still  to  blockheads, 
bows; 

And  Shad  well  nods,  the  poppy  on  his 
brows. 

Here  in  a dusky  vale,  where  Lethe  rolls, 
Old  Bavius  sits  to  dip  poetic  souls, 

And  blunt  the  sense,  and  fit  it  for  a skull 
Of  solid  proof,  impenetrably  dull. 

Instant,  when  dipt,  away  they  wing  their 
flight, 

Where  Browne  and  Mears  unbar  the  gates 
of  light, 

Demand  new  bodies,  and  in  calf’s  array 
Rush  to  the  world,  impatient  for  the  day. 
Millions  and  millions  on  these  banks  he 
views,  3I 

Thick  as  the  stars  of  night  or  mornin0, 
dews, 

As  thick  as  bees  o’er  vernal  blossoms  fly, 

As  thick  as  eggs  at  Ward  in  pillory. 

Wond’ring  he  gazed:  when,  lo!  a Sage 
appears, 

By  his  broad  shoulders  known,  and  length 
of  ears, 

Known  by  the  band  and  suit  which  Settle 
wore 

(His  only  suit)  for  twice  three  years  be- 
fore : 

All  as  the  vest,  appear’d  the  wearer’s  frame, 
Old  in  new  state  — another,  yet  the  same. 
Bland  and  familiar,  as  in  life,  begun  4I 
Thus  the  great  father  to  the  greater  son: 

* Oh!  born  to  see  what  none  can  see 
awake, 

Behold  the  wonders  of  th’  oblivious  lake! 
Thou,  yet  unborn,  hast  touch’d  this  sacred 
shore; 

The  hand  of  Bavius  drench’d  thee  o’er  and 
o’er. 

But  blind  to  former  as  to  future  fate, 

What  mortal  knows  his  preexistent  state  ? 
Who  knows  how  long  thy  transmigrating 
soul 

Might  from  Boeotian  to  Boeotian  roll  ? 5o 
How  many  Dutchmen  she  vouchsafed  to 
thrid  ? 

How  many  stages  thro’  old  monks  she  rid  ? 
And  all  who  since,  in  mild  benighted  davs 
Mix’d  the  Owl’s  ivy  with  the  Poet's 
bays  ? 


238 


THE  DUNCIAD 


As  man’s  inlanders  to  the  vital  spring 
Roll  all  their  tides,  then  back  their  circles 
bring; 

Or  whirligigs,  twirl’d  round  by  skilful 
swain, 

Suck  the  thread  in,  then  yield  it  out 
again; 

All  nonsense  thus,  of  old  or  modern  date, 
Shall  iifr  thee  centre,  from  thee  circulate.  60 
For  this  our  Queen  unfolds  to  vision  true 
Thy  mental  eye,  for  thou  hast  much  to 
view: 

Old  scenes  of  glory,  times  long  cast  behind, 
Shall,  first  recall’d,  rush  forward  to  thy 
mind : 

Then  stretch  thy  sight  o’er  all  her  rising 
reign, 

And  let  the  past  and  future  fire  thy  brain. 

‘ Ascend  this  hill,  whose  cloudy  point 
commands 

Her  boundless  empire  over  seas  and  lands. 
See,  round  the  poles  where  keener  spangles 
shine, 

Where  spices  smoke  beneath  the  burning 
Line  7° 

(Earth’s  wide  extremes),  her  sable  flag  dis- 
play’d, 

And  all  the  nations  cover’d  in  her  shade! 

‘Far  eastward  cast  thine  eye,  from 
whence  the  sun 

And  orient  Science  their  bright  course  be- 
gun: 

One  godlike  monarch  all  that  pride  con- 
founds, 

He  whose  long  wall  the  wand’ring  Tartar 
bounds : 

Heav’ns!  what  a pile!  whole  ages  perish 
there, 

And  one  bright  blaze  turns  learning  into 
air. 

‘ Thence  to  the  south  extend  thy  glad- 
den’d eyes; 

There  rival  flames  with  equal  glory  rise;  80 
From  shelves  to  shelves  see  greedy  V ulcan 
r°H, 

And  lick  up  all  their  physic  of  the  soul. 

‘How  little,  mark!  that  portion  of  the 
ball, 

Where,  faint  at  best,  the  beams  of  Science 
fall: 

Soon  as  they  dawn,  from  hyperborean  skies 
Embodied  dark,  what  clouds  of  Vandals 
rise! 

Lo!  where  Mseotis  sleeps,  and  hardly  flows 
The  freezing  Tanais  thro’  a waste  of  snows, 


The  North  by  myriads  pours  her  mighty 
sons, 

Great  nurse  of  Goths,  of  Alans,  and  of 
Huns!  90 

See  Alaric’s  stern  port!  the  martial  frame 
Of  Genseric!  and  Attila’s  dread  name! 

See  the  bold  Ostrogoths  011  Latium  fall! 

See  the  fierce  Visigoths  on  Spain  and 
Gaul! 

See  where  the  morning  gilds  the  palmy 
shore 

(The  soil  that  arts  and  infant  letters  bore), 
His  conqu’ring  tribes  th’  Arabian  prophet 
draws, 

And  saving  Ignorance  enthrones  by  laws!  j 
See  Christians,  Jews,  one  heavy  sabbath 
keep, 

And  all  the  western  world  believe  and 
sleep! 

‘Lo!  Rome  berself,  proud  mistress  now 
no  more 

Of  arts,  but  thund’ring  against  heather 
lore ; 

Her  gray-hair’d  synods  damning  books  un- 
read, 

And  Bacon  trembling  for  his  brazen  head. 
Padua,  with  sighs,  beholds  her  Livy  burn, 
And  ev’n  th’  Antipodes  Virgilius  mourn. 
See  the  Cirque  falls,  th’  unpillar’d  Tempbi 
nods, 

Streets  paved  with  Heroes,  Tiber  cliokec 
with  Gods; 

Till  Peter’s  keys  some  christen’d  Jov< 
adorn, 

And  Pan  to  Moses  lends  his  Pagan  horn.  1 1 
See  graceless  Venus  to  a virgin  turn’d, 

Or  Phidias  broken,  and  Apelles  burn’d! 

‘ Behold  yon  isle,  by  Palmers,  Pilgrim 
trod, 

Men  bearded,  bald,  cowl’d,  uncowl’d,  shoe 
unshod, 

Peel’d,  patch’d,  and  piebald,  linsey-woolse 
brothers, 

Grave  Mummers!  sleeveless  some  an 
shirtless  others. 

That  once  was  Britain  — Happy!  had  sh 
seen 

No  fiercer  sons,  had  Easter  never  been. 

In  peace,  great  Goddess,  ever  be  ador’d; 
How  keen  the  war,  if  Dulness  draw  tl 
sword!  # 

Thus  visit  not  thy  own!  on  this  bless 
age 

O spread  thy  influence,  but  restrain  th 
rage. 


THE  DUNCIAD 


* And  see,  my  son!  the  hour  is  on  its 
way 

That  lifts  our  Goddess  to  imperial  sway; 
This  fav’rite  isle,  long  sever’d  from  her 
reign, 

Dove-like,  she  gathers  to  her  wings  again. 
Now  look  thro’  Fate!  behold  the  scene  she 
draws! 

What  aids,  what  armies,  to  assert  her 
cause! 

•See  all  her  progeny,  illustrious  sight! 
Behold,  and  count  them,  as  they  rise  to 
light.  iso 

As  Bereeynthia,  while  her  offspring  vie 
In  homage  to  the  mother  of  the  sky, 
Surveys  around  her,  in  the  bless’d  abode, 

A hundred  sons,  and  every  son  a God, 

Not  with  less  glory  mighty  Dulness 
crown’d, 

Shall  take  thro’  Grub-street  her  triumphant 
round, 

And  her  Parnassus  glancing  o’er  at  once, 
Behold  a hundred  sons,  and  each  a Dunce. 
‘Mark  first  that  youth  who  takes  the 
foremost  place,  I39 

And  thrusts  his  person  full  into  your  face. 
With  all  thy  father’s  virtues  bless’d,  be 
born ! 

And  a new  Cibber  shall  the  stage  adorn. 

‘ A second  see,  by  meeker  manners 
known, 

And  modest  as  the  maid  that  sips  alone; 
From  the  strong  fate  of  drams  if  thou  get 
free, 

Another  Durfey,  Ward!  shall  sing  in  thee. 
Thee  shall  each  alehouse,  thee  each  gill- 
house  mourn, 

And  answering  ginshops  sourer  sighs  return. 

‘Jacob,  the  scourge  of  grammar,  mark 
: with  awe; 

'lor  less  revere  him,  blunderbuss  of  law. 
m Popple’s  brow,  tremendous  to  thp  town, 
lorneck’s  fierce  eye,  and  Roome’s  funereal 
* frown. 

.o  sneering  Goode,  half  malice  and  half 
4 whim, 

. fiend  in  glee,  ridiculously  grim, 
lach  cygnet  sweet,  of  Bath  aud  Tunbridge 
race, 

tRiose  tuneful  whistling  makes  the  waters 
! pass: 

ach  songster,  riddler,  ev’ry  nameless 
name, 

11  crowd,  who  foremost  shall  be  damn’d 
to  Fame.  I 


239 


Some  strain  in  rhyme:  the  Muses,  on  their 
racks, 

Scream  like  the  winding  of  ten  thousand 
jacks : l6o 

Some  free  from  rhyme  or  reason,  rule  or 
check, 

Break  Priscian’s  head,  and  Pegasus’s  neck; 

Down,  down  they  larum,  with  impetuous 
whirl, 

The  Pindars  and  the  Miltons  of  a Curll. 

‘ Silence,  ye  wolves!  while  Ralph  to 
Cynthia  howls, 

And  makes  night  hideous  — Answer  him, 
ye  owls! 

‘ Sense,  speech,  and  measure,  living 
tongues  and  dead, 

Let  all  give  way  — and  Morris  may  be 
read. 

Flow,  Welsted,  flow!  like  thine  inspirer, 
beer, 

Tho  stale,  not  ripe,  tho’  thin,  yet  never 

o cl?ar;  wo 

So  sweetly  mawkish,  and  so  smoothly  dull; 

Heady,  not  strong;  o’erflowing,  tho’  not 
full. 

Ah,  Dennis!  Gildon,  ah!  what  ill-starr’d 
rage 

Divides  a friendship  long  confirm’d  by 
age  ? 

Blockheads  with  reason  wicked  wits  abhor, 

But  fool  with  fool  is  barb’rous  civil  war. 

Embrace,  embrace,  my  sons!  be  foes  no 
more! 

Nor  glad  vile  poets  with  true  critics’  gore. 

‘ Behold  yon  pair,  in  strict  embraces 
join’d; 

How  like  in  manners,  and  how  like  in 

„ , .™in(?!  180 

Equal  in  wit,  and  equally  polite 

Shall  this  a Pasquin,  that  a Grumbler 
write ; 

Like  are  their  merits,  like  rewards  they 
share, 

That  shines  a Consul,  this  Commissioner.’ 

‘ But  who  is  he,  in  closet  close  y-pent, 

Of  sober  face,  with  learned  dust  besprent  ? 

Right  well  mine  eyes  arede  the  myster 
wight, 

On  parchment  scraps  y-fed  and  Wormius 
hight. 

To  future  ages  may  thy  dulness  last, 

As  thou  preserv’st  the  dulness  of  the  past! 

‘ There,  dim  in  clouds,  the  poring  scho- 
liasts mark,  ,9I 

Wits,  who,  like  owls,  see  only  in  the  dark, 


240 


THE  DUNCIAD 


A lumberhouse  of  books  in  ev’ry  head, 

For  ever  reading,  never  to  be  read! 

* But,  where  each  science  lifts  its  mod- 
ern type, 

Hist’ry  her  pot,  Divinity  her  pipe, 

While  proud  Philosophy  repines  to  show, 
Dishonest  sight!  his  breeches  rent  below, 
Imbrown’d  with  native  bronze,  lo!  Henley 
stands, 

Tuning  his  voice,  and  balancing  his  hands. 
How  fluent  nonsense  trickles  from  his 
tongue!  201 

How  sweet  the  periods,  neither  said  nor 
sung! 

Still  break  the  benches,  Henley!  with  thy 
strain, 

While  Sherlock,  Hare,  and  Gibson  preach 
in  vain. 

O great  restorer  of  the  good  old  stage, 
Preacher  at  once,  and  Zany  of  thy  age! 

O worthy  thou  of  Egypt’s  wise  abodes, 

A decent  priest  where  monkeys  were  the 
gods! 

But  fate  with  butchers  placed  thy  priestly 
stall, 

Meek  modern  faith  to  murder,  hack,  and 
maul;  210 

And  bade  thee  live,  to  crown  Britannia’s 
praise, 

In  Toland’s,  Tindal’s,  and  in  Woolston’s 
days. 

‘Yet,  oh,  my  sons!  a father’s  words 
attend  . 

(So  may  the  Fates  preserve  the  ears  you 
lend) : 

}T  is  yours  a Bacon  or  a Locke  tc  blame, 

A Newton’s  genius,  or  a Milton’s  flame: 
But,  oh!  with  One,  immortal  One,  dispense, 
The  source  of  Newton’s  light,  of  Bacon’s 
sense. 

Content,  each  emanation  of  his  fires 
That  beams  on  earth,  each  virtue  he  in- 
spires, 220 

Each  art  he  prompts,  each  charm  he  can 
create, 

Whate’er  he  gives,  are  giv’n  for  you  to  hate. 
Persist,  by  all  divine  in  man  unawed, 

But  learn,  ye  Dunces!  not  to  scorn  your 
God.’ 

Thus  he,  for  then  a ray  of  Reason  stole 
Half  thro’  the  solid  darkness  of  his  soul; 
But  soon  the  cloud  return’d  — and  thus  the 
sire: 

1 See  now  what  Dulness  and  her  sons  ad- 
mire! 


See  what  the  charms  that  smite  the  simple 
heart, 

Not  touch’d  by  Nature,  and  not  reach’d  by 
art.’  230 

His  never-blushing  head  he  turn’d  aside 
(Not  half  so  pleas’d  when  Goodman  pro- 
phesied), 

And  look’d,  and  saw  a sable  sorcerer  rise, 
Swift  to  whose  hand  a winged  volume 
flies: 

All  sudden,  Gorgons  hiss,  and  Dragons 
glare, 

And  ten-horn’d  Fiends  and  Giants  rush  to 
war; 

Hell  rises,  Heav’n  descends,  and  dance  on 
earth ; j 

Gods,  imps,  and  monsters,  music,  rage,  and 
mirth, 

A fire,  a jig,  a battle,  and  a ball, 

Till  one  wide  conflagration  swallows  all.  240 
Thence  a new  world,  to  Nature’s  laws 
unknown, 

Breaks  out  refulgent,  with  a Heav’n  its 
own: 

Another  Cynthia  her  new  journey  runs, 

And  other  planets  circle  other  suns. 

The  forests  dance,  the  rivers  upward  rise, 
Whales  sport  in  woods,  and  dolphins  in  the 
skies: 

And  last,  to  give  the  whole  creation  grace, 
Lo!  one  vast  egg  produces  human  race. 

Joy  fills  his  soul,  joy  innocent  of  thought: 
‘What  Power  (he  cries),  what  Power  these 
wonders  wrought  ? ’ 250 

‘Son,  what  thou  seek’st  is  in  thee!  look  and 
find 

Each  monster  meets  his  likeness  in  thy 
mind. 

Yet  would’st  thou  more  ? in  yonder  cloud 
behold, 

Whose  sarsenet  skirts  are  edged  with  flamy 
gold, 

A matchless  youth!  his  nod  these  worlds 
controls, 

Wings  the  red  lightning,  and  the  thunder 
rolls. 

Angel  of  Dulness,  sent  to  scatter  round 
Her  magic  charms  o’er  all  unclassic  ground. 
Yon  stars,  yon  suns,  he  rears  at  pleasure 
higher, 

Illumes  their  light,  and  sets  their  flames  or 
fire.  26c 

Immortal  Rich!  how  calm  he  sits  at  ease, 
Midst  snows  of  paper,  and  fierce  hail  ol 
pease! 


THE  DUNCIAD 


241 


And  proud  his  mistress’  orders  to  perform, 
Rides  in  the  whirlwind,  and  directs  the 
storm. 

* But  lo!  to  dark  encounter  in  mid  air 
New  wizards  rise;  I see  my  Cibber  there! 
Booth  in  his  cloudy  tabernacle  shrined; 

On  grinning  dragons  thou  shalt  mount  the 
wind. 

Dire  is  the  conflict,  dismal  is  the  din, 

Here  shouts  all  Drury,  there  all  Lincoln’s- 

n i".u;  270 

Contending  theatres  our  empire  raise, 

Alike  their  labours,  and  alike  their  praise. 

‘ And  are  these  wonders,  Son,  to  thee 
unknown  ? 

Unknown  to  thee!  these  wonders  are  thy 
own. 

These  Fate  reserv’d  to  grace  thy  reign 
divine, 

Foreseen  by  me,  but  ah!  withheld  from 
mine. 

Ln  Lud’s  old  walls  tho’  long  I ruled  re- 
nown’d, 

7ar  as  loud  Bow’s  stupendous  bells  resound; 

I ho’  my  own  aldermen  conferr’d  the  bays, 
To  me  committing  their  eternal  praise,  280 
Their  full-fed  heroes,  their  pacific  mayors, 
Their  annual  trophies,  and  their  monthly 

wars ; 

Tho’  long  my  party  built  on  me  their 
hopes, 

or  writing  pamphlets,  and  for  roasting 
Popes; 

et  lo!  in  me  what  authors  have  to  brae- 
» on! 

^educed  at  last  to  hiss  in  my  own  dragon, 
vert  it,  Heav’11!  that  thou,  my  Cibber, 
e’er 

houldst  wag  a serpent-tail  in  Smithfield 
fair! 

ike  the  vile  straw  that ’s  blown  about  the 
streets, 

rhe  needy  poet  sticks  to  all  he  meets,  290 
3ach  d,  carted,  trod  upon,  now  loose,  now 
i fast, 

nd  carried  off  in  some  dog’s  tail  at  last, 
appier  thy  fortunes!  like  a rolling  stone, 
Tiy  giddy  dulness  still  shall  lumber  on; 

-fe  jn  its  heaviness,  shall  never  stray, 
it  lick  up  every  blockhead  in  the  way. 
lee  shall  the  patriot,  thee  the  courtier 
* taste, 

id  ev’ry  year  be  duller  than  the  last; 

II  raised  from  booths,  to  theatre,  to  Court, 

31  seat  imperial  Dulness  shall  transport. 


Already  Opera  prepares  the  way,  30i 

The  sure  forerunner  of  her  gentle  sway  : 
Let  her  thy  heart  (next  Drabs  and  Dice) 
engage, 

The  third  mad  passion  of  thy  doting  age. 
Teach  thou  the  warbling  Polypheme  to  roar, 
And  scream  thyself  as  none  e’er  scream’d 
before! 

To  aid  our  cause,  if  Heav’n  thou  canst  not 
bend, 

Hell  thou  shalt  move;  for  Faustus  is  our 
friend: 

Pluto  with  Cato  thou  for  this  shalt  join, 
And  link  the  Mourning  Bride  to  Proser- 
pine,  3IO 

Grub-street!  thy  fall  should  men  and  Gods 
conspire, 

Thy  stage  shall  stand,  insure  it  but  from 
fire. 

Another  iEschylus  appears!  prepare 
For  new  abortions,  all  ye  pregnant  fair! 

In  flames  like  Semele’s,  be  brought  to  bed, 
While  opening  Hell  spouts  wildfire  at  your 
head. 

‘Now,  Bavius,  take  the  poppy  from  thy 
brow, 

And  place  it  here!  here,  all  ye  heroes, 
bow! 

This,  this  is  he  foretold  by  ancient  rhymes, 
Th’  Augustus  born  to  bring  Saturnian 
times.  320 

Signs  foil’ wing  signs  lead  on  the  mighty 
year! 

See  the  dull  stars  roll  round  and  reap- 
pear! 

See,  see,  our  own  true  Phoebus  wears  the 
bays ! 

Our  Midas  sits  Lord  Chancellor  of  plays! 

On  poets’  tombs  see  Benson’s  titles  writ! 

Lo!  Ambrose  Philips  is  preferr’d  for  wit! 

See  under  Ripley  rise  a new  Whitehall, 
While  Jones’  and  Boyle’s  united  labours 
fall; 

While  Wren  with  sorrow  to  the  grave  de- 
scends, 

Gay  dies  unpension’d  with  a hundred 
friends,  330 

Hibernian  politics,  O Swift!  thy  fate, 

And  Pope’s,  ten  years  to  comment  and 
translate ! 

‘Proceed,  great  days!  till  learning  fly 
the  shore, 

Till  birch  shall  blush  with  noble  blood  no 
more; 

Till  Thames  see  Eton’s  sons  for  ever  play, 


242 


THE  DUNCIAD 


Till  Westminster’s  whole  year  be  holiday; 

Till  Isis’  elders  reel,  their  pupils’  sport, 

And  Alma  Mater  lie  dissolv’d  in  port!  ’ 

‘ Enough!  enough!  ’ the  raptured  mon- 
arch cries,  339 

And  thro’  the  iv’ry  gate  the  vision  flies. 

BOOK  IV 

ARGUMENT 

The  poet  being,  in  this  book,  to  declare  the 
Completion  of  the  Prophecies  mentioned  at 
the  end  of  the  former,  makes  a new  Invoca- 
tion ; as  the  greater  poets  are  wont,  when 
some  high  and  worthy  matter  is  to  be  sung. 
He  shows  the  Goddess  coming  in  her  majesty 
to  destroy  Order  and  Science,  and  to  substi- 
tute the  Kingdom  of  the  Dull  upon  earth  : 
how  she  leads  captive  the  Sciences,  and  si- 
lences the  Muses;  and  what  they  be  who 
succeed  in  their  stead.  All  her  children,  by 
a wonderful  attraction,  are  drawn  about  her  ; 
and  bear  along  with  them  divers  others,  who 
promote  her  empire  by  connivance,  weak  re- 
sistance, or  discouragement  of  Arts  ; such  as 
Half-wits,  tasteless  Admirers,  vain  Pretend- 
ers, the  Flatterers  of  Dunces,  or  the  Patrons 
of  them.  All  these  crowd  round  her;  one  of 
them  offering  to  approach  her.  is  driven  back 
by  a rival,  but  she  commends  and  encourages 
both.  The  first  who  speak  in  form  are  the 
Geniuses  of  the  Schools,  who  assure  her  of 
their  care  to  advance  her  cause  by  confin- 
ing youth  to  words,  and  keeping  them  out  of 
the  way  of  real  knowledge.  Their  address, 
and  her  gracious  answer;  with  her  charge 
to  them  and  the  Universities.  The  Universi- 
ties appear  by  their  proper  deputies,  and  as- 
sure her  that  the  same  method  is  observed  in 
the  progress  of  Education.  The  speech  of 
Aristarchus  on  this  subject.  They  are  driven 
off  by  a band  of  young  Gentlemen  returned 
from  travel  with  their  tutors ; one  of  whom 
delivers  to  the  Goddess,  in  a polite  oration, 
an  account  of  the  whole  conduct  and  fruits 
of  their  travels;  presenting  to  her  at  the 
same  time  a young  Nobleman  perfectly  ac- 
complished. She  receives  him  graciously, 
and  endues  him  with  the  happy  quality  of 
Want  of  Shame.  She  sees  loitering  about 
her  a number  of  indolent  persons  abandoning 
all  business  and  duty,  and  dying  with  lazi- 
ness : to  these  approaches  the  antiquary 
Annius,  entreating  her  to  make  them  Vir- 
tuosos, and  assign  them  over  to  him  ; but 
Mummius,  another  antiquary,  complaining 
of  his  fraudulent  proceeding,  she  finds  a 
method  to  reconcile  their  difference.  Then 
enter  a troop  of  people  fantastically  adorned, 


offering  her  strange  and  exotic  Presents : 
among  them,  one  stands  forth,  and  demands 
justice  on  another  who  had  deprived  him  of 
one  of  the  greatest  curiosities  in  Nature  ; but 
he  justifies  himself  so  well,  that  the  Goddess 
gives  them  both  her  approbation.  She  re- 
commends to  them  to  find  proper  employ- 
ment for  the  Indolents  before  mentioned,  in 
the  study  of  Butterflies,  Shells,  Birds-nests, 
Moss,  &c.,  but  with  particular  caution  not  to 
proceed  beyond  trifles,  to  any  useful  or  ex- 
tensive views  of  Nature,  or  of  the  Author  of 
Nature.  Against  the  last  of  these  apprehen- 
sions. she  is  secured  by  a hearty  address  from 
the  Minute  Philosophers  and  Freethinkers, 
one  of  whom  speaks  in  the  name  of  the  rest. 
The  Youth  thus  instructed  and  principled, 
are  delivered  to  her  in  a body,  by  the  hands 
of  Silenus  ; and  then  admitted  to  taste  the 
cup  of  the  Magus,  her  high  priest,  which 
causes  a total  oblivion  of  all  Obligations,  di- 
vine, civil,  moral,  or  rational.  To  these  her 
adepts  she  sends  Priests,  Attendants,  and 
Comforters,  of  various  kinds ; confers  on 
them  Orders  and  Degrees  ; and  then  dismiss- 
ing them  with  a speech,  confirming  to  each 
his  privileges,  and  telling  what  she  expects 
from  each,  concludes  with  a Yawn  of  extra- 
ordinary virtue:  the  Progress  and  Effects 
whereof  on  all  orders  of  men,  and  the  Con- 
summation of  all,  in  the  restoration  of  Nighl 
and  Chaos,  conclude  the  Poem. 

Yet,  yet  a moment,  one  dim  ray  of  light 
Indulge,  dread  Chaos,  and  eternal  Night! 
Of  darkness  visible  so  much  be  lent, 

As  half  to  show,  half  veil  the  deep  intent. 
Ye  Powers!  Whose  mysteries  restor’d  1 
sing, 

To  whom  Time  bears  me  on  his  rapit 
wing, 

Suspend  a while  your  force  inertly  strong, 
Then  take  at  once  the  Poet  and  the  Song. 
Now  flamed  the  Dogstar’s  unpropitioui 
ray, 

Smote  ev’ry  brain,  and  wither’d  ev*ry  bay 
Sick  was  the  sun,  the  owl  forsook  hi 
bower, 

The  moon-struck  prophet  felt  the  maddinj 
hour: 

Then  rose  the  seed  of  Chaos,  and  of  Night 
To  blot  out  Order,  and  extinguish  Light, 
Of  dull  and  venal  a new  world  to  mould, 
And  bring  Saturnian  days  of  Lead  am 
Gold. 

She  mounts  the  Throne:  her  head  a clom 
conceal’d, 

In  broad  effulgence  all  below  reveal’d 


THE  DUNCIAD 


243 


( Tis  thus  aspiring  Dulness  ever  shines);  19 
Soft  on  her  lap  her  Laureate  Son  reclines: 
Beneath  her  footstool  Science  groans  in 
chains, 

And  Wit  dreads  exile,  penalties,  and  pains. 
There  foam’d  rebellious  Logic,  gagg’d  and 
bound; 

There,  stript,  fair  Rhetoric  languish’d  on 
the  ground; 

His  blunted  arms  by  Sophistry  are  borne, 
And  shameless  Billingsgate  her  robes  adorn, 
Morality,  by  her  false  guardians  drawn, 
Chicane  in  furs,  and  Casuistry  in  lawn, 
•Gasps,  as  they  straiten  at  each  end  the 
cord, 

And  dies  when  Dulness  gives  her  Pag-e  the 
1 word.  3Q 

Mad  Mathesis  alone  was  unconfin’d, 

Too  mad  for  mere  material  chains  to  bind, 
Now  to  pure  Space  lifts  her  ecstatic  stare, 
Now  running  round  the  Circle,  finds  it 
square. 

But  held  in  tenfold  bonds  the  Muses  lie, 
Watch’d  both  by  envy’s  and  by  fiatt’ry’s 
eye. 

There  to  her  heart  sad  Tragedy  addrest 
The  dagger,  wont  to  pierce  the  Tyrant’s 
breast; 

3ut  sober  History  restrain’d  her  rage, 

Hid  promis’d  vengeance  on  a barb’rous 
, age.  4o 

There  sunk  Thalia,  nerveless,  cold,  and 
dead, 

Tad  not  her  sister  Satire  held  her  head: 

Tor  couldst  thou,  Chesterfield!  a tear  re- 
fuse, 

hou  wept  st,  and  with  thee  wept  each  gen- 
tle Muse. 

When  lo!  a harlot  form  soft  sliding  by, 
With  mincing  step,  small  voice,  and  lan- 
1 guid  eye: 

oreign  her  air,  her  robe’s  discordant  pride 
1 patchwork  flutt’ring,  and  her  head 
[ aside ; 

y singing  peers  upheld  on  either  hand, 
foe  tripp’d  and  laugh’d,  too  pretty  much  to 
stand ; so 

ast  on  the  prostrate  Nine  a scornful  look, 
hen  thus  in  quaint  recitativo  spoke: 
j ‘ 0 cara  •'  cam  ! silence  all  that  train! 

>y  to  great  Chaos!  let  Division  reign ! 
aromatic  tortures  soon  shall  drive  them 
f hence, 

'eak  all  their  nerves,  and  fritter  all  their 
sense: 


One  Trill  shall  harmonize  joy,  grief,  and 
rage, 

Wake  the  dull  Church,  and  lull  the  ranting 
Stage ; 

To  the  same  notes  thy  sons  shall  hum,  or 
snore,  5g 

And  all  thy  yawning  daughters  cry  encore. 
Another  Phcebus,  thy  own  Phoebus,  reigns, 
Joys  in  my  jigs,  and  dances  in  my  chains. 
But  soon,  ah,  soon,  rebellion  will  com- 
mence, 

If  Music  meanly  borrows  aid  from  Sense: 
Strong  in  new  arms,  lo!  giant  Handel 
stands, 

Like  bold  Briareus,  with  a hundred  hands; 
To  stir,  to  rouse,  to  shake  the  soul  he 
comes, 

And  Jove’s  own  thunders  follow  Mars’s 
drums. 

Arrest  him,  Empress,  or  you  sleep  no 
more  ’ — — 

She  heard,  and  drove  him  to  th’  Hibernian 
shore.  ;o 

And  now  had  Fame’s  posterior  trumpet 
blown, 

And  all  the  nations  summon’d  to  the 
Throne: 

The  young,  the  old,  who  feel  her  inward 
sway, 

One  instinct  seizes,  and  transports  away. 
None  need  a guide,  by  sure  attraction  led, 
And  strong  impulsive  gravity  of  head: 

None  want  a place,  for  all  their  centre 
found, 

Hung  to  the  Goddess,  and  cohered  around. 
Not  closer,  orb  in  orb,  conglobed  are  seen 
The  buzzing  bees  about  their  dusky 

fiueen.  8o 

The  gath’nng  number,  as  it  moves 
along, 

Involves  a vast  involuntary  throng, 

Who  gently  drawn,  and  struggling  less  and 
less, 

Roll  in  her  vortex,  and  her  power  confess. 
Not  those  alone  who  passive  own  her  laws, 
But  who,  weak  rebels,  more  advance  her 
cause: 

Whate’er  of  Dunce  in  College  or  in  Town 
Sneers  at  another,  in  toupee  or  gown; 
Whate’er  of  mongrel  no  one  class  admits, 

A Wit  with  Dunces,  and  a Dunce  with 
Wits.  90 

Nor  absent  they,  no  members  of  her  state, 
Who  pay  her  homage  in  her  sons,  the 
Great; 


244 


THE  DUNCIAD 


Who,  false  to  Phoebus,  bow  the  knee  to 
Baal, 

Or  impious,  preach  his  word  without  a call: 
Patrons,  who  sneak  from  living  worth  to 
dead, 

Withhold  the  pension,  and  set  up  the  head; 
Or  vast  dull  Flatt’ry  in  the  sacred  gown, 

Or  give  from  fool  to  fool  the  laurel  crown; 
And  (last  and  worst)  with  all  the  cant  of 
wit,  99 

Without  the  soul,  the  Muse’s  hypocrite. 

There  march’d  the  Bard  and  Blockhead 
side  by  side, 

Who  rhymed  for  hire,  and  patronized  for 
pride. 

Narcissus,  prais’d  with  all  a parson’s  power, 
Look’d  a white  lily  sunk  beneath  a shower. 
There  moved  Montalto  with  superior  air; 
His  stretch’dout  arm  display’d  a volume 
fair; 

Courtiers  and  Patriots  in  two  ranks  divide, 
Thro’  both  he  pass’d,  and  bow’d  from 
side  to  side; 

But  as  in  graceful  act,  with  awful  eye, 
Composed  he  stood,  hold  Benson  thrust 
him  by:  ”° 

On  two  unequal  crutches  propt  he  came, 
Milton’s  on  this,  on  that  one  Johnston’s 
name. 

The  decent  knight  retired  with  sober  rage, 
Withdrew  his  hand,  and  closed  the  pom- 
pous page: 

But  (happy  for  him  as  the  times  went 
then) 

Appear’d  Apollo’s  mayor  and  aldermen, 

On  whom  three  hundred  gold-capp’d  youths 
await, 

To  lug  the  pond’rous  volume  off  in  state. 

When  Dulness,  smiling  — ‘ Thus  revive 
the  Wits! 

But  murder  first,  and  mince  them  all  to 
bits;  120 

As  erst  Medea  (crnel,  so  to  save!) 

A new  edition  of  old  iEson  gave; 

Let  standard  authors  thus,  like  trophies 
borne, 

Appear  more  glorious  as  more  hack’d  and 
torn. 

And  you,  my  Critics!  in  the  chequer’d 
shade, 

Admire  new  light  thro’  holes  yourselves 
have  made. 

Leave  not  a foot  of  verse,  a foot  of  stone, 
A page,  a grave,  that  they  can  call  their 
own; 


But  spread,  my  sons,  your  glory  thin  or  I 
thick, 

On  passive  paper,  or  on  solid  brick.  130 
So  by  each  Bard  an  Alderman  shall  sit, 

A heavy  Lord  shall  hang  at  every  Wit, 

And  while  on  Fame’s  triumphal  car  they 
ride, 

Some  slave  of  mine  be  pinion’d  to  their 
side.’ 

Now  crowds  on  crowds  around  the  God- 
dess press, 

Each  eager  to  present  the  first  address. 
Dunce  scorning  Dunce  beholds  the  next 
advance, 

B»it  Fop  shows  Fop  superior  complaisance. 
When  lo!  a spectre  rose,  whose  index  hand 
Held  forth  the  virtue  of  the  dreadful  wand; 
His  beaver’d  brow  a birchen  garland  I 
wears,  141 1 

Dropping  with  infants’  blood  and  mothers’! 
tears. 

O’er  ev’ry  vein  a shudd’ring  horror  runs,  I 
Eton  and  Winton  shake  thro’  all  their! 
sons. 

All  flesh  is  humbled,  Westminster ’s  bold 
race 

Shrink,  and  confess  the  Genius  of  thel 
place: 

The  pale  boy-senator  yet  tingling  stands, 
And  holds  his  breeches  close  with  both  hisl 
hands. 

Then  thus:  ‘Since  man  from  beast  byj 
words  is  known, 

Words  are  man’s  province,  words  we  teach 
alone.  i5f 

When  reason  doubtful,  like  the  Samian 
letter, 

Points  him  two  ways,  the  narrower  is  the 
better. 

Placed  at  the  door  of  learning,  youth  tc 
guide, 

We  never  suffer  it  to  stand  too  wide. 

To  ask,  to  guess,  to  know,  as  they  com- 
mence, 

As  Fancy  opens  the  quick  springs  of  Sense 
We  ply  the  Memory,  we  load  the  Brain, 
Bind  rebel  wit,  and  double  chain  on  chain,  j 
Confine  the  thought,  to  exercise  the  breath,! 
And  keep  them  in  the  pale  of  words  till 
death.  # lf| 

Whate’er  the  talents,  or  howe’er  design’d,  1 
We  hang  one  jingling  padlock  on  till 
mind: 

A poet  the  first  day  he  dips  his  quill; 

And  what  the  last  ? a very  poet  still. 


THE  DUNCIAD 


2 45 


Pity!  the  charm  works  only  in  our  wall, 
Lost,  lost  too  soon  in  yonder  house  or  hall. 
There  truant  Wyudham  ev’ry  Muse  gave 
o’er, 

There  Talbot  sunk,  and  was  a Wit  no  more  ! 
How  sweet  an  Ovid,  Murray  was  our 
boast ! 

How  many  Martials  were  in  Pulteney  lost ! 
Else  sure  some  bard,  to  our  eternal  praise, 
In  twice  ten  thousand  rhyming  nights  and 
days,  172 

Had  reach’d  the  work,  the  all  that  mortal 
can, 

And  South  beheld  that  masterpiece  of  man. 

‘ 0 (cried  the  Goddess)  for  some  pedant 
reign  ! 

Some  gentle  James,  to  bless  the  land  again: 
To  stick  the  doctor’s  chair  into  the  throne, 
Give  law  to  words,  or  war  with  words 
alone, 

Senates  and  Courts  with  Greek  and  Latin 
rule, 

And  turn  the  Council  to  a grammar  school  ! 
For  sure  if  Dulness  sees  a grateful  day,  181 
’T  is  in  the  shade  of  arbitrary  sway. 

O ! if  my  sons  may  learn  one  earthly  thing, 

1 Teach  but  that  one,  sufficient  for  a King; 
That  which  my  priests,  and  mine  alone, 
maintain, 

Which,  as  it  dies,  or  lives,  we  fall,  or  reign : 
May  you,  may  Cam,  and  Isis,  preach  it 
long  ! 

‘ “ The  right  divine  of  Kings  to  govern 
wrong.”  ’ 

Prompt  at  the  call,  around  the  Goddess 
roll 

Broad  hats,  and  hoods,  and  caps,  a sable 
shoal:  190 

Thick  and  more  thick  the  black  blockade 
extends, 

A hundred  head  of  Aristotle’s  friends. 

Nor  wert  thou,  Isis  ! wanting  to  the  day 
(Tho’  Christ  Church  long  kept  prudishly 
away) : 

;Each  stanch  polemic,  stubborn  as  a rock, 
Each  fierce  logician,  still  expelling  Locke, 

. Came  whip  and  spur,  and  dash’d  thro’  thin 
rl  and  thick, 

On  German  Crousaz,  and  Dutch  Burgers- 
dyck. 

As  many  quit  the  streams  that  murm’ring 
fall 

To  lull  the  sons  of  Marg’ret  and  Clare  Hall, 
Where  Bentley  late  tempestuous  wont  to 
sport  201 


I11  troubled  waters,  but  now  sleeps  in  port. 
Before  them  march’d  that  awful  Aristarch; 
Plough’d  was  his  front  with  many  a deep 
remark; 

His  hat,  which  never  veil’d  to  human  pride, 
Walker  with  rev’rence  took,  and  laid  aside. 
Low  bow’d  the  rest;  he,  kingly,  did  but  nod; 
So  upright  Quakers  please  both  man  and 
God. 

‘ Mistress  ! dismiss  that  rabble  from  your 
throne ; 

Avaunt  — is  Aristarchus  yet  unknown  ? 210 
Thy  mighty  scholiast,  whose  unwearied 
pains 

Made  Horace  dull,  and  humbled  Milton’s 
strains. 

Turn  what  they  will  to  verse,  their  toil  is 
vain, 

Critics  like  me  shall  make  it  prose  again. 
Roman  and  Greek  grammarians  ! know  your 
better; 

Author  of  something  yet  more  great  than 
letter; 

While  tow’ring  o’er  your  alphabet,  like 
Saul, 

Stands  our  Digamma,  and  o’ertops  them 
all. 

’T  is  true,  on  words  is  still  our  whole  debate, 
Disputes  of  me  or  te,  of  aut  or  at,  220 

To  sound  or  sink  in  cano,  O or  A, 

Or  give  up  Cicero  to  C or  K. 

Let  Friend  affect  to  speak  as  Terence 
spoke, 

And  Alsop  never  but  like  Horace  joke: 

For  me  what  Virgil,  Pliny,  may  deny, 
Manilius  or  Solinus  shall  supply: 

For  Attic  phrase  in  Plato  let  them  seek, 

I poach  in  Suidas  for  unlicens’d  Greek. 

In  ancient  sense  if  any  needs  will  deal, 

Be  sure  I give  them  fragments,  not  a meal; 
What  Gellius  or  Stobseus  hash’d  before,  231 
Or  chew’d  by  blind  old  scholiasts  o’er  and 
o’er. 

The  critic  eye,  that  microscope  of  wit, 

Sees  hairs  and  pores,  examines  bit  by  bit. 
How  parts  relate  to  parts,  or  they  to  whole, 
The  Body’s  harmony,  the  beaming  Soul, 

Are  things  which  Kuster,  Burman,  Wasse 
shall  see; 

When  man’s  whole  frame  is  obvious  to  a 
flea. 

* Ah,  think  not,  Mistress  ! more  true  dul- 
ness lies 

In  Folly’s  cap,  than  Wisdom’s  grave  dis- 
guise. 240 


246 


THE  DUNCIAD 


Like  buoys,  that  never  sink  into  the  flood, 
On  learning’s  surface  we  but  lie  and  nod. 
Thine  is  the  genuine  head  of  many  a house, 
And  much  divinity  without  a vovs. 

Nor  could  a Barrow  work  on  ev’ry  block, 
Nor  has  one  Atterbury  spoil’d  the  flock  ! 
See  ! still  thy  own,  the  heavy  Canon  roll, 
And  metaphysic  smokes  involve  the  pole. 
For  thee  we  dim  the  eyes,  and  stuff  the  head 
With  all  such  reading  as  was  never  read : 
For  thee  explain  a thing  till  all  men  doubt 
it,  251 

And  write  about  it,  Goddess,  and  about  it: 
So  spins  the  silkworm  small  its  slender  store, 
And  labours  till  it  clouds  itself  all  o’er. 

‘ What  tho’  we  let  some  better  sort  of  fool 
Thrid  ev’ry  science,  run  thro’  ev’ry  school  ? 
Never  by  tumbler  thro’  the  hoops  was 
shown 

Such  skill  in  passing  all,  and  touching  none. 
He  may  indeed  (if  sober  all  this  time) 
Plague  with  Dispute,  or  persecute  with 
Rhyme.  260 

We  only  furnish  what  he  cannot  use, 

Or,  wed  to  what  he  must  divorce,  a Muse: 
Full  in  the  midst  of  Euclid  dip  at  once, 
And  petrify  a Genius  to  a Dunce: 

Or,  set  on  metaphysic  ground  to  prance, 
Show  all  his  paces,  not  a step  advance. 
With  the  same  cement,  ever  sure  to  bind, 
We  bring  to  one  dead  level  ev’ry  mind: 
Then  take  him  to  develop,  if  you  can, 

And  hew  the  Block  off,  and  get  out  the 
Man.  270 

But  wherefore  waste  I words  ? I see  ad- 
vance 

Whore,  pupil,  and  laced  governor  from 
France. 

Walker  ! our  hat  ! ’ nor  more  he 

deign’d  to  say, 

But  stern  as  Ajax’  spectre  strode  away. 

In  flow’d  at  once  a gay  embroider’d  race, 
And  titt’ring  push’d  the  pedants  off  the 
place: 

Some  would  have  spoken,  but  the  voice  was 
drown’d 

By  the  French  horn  or  by  the  opening 
hound. 

The  first  came  forwards  with  as  easy  mien, 
As  if  he  saw  St.  James’s  and  the  Queen. 
When  thus  th’  attendant  orator  begun:  281 
* Receive,  great  Empress  ! thy  accomplish’d 
son; 

Thine  from  the  birth,  and  sacred  from  the 
rod. 


A dauntless  infant ! never  scared  with  God. 
The  sire  saw,  one  by  one,  his  Virtues  wake; 
The  mother  begg’d  the  blessing  of  a Rake. 
Thou  gavest  that  ripeness,  which  so  soon 
began, 

And  ceas’d  so  soon,  he  ne’er  was  boy  nor 
man. 

Thro’  school  and  college,  thy  kind  cloud 
o’ercast, 

Safe  and  unseen  the  young  iEneas  past:  290 
Thence  bursting  glorious,  all  at  once  let 
down, 

Stunn’d  with  his  giddy  larum  half  the  town. 
Intrepid  then,  o’er  seas  and  lands  he  flew; 
Europe  he  saw,  and  Europe  saw  him  too. 
There  all  thy  gifts  and  graces  we  display, 
Thou,  only  thou,  directing  all  our  way  ! 

To  where  the  Seine,  obsequious  as  she  runs, 
Pours  at  great  Bourbon’s  feet  her  silken 
sons ; 

Or  Tyber,  now  no  longer  Roman,  rolls, 
Vain  of  Italian  arts,  Italian  souls:  300 

To  happy  convents,  bosom’d  deep  in  vines, 
Where  slumber  abbots,  purple  as  their 
wines: 

To  isles  of  fragrance,  lily-silver’d  vales, 
Diffusing  languor  in  the  panting  gales: 

To  lands  of  singing,  or  of  dancing,  slaves, 
Love-whisp’ring  woods,  and  lute-resound- 
ing waves. 

But  chief  her  shrine  where  naked  Venus 
keeps, 

And  Cupids  ride  the  lion  of  the  deeps; 
Where,  eas’d  of  fleets,  the  Adriatic  main 
Wafts  the  smooth  eunuch  and  enamour’d 
swain.  310 

Led  by  my  hand,  he  saunter’d  Europe  round, 
And  gather’d  ev’ry  vice  on  Christian  ground ; 
Saw  every  Court,  heard  every  King  declare 
His  royal  sense  of  Op’ras  or  the  Fair; 

The  Stews  and  Palace  equally  explored, 
Intrigued  with  glory,  and  with  spirit 
whored; 

Tried  all  hors-d’oeuvres,  all  liqueurs  defined, 
Judicious  drank,  and  greatly  daring  dined; 
Dropp’d  the  dull  lumber  of  the  Latin  store, 
Spoil’d  his  own  language,  and  acquired  no 
more;  320 

All  classic  learning  lost  on  classic  ground; 
And  last  — turn’d  Air,  the  Echo  of  a 
Sound! 

See  now,  half-cured,  and  perfectly  well- 
bred, 

With  nothing  but  a solo  in  his  head; 

As  much  estate,  and  principle,  and  wit, 


THE  DUNCIAD 


247 


As  Jansen,  Fleetwood,  Cibber  shall  think  fit; 
Stol’11  from  a Duel,  follow’d  by  a Nun, 
And,  if  a borough  choose  him  not,  undone; 

1 See,  to  my  country  happy  I restore 
This  glorious  youth,  and  add  one  Venus 
more.  330 

Her  too  receive  (for  her  my  soul  adores) ; 
So  may  the  sons  of  sons  of  sons  of  whores 
Prop  thine,  O Empress  ! like  each  neigh- 
bour Throne, 

And  make  a long  posterity  thy  own.’ 
Pleas’d,  she  accepts  the  Hero  and  the 
Dame, 

Wraps  in  her  veil,  and  frees  from  sense  of 
shame: 

Then  look’d,  and  saw  a lazy  lolling  sort, 
Unseen  at  Church,  at  Senate,  or  at  Court, 
Of  ever  listless  loit’rers,  that  attend  339 
No  cause,  no  trust,  no  duty,  and  no  friend. 
Thee,  too,  my  Paridell!  she  mark’d  thee 
there, 

Stretch’d  on  the  rack  of  a too  easy  chair, 
And  heard  thy  everlasting  yawn  confess 
The  pains  and  penalties  of  Idleness. 

She  pitied  ! but  her  pity  only  shed 
Benigner  influence  on  thy  nodding  head. 

But  Annius,  crafty  seer,  with  ebon  wand, 
And  well-dissembled  em’rald  on  his  hand, 
False  as  his  gems,  and  canker’d  as  his  coins, 
Came,  cramm’d  with  capon,  from  where 
Pollio  dines.  35o 

Soft,  as  the  wily  fox  is  seen  to  creep, 

Where  bask  on  sunny  banks  the  simple 
sheep, 

Walk  round  and  round,  now  prying  here, 
now  there, 

So  he,  but  pious,  whisper’d  first  his  prayer: 

* Grant,  gracious  Goddess!  grant  me  still 
to  cheat! 

0 may  thy  cloud  still  cover  the  deceit ! 

Thy  choicer  mists  on  this  assembly  shed, 

But  pour  them  thickest  on  the  noble  head. 

So  shall  each  youth,  assisted  by  our  eyes, 
'See  other  Caesars,  other  Homers  rise;  36o 
Thro’  twilight  ages  hunt  th’  Athenian  fowl, 
Which  Chalcis,  Gods,  and  Mortals  call  an 
owl; 

|Now  see  an  Attys,  now  a Cecrops  clear, 
jtSTay,  Mahomet!  the  pigeon  at  thine  ear; 

Be  rich  in  ancient  brass,  tho’  not  in  gold, 
ind  keep  his  Lares,  tho’  his  House  be  sold; 
To  heedless  Phoebe  his  fair  bride  postpone, 
donour  a Syrian  prince  above  his  own; 

^ord  of  an  Otho,  if  I vouch  it  true; 

Bless’d  in  one  Niger,  till  he  knows  of  two.’  I 


Mummius  o’erheard  him;  Mummius, 
fool  renown’d,  37I 

Who,  like  his  Cheops,  stinks  above  the 
ground, 

Fierce  as  a startled  adder,  swell’d  and 
said, 

Rattling  an  ancient  Sistrum  at  his  head: 

‘ Speak’st  thou  of  Syrian  Princes  ? trai- 
tor base! 

Mine,  Goddess!  mine  is  all  the  horned  race. 
True,  he  had  wit  to  make  their  value  rise; 
From  foolish  Greeks  to  steal  them  was  as 
wise; 

More  glorious  yet,  from  barb’rous  hands  to 
keep,  379 

When  Sallee  rovers  chased  him  on  the  deep. 
Then  taught  by  Hermes,  and  divinely  bold, 
Down  his  own  throat  he  risk’d  the  Grecian 
gold, 

Receiv’d  each  demigod,  with  pious  care, 
Deep  in  his  entrails  — I revered  them  there, 
I bought  them,  shrouded  in  that  living 
shrine, 

And,  at  their  second  birth,  they  issue  mine.’ 

‘ Witness,  great  Ammon  ! by  whose  horns 
I swore 

(Replied  soft  Annius),  this  our  paunch  be- 
fore 

Still  bears  them,  faithful;  and  that  thus  I 
eat, 

Is  to  refund  the  Medals  with  the  Meat.  39o 
To  prove  me,  Goddess!  clear  of  all  design, 
Bid  me  with  Pollio  sup  as  well  as  dine: 
There  all  the  learn’d  shall  at  the  labour 
stand, 

And  Douglas  lend  his  soft  obstetric  hand.’ 

The  Goddess,  smiling,  seem’d  to  give 
consent; 

So  back  to  Pollio  hand  in  hand  they  went. 

Then  thick  as  locusts  black’ning  all  the 
ground, 

A tribe  with  weeds  and  shells  fantastic 
crown’d, 

Each  with  some  wondrous  gift  approach’d 
the  Power, 

A nest,  a toad,  a fungus,  or  a flower.  400 
By  far  the  foremost  two,  with  earnest  zeal 
And  aspect  ardent,  to  the  throne  appeal. 

The  first  thus  open’d:  ‘ Hear  thy  suppliant’s 
call, 

Great  Queen,  and  common  Mother  of  us  all! 
Fair  from  its  humble  bed  I rear’d  this 
flower, 

Suckled,  and  cheer’d,  with  air,  and  sun, 
and  shower. 


248 


THE  DUNCIAD 


Soft  on  the  paper  ruff  its  leaves  I spread, 
Bright  with  the  gilded  button  tipp’d  its  head, 
Then  throned  in  glass,  and  named  it  Caro- 
line. 

Each  maid  cried,  “ Charming!  ” and  each 
youth,  “ Divine!  ” 410 

Did  Nature’s  pencil  ever  blend  such  rays, 
Such  varied  light  in  one  promiscuous  blaze  ? 
Now  prostrate!  dead!  behold  that  Caroline: 
No  maid  cries,  “ Charming!  ” and  110  youth, 
“ Divine!  ” 

And  lo,  the  wretch!  whose  vile,  whose  in- 
sect lust 

Laid  this  gay  daughter  of  the  spring  in  dust. 

0 punish  him,  or  to  th’  Elysian  shades 
Dismiss  my  soul,  where  no  Carnation  fades.’ 
He  ceas’d,  and  wept.  With  innocence  of 

mien 

Th’  accused  stood  forth,  and  thus  address’d 
the  Queen : 420 

‘ Of  all  th’  enamell’d  race,  whose  silv’ry 
wing 

Waves  to  the  tepid  zephyrs  of  the  spring, 
Or  swims  along  the  fluid  atmosphere, 

Once  brightest  shined  this  child  of  Heat 
and  Air. 

1 saw,  and  started  from  its  vernal  bower 
The  rising  game,  and  chased  from  flower 

to  flower. 

It  fled,  I follow’d;  now  in  hope,  now  pain; 
It  stopt,  I stopt;  it  mov’d,  I mov’d  again. 
At  last  it  fix’d,  ’t  was  on  what  plant  it  pleas’d. 
And  where  it  fix’d  the  beauteous  bird  I 
seiz’d:  43° 

Rose  or  Carnation  was  below  my  care; 

I meddle,  Goddess!  only  in  my  sphere. 

I tell  the  naked  fact  without  disguise, 

And,  to  excuse  it,  need  but  show  the  prize; 
Whose  spoils  this  paper  offers  to  your  eye, 
Fair  ev’n  in  death,  this  peerless  butterfly!’ 
‘My  sons!  (she  answer’d)  both  have 
done  your  parts: 

Live  happy  both,  and  longpromote  our  Arts. 
But  hear  a mother  when  she  recommends 
To  your  fraternal  care  our  sleeping  friends. 
The  common  soul,  of  Heav’n’s  mere  frugal 
make,  441 

Serves  but  to  keep  Fools  pert,  and  Knaves 
awake ; 

A drowsy  watchman,  that  just  gives  a knock, 
And  breaks  our  rest,  to  tell  us  what ’s  o’clock. 
Tet  by  some  object  ev’ry  brain  is  stirr’d; 
The  dull  may  waken  to  a Humming-bird; 
The  most  recluse,  discreetly  open’d,  find 
Congenial  matter  in  the  Cockle  kind; 


The  mind,  in  metaphysics  at  a loss, 

May  wander  in  a wilderness  of  Moss;  459 
The  head  that  turns  at  superlunar  things 
Pois’d  with  a tail,  may  steer  on  Wilkins’ 
wings. 

‘ O!  would  the  sons  of  men  once  think 
their  eyes 

And  Reason  giv’n  them  but  to  study  flies! 
See  Nature  in  some  partial  narrow  shape, 
And  let  the  Author  of  the  whole  escape: 
Learn  but  to  trifle;  or,  who  most  observe, 
To  wonder  at  their  Maker,  not  to  serve!  ’ 

‘ Be  that  my  task  (replies  a gloomy  Clerk, 
Sworn  foe  to  myst’ry,  yet  divinely  dark;  460 
Whose  pious  hope  aspires  to  see  the  day 
When  moral  evidence  shall  quite  decay, 
And  damns  implicit  faith,  and  holy  lies; 
Prompt  to  impose,  and  fond  to  dogmatize): 
Let  others  creep  by  timid  steps,  and  slow, 
On  plain  Experience  lay  foundations  low, 
By  common  sense  to  common  knowledge 
bred, 

And  last,  to  Nature’s  Cause  thro’  Nature 
led. 

All-seeing  in  thy  mists,  we  want  no  guide, 
Mother  of  Arrogance,  and  source  of  pride! 
We  nobly  take  the  high  priori  road,  471 
And  reason  downward,  till  we  doubt  of  God: 
Make  Nature  still  encroach  upon  his  plan, 
And  shove  him  off  as  far  as  e’er  we  can: 
Thrust  some  Mechanic  Cause  into  his  place, 
Or  bind  in  Matter,  or  diffuse  in  Space: 

Or,  at  one  bound  o’erleaping  all  his  laws, 
Make  God  man’s  image;  man,  the  final 
Cause; 

Find  Virtue  local,  all  Relation  scorn, 

See  all  in  self,  and  but  for  self  be  born:  480 
Of  nought  so  certain  as  our  Reason  still, 

Of  nought  so  doubtful  as  of  Soul  and  Will. 
O hide  the  God  still  more  ! and  make  us  see 
Such  as  Lucretius  drew,  a God  like  thee: 
Wrapt  up  in  self,  a God  without  a thought, 
Regardless  of  our  merit  or  default. 

Or  that  bright  image  to  our  fancy  draw, 
Which  Theocles  in  raptured  vision  saw, 
While  thro’  poetic  scenes  the  Genius  roves, 
Or  wanders  wild  in  academic  groves;  490 
That  Nature  our  society  adores, 

Where  Tindal  dictates,  and  Silenus  snores ! ’ 
Rous’d  at  his  name,  up  rose  the  bousy 
Sire, 

And  shook  from  out  his  pipe  the  seeds  of 
fire; 

Then  snapt  his  box,  and  stroked  his  belly 
down; 


THE  DUNCIAD 


Rosy  and  rev’rend,  tho’  without  a gown. 
Bland  and  familiar  to  the  Throne  he  came, 
Led  up  the  youth,  and  call’d  the  Goddess 
Dame ; 

Then  thus:  ‘ From  priestcraft  happily  set 
free, 

Lo  ! every  finish’d  son  returns  to  thee:  500 
First  slave  to  Words,  then  vassal  to  a 
Name, 

Then  dupe  to  Party;  child  and  man  the 
same ; 

Bounded  by  Nature,  narrow’d  still  by  Art, 
A trifling  head,  and  a contracted  heart. 
Thus  bred,  thus  taught,  how  many  have  I 
seen, 

Smiling  on  all,  and  smil’d  on  by  a Queen  ! 
Mark’d  out  for  honours,  honour’d  for  their 
birth, 

To  thee  the  most  rebellious  things  on 
earth:  So8 

Now  to  thy  gentle  shadow  all  are  shrunk, 
All  melted  down  in  Pension  or  in  Punk  ! 

So  K[ent]  so  B **  sneak’d  into  the  grave, 
A monarch’s  half,  and  half  a harlot’s  slave. 
Poor  W[hartonJ  nipt  in  Folly’s  broadest 
bloom, 

Who  praises  now  ? his  chaplain  on  his  tomb. 
Then  take  them  all,  O take  them  to  thy 
breast  ! 

Thy  Magus,  Goddess  ! shall  perform  the 
rest.’ 

With  that  a wizard  old  his  Cup  extends, 
Which  whoso  tastes,  forgets  his  former 
Friends, 

Sire,  Ancestors,  Himself.  One  casts  his  eyes 
Up  to  a star,  and  like  Endymion  dies:  520 
A feather,  shooting  from  another’s  head, 
Extracts  his  brain,  and  Principle  is  fled; 
Lost  is  his  God,  his  Country,  everything, 
And  nothing  left  but  homage  to  a King  ! 
The  vulgar  herd  turn  off  to  roll  with  hogs, 
To  run  with  horses,  or  to  hunt  with  dogs; 
But,  sad  example  ! never  to  escape 
Their  infamy,  still  keep  the  human  shape. 

But  she,  good  Goddess,  sent  to  every 
child 

Pirm  Impudence,  or  Stupefaction  mild ; 530 
And  straight  succeeded,  leaving  shame  no 
room, 

Bibberian  forehead,  or  Cimmerian  gloom. 

Kind  Self-conceit  to  some  her  glass  ap- 
plies, 

Which  no  one  looks  in  with  another’s  eyes: 
But  as  the  Flatt’rer  or  Dependant  paint, 
3eholds  himself  a Patriot,  Chief,  or  Saint. 


249 


On  others  Int’rest  her  gay  liv’ry  flings, 
Int’rest,  that  waves  on  party- colour’d 
wings : 

Turn’d  to  the  sun,  she  casts  a thousand 

J dyes>  539 

And,  as  she  turns,  the  colours  fall  or  rise. 

Others  the  Syren  Sisters  warble  round, 
And  empty  heads  console  with  empty 
sound. 

No  more,  alas  ! the  voice  of  Fame  they 
hear, 

The  balm  of  Dulness  trickling  in  their  ear. 
Great  C **,  H **,  P **,  R **,  K *, 
Why  all  your  toils  ? your  sons  have  learn’d 
to  sing. 

How  quick  Ambition  hastes  to  Ridicule: 
The  sire  is  made  a Peer,  the  son  a Fool. 

On  some,  a priest  succinct  in  amice 
white  549 

Attends;  all  flesh  is  nothing  in  his  sight  ! 
Beeves,  at  his  touch,  at  once  to  jelly  turn, 
And  the  huge  boar  is  shrunk  into  an  urn: 
The  board  with  specious  Miracles  he  loads, 
Turns  hares  to  larks,  and  pigeons  into 
toads. 

Another  (for  in  all  what  one  can  shine  ?) 
Explains  the  seve  and  verdeur  of  the  Vine. 
What  cannot  copious  sacrifice  atone  ? 

Thy  truffles,  Pdrigord,  thy  hams,  Bayonne, 
With  French  libation,  and  Italian  strain, 
Wash  Bladen  white,  and  expiate  Hays’s 
stain,  S6o 

Knight  lifts  the  head;  for,  what  are  crowds 
undone, 

To  three  essential  partridges  in  one  ? 

Gone  ev’ry  blush,  and  silent  all  reproach, 
Contending  Princes  mount  them  in  their 
coach. 

Next  bidding  all  draw  near  on  bended 
knees, 

The  Queen  confers  her  Titles  and  Degrees. 
Her  children  first  of  more  distinguish’d 
sort, 

Who  study  Shakespeare  at  the  Inns  of 
Court, 

Impale  a glow-worm,  or  Vertu  profess, 
Shine  in  the  dignity  of  F.  R.  S.  570 

Some,  deep  Freemasons,  join  the  silent  race, 
Worthy  to  fill  Pythagoras’s  place: 

Some  Botanists,  or  florists  at  the  least, 

Or  issue  members  of  an  annual  feast. 

Nor  past  the  meanest  unregarded;  one 
Rose  a Gregorian,  one  a Gormogon. 

The  last,  not  least  in  honour  or  applause, 
Isis  and  Cam  made  Doctors  of  her  Laws. 


250  THE  DUNCIAD 


Then,  blessing  all,  ‘ Go  children  of  my 
care  ! 

To  practice  now  from  theory  repair.  580 
All  my  commands  are  easy,  short  and  full: 
My  sons  ! be  proud,  be  selfish,  and  be  dull. 
Guard  my  Prerogative,  assert  my  Throne: 
This  nod  confirms  each  privilege  your  own. 
The  cap  and  switch  be  sacred  to  His  Grace; 
With  staff  and  pumps  the  Marquis  leads 
the  race; 

From  stage  to  stage  the  licens’d  Earl  may 
run, 

Pair’d  with  his  fellow  charioteer,  the  sun; 
The  learned  Baron  butterflies  design, 

Or  draw  to  silk  Arachne’s  subtle  line;  590 
The  Judge  to  dance  his  brother  sergeant 
call; 

The  Senator  at  cricket  urge  the  ball: 

The  Bishop  stow  (pontific  luxury  !) 

A hundred  souls  of  turkeys  in  a pie; 

The  sturdy  Squire  to  Gallic  masters  stoop, 
And  drown  his  lands  and  manors  in  a soup. 
Others  import  yet  nobler  arts  from  France, 
Teach  Kings  to  fiddle,  and  make  Senates 
dance. 

Perhaps  more  high  some  daring  son  may 
soar,  599 

Proud  to  my  list  to  add  one  monarch  more; 
And  nobly-conscious,  Princes  are  but  things 
Born  for  first  Ministers,  as  slaves  for  Kings, 
Tyrant  supreme  ! shall  three  estates  com- 
mand, 

And  make  one  mighty  Dunciad  of  the  land  /’ 
More  she  had  spoke,  but  yawn’d  — All 
nature  nods: 

What  mortal  can  resist  the  yawn  of  Gods  ? 
Churches  and  chapels  instantly  it  reach’d 
(St.  James’s  first,  for  leaden  Gilbert 
preach’d); 

Then  catch’d  the  Schools;  the  Hall  scarce 
kept  awake ; 

The  Convocation  gaped,  but  could  not 
speak.  610 

Lost  was  the  Nation’s  sense,  nor  could  be 
found, 

While  the  long  solemn  unison  went  round: 
Wide,  and  more  wide,  it  spread  o’er  all  the 
realm; 

Ev’n  Palinurus  nodded  at  the  helm: 

The  vapour  mild  o’er  each  committee  crept; 


Unfinish’d  treaties  in  each  office  slept; 

And  chiefless  armies  dozed  out  the  cam- 
paign ; 

And  navies  yawn’d  for  orders  on  the  main. 

O Muse!  relate  (for  you  can  tell  alone, 
Wits  have  short  memories,  and  Dunces 
none),  620 

Relate  who  first,  who  last,  resign’d  to  rest; 
Whose  heads  she  partly,  whose  completely 
blest; 

What  charms  could  Faction,  what  Ambition 
lull, 

The  venal  quiet,  and  entrance  the  dull, 

Till  drown’d  was  Sense,  and  Shame,  and 
Right,  and  Wrong; 

O sing,  and  hush  the  nations  with  thy  song! 

In  vain,  in  vain  — the  all-composing  hour 
Resistless  falls;  the  Muse  obeys  the  power. 
She  comes!  she  comes!  the  sable  throne 
behold 

Of  Night  primeval,  and  of  Chaos  old!  630 
Before  her  Fancy’s  gilded  clouds  decay, 
And  all  its  varying  rainbows  die  away. 

Wit  shoots  in  vain  its  momentary  fires, 

The  meteor  drops,  and  in  a flash  expires. 
As  one  by  one,  at  dread  Medea’s  strain, 
The  sick’ning  stars  fade  off  th’  ethereal 
plain; 

As  Argus’  eyes,  by  Hermes’  wand  opprest, 
Closed  one  by  one  to  everlasting  rest; 

Thus  at  her  felt  approach,  and  secret  might, 
Art  after  Art  goes  out,  and  all  is  night.  640 
See  skulking  Truth  to  her  old  cavern  fled, 
Mountains  of  casuistry  heap’d  o’er  her  head! 
Philosophy,  that  lean’d  on  Heaven  before, 
Shrinks  to  her  second  cause,  and  is  no  more. 
Physic  of  Metaphysic  begs  defence, 

And  Metaphysic  calls  for  aid  on  Sense! 

See  Mystery  to  Mathematics  fly! 

In  vain!  they  gaze,  turn  giddy,  rave,  and  die. 
Religion,  blushing,  ve'ils  her  sacred  fires, 
And  unawares  Morality  expires.  650 

Nor  public  flame,  nor  private,  dares  to  shine ; 
Nor  human  spark  is  left,  nor  glimpse  divine! 
Lo!  thy  dread  empire,  Chaos!  is  restor’d;  , 
Light  dies  before  thy  uncreating  word: 

Thy  hand,  great  Anarch!  lets  the  curtain 
fall; 

And  universal  Darkness  buries  all. 


THE  ILIAD 


25* 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 

THE  ILIAD 

Pope  began  the  actual  work  of  translating  and  distinguished  list  of  subscribers.  The  first 

The  Iliad  in  1714.  Swift  not  only  strongly  four  books  were  published  in  1715,  and  the 

urged  him  to  undertake  the  task,  but  by  per-  succeeding  books  in  1717,  1718  and  1720. 
sonal  exertions  secured  for  him  a very  large 


POPE’S  PREFACE 

Homer  is  universally  allowed  to  have  had' 
the  greatest  Invention  of  any  writer  whatever. 
The  praise  of  judgment  Virgil  has  justly  con- 
tested with  him,  and  others  may  have  their 
pretensions  as  to  particular  excellencies;  but 
his  invention  remains  yet  unrivalled.  Nor  is 
it  a wonder  if  he  has  ever  been  acknowledged 
the  greatest  of  poets,  who  most  excelled  in  that 
which  is  the  very  foundation  of  poetry.  It  is 
the  invention  that  in  different  degrees  distin- 
guishes  all  great  geniuses  : the  utmost  stretch  ' 
of  human  study,'  learning,  and  industry,  which 
masters  everything  besides,  can  never  attain  to 
this.  It  furnishes  Art  with  all  her  materials, 
and  without  it,  judgment  itself  can  at  best  but 
steal  wisely:  for  Art  is  only  like  a prudent 
steward,  that  lives  on  managing  the  riches  of 
Nature.  Whatever  praises  may  be  given  to 
works  of  judgment,  there  is  not  even  a single  \ 
beauty  in  them  but  is  owing  to  the  invention' : \ 
as  in  the  most  regular  gardens,  however Art  ' 
may  carry  the  greatest  appearance,  there  is  not\ 
a plant  or  flower  but  is  the  gift  of  Nature. 
The  first  can  only  reduce  the  beauties  of  the 
latter  into  a more  obvious  figure,  which  the 
common  eye  may  better  take  in,  and  is  there- 
fore  more  entertained  with  them.  And  per- 
haps the  reason  why  most  critics  are  inclined 
to  prefer  a judicious  and  methodical  genius  to 
a great  and  fruitful  one,  is,  because  they  find  I 
it  easier  for  themselves  to  pursue  their  obse,r-  ( 
vations  through  an  uniform  and  bounded  walk . i 
of  Art,  than  to  comprehend  the  vast  and  various^ 
extent  of  Nature. 

Our  author’s  work  is  a wild  paradise,  where 
if  we  cannot  see  all  the  beauties  so  distinctly 
as  in  an  ordered  garden,  it  is  only  because  the 
number  of  them  is  infinitely  greater.  It  is  like 
a copious  nursery,  which  contains  the  seeds  and 
first  productions  of  every  kind,  out  of  wlimh 
those  who  followed  him  have  but  selected  some 
particular  plants,  each  according  to  his  fancy, 
to  cultivate  and  beautify.  If  some  things  are 
too  luxuriant,  it  is  owing  to  the  richness  of  the 
soil ; and  if  others  are  not  arrived  to  perfection 
or  maturity,  it  is  only  because  they  are  over- 


run and  oppressed  by  those  of  a stronger  na- 
ture. 

I It  is  to  the  strength  of  this  amazing  inven- 
tion we  are  to  attribute  that  unequalled  fire 
and  rapture,  which  is  so  forcible  in  Homer, 
that  no  man  of  a true  poetical,  spirit  is  master 
of  himself  while  he  reads  him.  What  he  writes 
I is  of  the  most  animated  nature  imaginable; 
everything  moves,  everything  lives,  and  is  put 
in  action.  If  a council  be  called,  or  a battle 
1 fought,  you  are  not  coldly  informed  of  what 
bvas  said  or  done  as  from  a third  person ; the 
deader  is  hurried  out  of  himself  by  the  force 
of  the  poet’s  imagination,  and  turns  in  one 
place  to  a hearer,  in  another  to  a spectator. 
'/The  course  of  his  verses  resembles  that  of  the 
army  he  describes, 

Oi  S'  ap ' Xaav,  wael  re  nvpl  x^cev  nacra  vepoiTO. 

They  pour  along  like  a fire  that  sweeps  the  whole 
earth  before  it.  It  is,  however,  remarkable  that 
his  fancy,  which  is  everywhere  vigorous,  is  not 
discovered  immediately  at  the  beginning  of  his 
poem  in  its  fullest  splendour ; it  grows  in  the 
progress  both  upon  himself  and  others,  and  be- 
comes on  fire,  like  a chariot-wheel,  by  its  own 
rapidity.  Exact  disposition,  just  thought,  cor- 
rect elocution,  polished  numbers,  may  have 
been  found  in  a thousand  ; but  this  poetical 
fire,  this  vivida  vis  animi , in  a very  few.  Even 
in  works  where  all  those  are  imperfect  or  neg- 
lected, this  can  overpower  criticism,  and  make 
us  admire  even  while  we  disapprove.  Nay, 
where  this  appears,  though  attended  with  ab- 
surdities, it  brightens  all  the  rubbish  about  it, 
till  we  see  nothing  but  its  own  splendour.  This 
fire  is  discerned  in  Virgil,  but  discerned  as 
through  a glass,  reflected  from  Homer,  more 
shining  than  fierce,  but  everywhere  equal  and 
constant : in  Lucan  and  Statius,  it  bursts  out 
in  sudden,  short,  and  interrupted  flashes  : in 
Milton,  it  glows  like  a furnace  kept  up  to  an 
uncommon  ardour  by  the  force  of  art : in  Shake- 
speare, it  strikes  before  we  are  aware,  like  an 
accidental  fire  from  heaven  : but  in  Homer, 
and  in  him  only,  it  burns  everywhere  clearly, 
and  everywhere  irresistibly. 

I shall  here  endeavour  to  show  how  this  vast 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


252 


invention  exerts  itself  in  a manner  superior  to 
that  of  any  poet,  through  all  the  main  constit- 
uent parts  of  his  work,  as  it  is  the  great  and 
peculiar  characteristic  which  distinguishes  him 
from  all  other  authors. 

This  strong  and  ruling  faculty  was  like  a 
powerful  star,  which,  in  the  violence  of  its 
course,  drew  all  things  within  its  vortex.  It 
seemed  not  enough  to  have  taken  in  the  whole 
circle  of  arts,  and  the  whole  compass  of  Nature, 
to  supply  his  maxims  and  reflections ; all  the 
inward  passions  and  affections  of  mankind,  to 
furnish  his  characters;  and  all  the  outward 
forms  and  images  of  things  for  his  descrip- 
tions ; but  wanting  yet  an  ampler  sphere  to 
expatiate  in,  he  opened  a new  and  boundless 
walk  for  his  imagination,  and  created  a world 
for  himself  in  the  invention  of  Fable.  That 
which  Aristotle  calls  the  soul  of  poetry , was 
first  breathed  into  it  by  Homer.  I shall  begin 
with  considering  him  in  this  part,  as  it  is  nat- 
urally the  first ; and  I speak  of  it  both  as  it 
means  the  design  of  a poem,  and  as  it  is  taken 
for  fiction. 

Fable  may  be  divided  into  the  probable,  the 
allegorical,  and  the  marvellous.  The  probable 
Fable  is  the  recital  of  such  actions  as,  though 
they  did  not  happen,  yet  might,  in  the  common 
course  of  Nature ; or  of  such  as,  though  they 
did,  become  fables  by  the  additional  episodes 
and  manner  of  telling  them.  Of  this  sort  is 
the  main  story  of  an  Epic  poem,  the  return  of 
Ulysses,  the  settlement  of  the  Trojans  in  Italy, 
or  the  like.  That  of  the  Iliad , is  the  anger 
of  Achilles,  the  most  short  and  single  subject 
that  ever  was  chosen  by  any  poet.  Yet  this 
he  has  supplied  with  a vaster  variety  of  inci- 
dents and  events,  and  crowded  with  a greater 
number  of  councils,  speeches,  battles,  and  epi- 
sodes of  all  kinds,  than  are  to  be  found  even  in 
those  poems  whose  schemes  are  of  the  utmost 
latitude  and  irregularity.  The  action  is  hurried 
on  with  the  most  vehement  spirit,  and  its  whole 
duration  employs  not  so  much  as  fifty  days. 
Virgil,  for  want  of  so  warm  a genius,  aided 
himself  by  taking  in  a more  extensive  subject, 
as  well  as  a greater  length  of  time,  and  con- 
tracting the  design  of  both  Homer’s  poems  into 
one,  which  is  yet  but  a fourth  part  as  large  as 
his.  The  other  Epic  poets  have  used  the  same 
practice,  but  generally  carried  it  so  far  as  to 
superinduce  a multiplicity  of  fables,  destroy 
the  unity  of  action,  and  lose  their  readers  in 
an  unreasonable  length  of  time.  Nor  is  it  only 
in  the  main  design  that  they  have  been  unable 
to  add  to  his  invention,  but  they  have  followed 
him  in  every  episode  and  part  of  story.  If  he 
has  given  a regular  catalogue  of  an  army,  they 
all  draw  up  their  forces  in  the  same  order.  If 
he  has  funeral  games  for  Patroclus,  Virgil  has 


the  same  for  Anchises,  and  Statius  (rather  than 
omit  them)  destroys  the  unity  of  his  action  for 
those  of  Archemorus.  If  Ulysses  visit  the 
shades,  the  iEneas  of  Virgil,  and  Scipio  of 
Silius,  are  sent  after  him.  If  he  be  detained 
from  his  return  by  the  allurements  of  Calypso, 
so  is  iEneas  by  Dido,  and  Rinaldo  by  Armida. 
If  Achilles  be  absent  from  the  army  on  the 
score  of  a quarrel  through  half  the  poem,  Ri- 
naldo must  absent  himself  just  as  long,  on  the 
like  account.  If  he  gives  his  hero  a suit  of 
celestial  armour,  Virgil  and  Tasso  make  the 
same  present  to  theirs.  Virgil  has  not  only 
observed  this  close  imitation  of  Homer,  but, 
where  he  had  not  led  the  way,  supplied  the 
want  from  other  Greek  authors.  Thus  the 
story  of  Sinon  and  the  takingof  Troy  was  copied 
(says  Macrobius)  almost  word  for  word  from 
Pisander,  as  the  loves  of  Dido  and  iEneas  are 
taken  from  those  of  Medea  and  Jason  in  Apol- 
lonius, and  several  others  in  the  same  manner. 

To  proceed  to  the  allegorical  Fable.  If  we 
reflect  upon  those  innumerable  knowledges, 
those  secrets  of  Nature  and  Physical  Philo- 
sophy, which  Homer  is  generally  supposed  to 
have  wrapped  up  in  his  Allegories , what  a new 
and  ample  scene  of  wonder  may  this  considera- 
tion afford  us  ? How  fertile  will  that  imagi- 
nation appear,  which  was  able  to  clothe  all  the 
properties  of  elements,  the  qualifications  of  the 
mind,  the  virtues  and  vices,  in  forms  and  per- 
sons ; and  to  introduce  them  into  actions  agree- 
able to  the  nature  of  the  things  they  shadowed  ! 
This  is  a field  in  which  no  succeeding  poets 
could  dispute  with  Homer  ; and  whatever  com- 
mendations have  been  allowed  them  on  this 
head,  are  by  no  means  for  their  invention  in 
having  enlarged  the  circle,  but  for  their  judg- 
ment in  having  contracted  it.  For  when  the 
mode  of  learning  changed  in  following  ages, 
and  Science  w as  delivered  in  a plainer  manner, 
it  then  became  as  reasonable  in  the  more 
modern  poets  to  lay  it  aside,  as  it  was  in 
Homer  to  make  use  of  it.  And  perhaps  it  was 
no  unhappy  circumstance  for  Virgil,  that  there 
was  not  in  his  time  that  demand  upon  him 
of  so  great  an  invention,  as  might  be  capable 
of  furnishing  all  those  allegorical  parts  of  a 
poem. 

The  marvellous  Fable  includes  whatever  is 
supernatural,  and  especially  the  machines  of 
the  Gods.  If  Homer  was  not  the  first  who  in- 
troduced the  Deities  (as  Herodotus  imagines) 
into  the  religion  of  Greece,  he  seems  the  first 
who  brought  them  into  a system  of  machinery 
for  poetry,  and  such  a one  as  makes  its  great- 
est importance  and  dignity.  For  we  find  those 
authors  who  have  been  offended  at  the  literal 
notion  of  the  Gods,  constantly  laying  their  ac- 
cusation against  Homer  as  the  undoubted  in- 


THE  ILIAD 


253 


ven tor  of  it.  But  whatever  cause  there  might 
bo  to  blame  his  Machines  in  a philosophical  or 
religious  view,  they  are  so  perfect  in  the  poetic, 
that  mankind  have  been  ever  since  contented 
to  follow  them  : none  have  been  able  to  en- 
large the  sphere  of  poetry  beyond  the  limits 
he  has  set : every  attempt  of  this  nature  has 
proved  unsuccessful ; and  after  all  the  various 
changes  of  times  and  religions,  his  Gods  con- 
tinue to  this  day  the  Gods  of  poetry. 

We  come  now  to  the  Characters  of  his  per- 
sons ; and  here  we  shall  find  no  author  has  ever 
drawn  so  many,  with  so  visible  and  surprising 
a variety,  or  given  us  such  lively  and  affecting 
impressions  of  them.  Every  one  has  some- 
thing so  singularly  his  own,  that  no  painter 
could  have  distinguished  them  more  by  their 
features,  than  the  poet  has  by  their  manners. 
Nothing  can  be  more  exact  than  the  distinc- 
tions he  has  observed  in  the  different  degrees 
of  virtues  and  vices.  The  single  quality  of 
Courage  is  wonderfully  diversified  in  the  sev- 
eral characters  of  The  Iliad.  That  of  Achilles 
is  furious  and  untractable  ; that  of  Diomed  for- 
ward, yet  listening  to  advice,  and  subject  to 
command  ; that  of  Ajax  is  heavy,  and  self-con- 
fiding ; of  Hector,  active  and  vigilant : the 
courage  of  Agamemnon  is  inspirited  by  love  of 
empire  and  ambition  ; that  of  Menelaus  mixed 
with  softness  and  tenderness  for  his  people  : 
we  find  in  Idomeneus  a plain  direct  soldier,  in 
Sarpedon  a gallant  and  generous  one.  Nor  is 
this  judicious  and  astonishing  diversity  to  be 
found  only  in  the  principal  quality  which  con- 
stitutes the  main  of  each  character,  but  even  in 
the  under-parts  of  it,  to  which  he  takes  care 
to  give  a tincture  of  that  principal  one.  For 
example,  the  main  characters  of  Ulysses  and 
Nestor  consist  in  Wisdom  ; and  they  are  dis- 
tinct in  this,  that  the  wisdom  of  one  is  artificial 
and  various,  of  the  other  natural,  open,  and 
regular.  But  they  have,  besides,  characters 
of  Courage;  and  this  quality  also  takes  a dif- 
ferent turn  in  each  from  the  difference  of  his 
prudence  ; for  one  in  the  war  depends  still 
upon  Caution , the  other  upon  Experience.  It 
would  be  endless  to  produce  instances  of  these 
kinds.  The  characters  of  Virgil  are  far  from 
striking  us  in  this  open  manner ; they  lie  in  a 
great  degree  hidden  and  undistinguished,  and 
where  they  are  marked  most  evidently,  affect 
us  not  in  proportion  to  those  of  Homer.  His 
characters  of  valour  are  much  alike  ; even  that 
of  Turnus  seems  no  way  peculiar,  but  as  it  is 
in  a superior  degree ; and  we  see  nothing  that 
differences  the  courage  of  Mnestheus  from  that 
of  Sergestus,  Cloanthus,  or  the  rest.  In  like 
manner  it  may  be  remarked  of  Statius’s  heroes, 
that  an  air  of  impetuQsity  runs  through  them 
all;  the  same  horrid  and  savage  courage  ap- 


pears in  his  Capaneus,  Tydeus,  Hippomedon, 
&c.  They  have  a parity  of  character,  which 
makes  them  seem  brothers  of  one  family.  I 
believe  when  the  reader  is  led  into  this  track 
of  reflection,  if  he  will  pursue  it  through  the 
Epic  and  Tragic  writers,  he  will  be  convinced 
how  infinitely  superior  in  this  point  the  inven- 
tion of  Homer  was  to  that  of  all  others. 

The  Speeches  are  to  be  considered  as  they 
flow  from  the  characters,  being  perfect  or  de- 
fective as  they  agree  or  disagree  with  the  man- 
ners of  those  who  utter  them.  As  there  is  more 
variety  of  characters  in  The  Iliad , so  there  is  of 
speeches,  than  in  any  other  poem.  Every  thing 
in  it  has  manners  (as  Aristotle  expresses  it) ; 
that  is,  everything  is  acted  or  spoken.  It  is 
hardly  credible  in  a work  of  such  length,  how 
small  a number  of  lines  are  employed  in  narra- 
tion. In  Virgil,  the  dramatic  part  is  less  in 
proportion  to  the  narrative  ; and  the  speeches 
often  consist  of  general  reflections  or  thoughts, 
which  might  be  equally  just  in  any  person’s 
mouth  upon  the  same  occasion.  As  many  of 
his  persons  have  no  apparent  characters,  so 
many  of  his  speeches  escape  being  applied  and 
judged  by  the  rule  of  propriety.  We  oftener 
think  of  the  author  himself  when  we  read  Vir- 
gil than  when  we  are  engaged  in  Homer : all 
which  are  the  effects  of  a colder  invention, 
that  interests  us  less  in  the  action  described : 
Homer  makes  us  hearers,  and  Virgil  leaves  us 
readers. 

If  in  the  next  place  we  take  a view  of  the 
Sentiments , the  same  presiding  faculty  is  emi- 
nent in  the  sublimity  and  spirit  of  his  thoughts. 
Longinus  has  given  his  opinion,  that  it  was  in 
this  part  Homer  principally  excelled.  What 
were  alone  sufficient  to  prove  the  grandeur  and 
excellence  of  his  sentiments  in  general,  is,  that 
they  have  so  remarkable  a parity  with  those 
of  the  Scripture:  Duport,  in  his  Gnomologia 
Homerica,  has  collected  innumerable  instances 
of  this  sort.  And  it  is  with  justice  an  excellent 
modern  writer  allows,  that  if  Virgil  has  not  so 
many  thoughts  that  are  low  and  vulgar,  he  has 
not  so  many  that  are  sublime  and  noble ; and 
that  the  Roman  author  seldom  rises  into  very 
astonishing  sentiments  where  he  is  not  fired  by 
The  Iliad. 

If  we  observe  his  Descriptions.  Images , and 
Similes,  we  shall  find  the  invention  still  pre- 
dominant. To  what  else  can  we  ascribe  that 
vast  comprehension  of  images  of  everv  sort, 
where  we  see  each  circumstance  of  art  and  in- 
dividual of  nature  summoned  together,  by  the 
extent  and  fecundity  of  his  imagination ; to 
which  all  things,  in  their  various  views,  pre- 
sented themselves  in  an  instant,  and  had  their 
impressions  taken  off  to  perfection,  at  a heat  ? 
Nay,  he  not  only  gives  us  the  full  prospects  of 


254 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


things,  but  several  unexpected  peculiarities 
and  side-views,  unobserved  by  any  painter  but 
Homer.  Nothing  is  so  surprising  as  the  de- 
scription of  his  battles,  which  take  up  no  less 
than  half  The  Iliad , and  are  supplied  with  so 
vast  a variety  of  incidents,  that  no  one  bears 
a likeness  to  another ; such  different  kinds  of 
deaths,  that  no  two  heroes  are  wounded  in  the 
same  manner ; and  such  a profusion  of  noble 
ideas,  that  every  battle  rises  above  the  last  in 
greatness,  horror,  and  confusion.  It  is  certain 
there  is  not  near  the  number  of  images  and  de- 
scriptions in  any  Epic  poet ; though  every  one 
has  assisted  himself  with  a great  quantity  out 
of  him  : and  it  is  evident  of  Virgil  especially, 
that  he  has  scarce  any  comparisons  which  are 
not  drawn  from  his  master. 

If  we  descend  from  hence  to  the  Expression , 
we  see  the  blight  imagination  of  Homer  shin- 
ing out  in  the  most  enlivened  forms  of  it.  We 
acknowledge  him  the  father  of  poetical  dietion, 
the  first  who  taught  that  language  of  the  Gods 
to  men.  His  expression  is  like  the  colouring 
of  some  great  masters,  which  discovers  itself 
to  be  laid  on  boldly,  and  executed  with  rapid- 
ity. It  is  indeed  the  strongest  and  most  glow- 
ing imaginable,  and  touched  with  the  greatest 
spirit.  Aristotle  had  reason  to  say,  he  was  the 
only  poet  who  had  found  out  living  words ; 
there  are  in  him  more  daring  figures  and  meta- 
phors than  in  any  good  author  whatever.  An 
arrow  is  impatient  to  be  on  the  wing,  a weapon 
thirsts  to  drink  the  blood  of  an  enemy,  and  the 
like.  Yet  his  expression  is  never  too  big  for  the 
sense,  but  justly  great  in  proportion  to  it.  It 
is  the  sentiment  that  swells  and  fills  out  the 
diction,  which  rises  with  it,  and  forms  itself 
about  it ; and  in  the  same  degree  that  a thought 
is  warmer,  an  expression  will  be  brighter;  as 
that  is  more  strong,  this  will  become  more  per- 
spicuous : like  glass  in  the  furnace,  which 
grows  to  a greater  magnitude,  and  refines  to 
a greater  clearness,  only  as  the  breath  within 
is  more  powerful,  and  the  heat  more  intense. 

To  throw  his  language  more  out  of  prose, 
Homer  seems  to  have  affected  the  compound 
epithets.  This  was  a sort  of  composition  pecu- 
liarly proper  to  poetry,  not  only  as  it  height- 
ened the  diction,  but  as  it  assisted  and  filled 
the  numbers  with  greater  sound  and  pomp,  and 
likewise  conduced  in  some  measure  to  thicken 
the  images.  On  this  last  consideration  I can- 
not but  attribute  these  also  to  the  fruitfulness 
of  his  invention  ; since  (as  he  has  managed 
them)  they  are  a sort  of  supernumerary  pic- 
tures of  the  persons  or  things  to  which  they 
are  joined.  We  see  the  motion  of  Hector’s 
plumes  in  the  epithet  K opvdaioXos,  the  land- 
scape of  Mount  Neritus  in  that  of  ElvoalcpvWos, 
and  so  of  others  ; which  particular  images  could 


not  have  been  insisted  upon  so  long  as  to  ex- 
press them  in  a description  (though  but  of  a 
single  line),  without  diverting  the  reader  too 
much  from  the  principal  action  or  figure.  As 
a metaphor  is  a short  simile,  one  of  these  epi- 
thets is  a short  description. 

Lastly,  if  we  consider  his  Versification,  we 
shall  be  sensible  what  a share  of  praise  is  due 
to  his  invention  in  that.  He  was  not  satisfied 
with  his  language  as  he  found  it  settled  in  any 
one  part  of  Greece,  but  searched  through  its 
differing  dialects  with  this  particular  view,  to 
beautify  and  perfect  his  numbers : he  con- 
sidered these  as  they  had  a greater  mixture 
of  vowels  or  consonants,  and  accordingly  em- 
ployed them  as  the  verse  required  either  a 
greater  smoothness  or  strength.  What  he 
most  affected  was  the  Ionic,  which  has  a pecu- 
liar sweetness  from  its  never  using  contrac- 
tions, and  from  its  custom  of  resolving  the 
diphthongs  into  two  syllables ; so  as  to  make 
the  words  open  themselves  with  a more  spread- 
ing and  sonorous  fluency.  With  this  he  min- 
gled the  Attic  contractions,  the  broader  Doric, 
and  the  feebler  H£olic,  which  often  rejects  its 
aspirate,  or  takes  off  its  accent ; and  completed 
this  variety  by  altering  some  letters  with  the 
license  of  poetry.  Thus  his  measures,  instead 
of  being  fetters  to  his  sense,  were  always  in 
readiness  to  run  along  with  the  warmth  of  his 
rapture,  and  even  to  give  a farther  representa- 
tion of  his  notions,  in  the  correspondence  of 
their  sounds  to  what  they  signified.  Out  of 
all  these  he  has  derived  that  harmony,  which 
makes  us  confess  he  had  not  only  the  richest 
head,  but  the  finest  ear,  in  the  world.  This  is 
so  great  a truth,  that  whoever  will  but  consult 
the  tune  of  his  verses,  even  without  understand- 
ing them  (with  the  same  sort  of  diligence  as 
we  daily  see  practised  in  the  case  of  Italian 
operas),  will  find  more  sweetness,  variety,  and 
majesty  of  sound  than  in  any  other  language 
or  poetry.  The  beauty  of  his  numbers  is  al- 
lowed by  the  critics  to  be  copied  but  faintly 
by  Virgil  himself,  though  they  are  so  just  to 
ascribe  it  to  the  nature  of  the  Latin  tongue  : 
indeed,  the  Greek  has  some  advantages  both 
from  the  natural  sound  of  its  words,  and  the 
turn  and  cadence  of  its  verse,  which  agree  with 
the  genius  of  no  other  language.  Virgil  was 
very  sensible  of  this,  and  used  the  utmost  dili- 
gence in  working  up  a more  intractable  lan- 
guage to  whatsoever  graces  it  was  capable  of ; 
and  in  particular  never  failed  to  bring  the 
sound  of  his  line  to  a beautiful  agreement  with 
its  sense.  If  the  Grecian  poet,  has  not  been  so 
frequently  celebrated  on  this  account  as  the 
Roman,  the  only  reason  is,  that  fewer  critics 
have  understood  one  language  than  the  other. 
Dionysius  of  Halicarnassus  has  pointed  out 


THE  ILIAD 


255 


many  of  our  author’s  beauties  in  this  kind,  in 
his  treatise  of  the  Composition  of  Words , and 
others  will  be  taken  notice  of  in'the  course  of 
my  notes.  It  suffices  at  present  to  observe  of 
his  numbers,  that  they  flow  with  so  much  ease, 
as  to  make  one  imagine  Homer  had  no  other 
care  than  to  transcribe  as  fast  as  the  Muses 
dictated ; and  at  the  same  time  with  so  much 
force  and  inspiriting-  vigour,  that  they  awaken 
and  raise  us  like  the  sound  of  a trumpet.  They 
roll  along  as  a plentiful  river,  always  in  motion, 
and  always  full;  while  we  are  borne  away  by 
a tide  of  verse,  the  most  rapid,  and  yet  the  most 
smooth  imaginable. 

Thus,  on  whatever  side  we  contemplate 
Homer,  what  principally  strikes  us  is  his  In- 
vention. It  is  that  which  forms  the  character 
of  each  part  of  his  work ; and  accordingly  we 
find  it  to  have  made  his  fable  more  extensive 
and  copious  than  any  other ; his  manners  more 
lively  and  strongly  marked,  his  speeches  more 
affecting  and  transported,  his  sentiments  more 
warm  and  sublime,  his  images  and  descriptions 
more  full  and  animated,  his  expression  more 
raised  and  daring,  and  his  numbers  more  rapid 
and  various.  I hope,  in  what  has  been  said 
of  Virgil  with  regard  to  any  of  these  heads,  I 
have  no  way  derogated  from  his  character. 
Nothing  is  more  absurd  or  endless,  than  the 
common  method  of  comparing  eminent  writers 
by  an  opposition  of  particular  passages  in  them, 
and  forming  a judgment  from  thence  of  their 
merit  upon  the  whole.  We  ought  to  have  a 
certain  knowledge  of  the  principal  character 
and  distinguishing  excellence  of  each  : it  is  in 
that  we  are  to  consider  him,  and  in  proportion 
to  his  degree  in  that  we  are  to  admire  him. 
No  author  or  man  ever  excelled  all  the  world 
in  more  than  one  faculty,  and  as  Homer  has 
done  this  in  Invention , Virgil  has  in  Judgment. 
Not  that  we  are  to  think  Homer  wanted  Judg- 
ment, because  Virgil  had  it  in  a more  eminent 
degree ; or  that  Virgil  wanted  Invention,  be- 
cause Homer  possessed  a larger  share  of  it; 
each  of  these  great  authors  had  more  of  both 
than  perhaps  any  man  besides,  and  are  only 
said  to  have  less  in  comparison  with  one  an- 
other. Homer  was  the  greater  genius.  Virgil 
the  better  artist.  In  one  we  most  admire  the 
man,  in  the  other  the  work.  Homer  hurries 
and  transports  us  with  a commanding’  im- 
petuosity, Virgil  leads  us  with  an  attractive 
majesty  : Homer  scatters  with  a generous  pro- 
fusion, Virgil  bestows  with  a careful  magnifi- 
cence : Homer,  like  the  Nile,  pours  out  his 
riches  with  a boundless  overflow ; Virgil,  like 
a river  in  its  banks,  with  a gentle  and  constant 
stream.  When  we  behold  their  battles,  me- 
thinks  the  two  poets  resemble  the  heroes  they 
celebrate : Homer,  boundless  and  irresistible 


as  Achilles,  bears  all  before  him,  and  shines 
more  and  more  as  the  tumult  increases ; Virgil, 
calmly  daring  like  -dEneas,  appears  undisturbed 
in  the  midst  of  the  action,  disposes  all  about 
him,  and  conquers  with  tranquillity.  And  when 
we  look  upon  their  machines,  Homer  seems  like 
his  own  J upiter  in  his  terrors,  shaking  Olympus, 
scattering  the  lightnings,  and  firing  the  hea- 
vens; Virgil,  like  the  same  power  in  his  bene- 
volence, counselling  with  the  Gods,  laying  plans 
for  empires,  and  regularly  ordering  his  whole 
creation. 

But,  after  all,  it  is  with  great  parts,  as  with 
great  virtues;  they  naturally  border  on  some 
imperfection;  and  it  is  often  hard  to  distin- 
guish exactly  where  the  virtue  ends,  or  the 
fault  begins.  As  prudence  may  sometimes 
sink  to  suspicion,  so  may  a great  judgment  de- 
cline to  coldness ; and  as  magnanimity  may 
run  up  to  profusion  or  extravagance,  so  may  a 
great  invention  to  redundancy  or  wildness.  If 
we  look  upon  Homer  in  this  view,  we  shall  per- 
ceive the  chief  objections  against  him  to  pro- 
ceed from  so  noble  a cause  as  the  excess  of  this 
faculty. 

Among  these  we  may  reckon  some  of  his 
marvellous  fictions,  upon  which  so  much  crit- 
icism has  been  spent,  as  surpassing  all  the 
bounds  of  probability.  Perhaps  it  may  be 
with  great  and  superior  souls  as  with  gigan- 
tic bodies,  which,  exerting  themselves  with 
unusual  strength,  exceed  what  is  commonly 
thought  the  due  proportion  of  parts,  to  be- 
come miracles  in  the  whole ; and,  like  the  old 
heroes  of  that  make,  commit  something  near 
extravagance,  amidst  a series  of  glorious  and 
inimitable  performances.  Thus  Homer  has  his 
speaking  horses,  and  Virgil  his  myrtles  distill- 
ing blood ; where  the  latter  has  not  so  much 
as  contrived  the  easy  intervention  of  a deity  to 
save  the  probability. 

# It  is  owing  to  the  same  vast  invention,  that 
his  Similes  have  been  thought  too  exuberant 
and  full  of  circumstances.  The  force  of  this 
faculty  is  seen  in  nothing  more,  than  in  its  in- 
ability to  confine  itself  to  that  single  circum- 
stance upon  which  the  comparison  is  grounded  : 
it  runs  out  into  embellishments  of  additional 
images,  which,  however,  are  so  managed  as 
not  to  overpower  the  main  one.  His  similes 
are  like  pictures,  where  the  principal  figure 
has  not  only  its  proportion  given  agreeable  to 
the  original,  but  is  also  set  off  with  occasional 
ornaments  and  prospects.  The  same  will  ac- 
count for  his  manner  of  heaping  a number  of 
comparisons  together  in  one  breath,  when  his 
fancy  suggested  to  him  at  once  so  many  vari- 
ous and  corresponding  images.  The  reader 
will  easily  extend  this  observation  to  more  ob- 
jections of  the  same  kind. 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


256 


If  there  are  others  which  seem  rather  to 
charge  him  with  a defect  or  narrowness  of 
genius,  than  an  excess  of  it,  those  seeming  de- 
fects will  be  found  upon  examination  to  pro- 
ceed wholly  from  the  nature  of  the  times  he 
lived  in.  Such  are  his  grosser  representations 
of  the  Gods,  and.  the  vicious  and  imperfect 
manners  of  his  heroes ; but  I must  here  speak 
a word  of  the  latter,  as  it  is  a point  generally 
carried  into  extremes,  both  by  the  censurers  and 
defenders  of  Homer.  It  must  be  a strange 
partiality  to  antiquity,  to  think  with  Madame 
Dacier,  ‘ that  those  times  and  manners  are  so 
much  the  more  excellent,  as  they  are  more 
contrary  to  ours.’  Who  can  be  so  prejudiced 
in  their  favour  as  to  magnify  the  felicity  of 
those  ages,  when  a spirit  of  revenge  and  cruelty, 
joined  with  the  practice  of  rapine  and  robbery, 
reigned  through  the  world ; when  no  mercy 
was  shewn  for  the  sake  of  lucre ; when  the 
greatest  princes  were  put  to  the  sword,  and 
their  wives  and  daughters  made  slaves  and 
concubines  ? On  the  other  side,  I would  not 
be  so  delicate  as  those  modern  critics,  who  are 
shocked  at  the  servile  offices  and  mean  em- 
ployments in  which  we  sometimes  see  the 
heroes  of  Homer  engaged.  There  is  a plea- 
sure in  taking  a view  of  that  simplicity,  in 
opposition  to  the  luxury  of  succeeding  ages ; 
in  beholding  monarchs  without  their  guards, 
princes  tending  their  flocks,  and  princesses 
drawing  water  from  the  springs.  When  we 
read  Homer,  we  ought  to  reflect  that  we  are 
reading  the  most  ancient  author  in  the  heathen 
world;  and  those  who  consider  him  in  this 
light,  will  double  their  pleasure  in  the  perusal 
of  him.  Let  them  think  they  are  growing  ac- 
quainted with  nations  and  people  that  are  now 
no  more ; that  they  are  stepping  almost  three 
thousand  years  back  into  the  remotest  anti- 
quity, and  entertaining  themselves  with  a clear 
and  surprising  vision  of  things  nowhere  else  to 
be  found,  the  only  true  mirror  of  that  ancient 
world.  By  this  means  alone  their  greatest  ob- 
stacles will  vanish ; and  what  usually  creates 
their  dislike  will  become  a satisfaction. 

This  consideration  may  farther  serve  to  an- 
swer for  the  constant  use  of  the  same  Epithets 
to  his  Gods  and  Heroes,  such  as  the  far-darting 
Phoebus,  the  blue-eyed  Pallas,  the  Swift-footed 
Achilles,  &c.,  which  some  have  censured  as 
impertinent  and  tediously  repeated.  Those  of 
the  Gods  depended  upon  the  powers  and  offices 
then  believed  to  belong  to  them,  and  had  con- 
tracted a weight  and  veneration  from  the  rites 
and  solemn  devotions  in  which  they  were  used  : 
they  were  a sort  of  attributes  with  which  it 
was  a matter  of  religion  to  salute  them  on  all 
occasions,  and  which  it  was  an  irreverence  to 
omit.  As  for  the  epithets  of  great  men,  Mons, 


Boileau  is  of  opinion,  that  they  were  in  the  na- 
ture of  surnames , and  repeated  as  such ; for  the 
Greeks,  having  no  names  derived  from  their 
fathers,  were  obliged  to  add  some  other  dis- 
tinction of  each  person ; either  naming  his 
parents  expressly,  or  his  place  of  birth,  pro- 
fession, or  the  like  : as  Alexander,  the  son  of 
Philip,  Herodotus  of  Halicarnassus,  Diogenes 
the  Cynic,  &c.  Homer,  therefore,  complying 
with  the  custom  of  his  country,  used  such  dis- 
tinctive additions  as  better  agreed  with  poetry. 
And  indeed  we  have  something  parallel  to 
these  in  modern  times,  such  as  the  names  of 
Harold  Harefoot,  Edmund  Ironside,  Edward 
Longshanks.  Edward  the  Black  Prince,  &c. 
If  yet  this  be  thought  to  account  better  for 
the  propriety  than  for  the  repetition,  I shall 
add  a farther  conjecture.  Hesiod,  dividing  the 
world  into  its  different  ages,  has  placed  a 
fourth  age  between  the  brazen  and  the  iron 
one,  of  ‘ heroes  distinct  from  other  men,  a 
divine  race,  who  fought  at  Thebes  and  Troy, 
are  called  demi-gods,  and  live  by  the  care  of 
Jupiter  in  the  islands  of  the  blessed.’ 1 Now 
among  the  divine  honours  which  were  paid 
them,  they  might  have  this  also  in  common 
with  the  Gods,  not  to  be  mentioned  without 
the  solemnity  of  an  epithet,  and  such  as  might 
be  acceptable  to  them  by  its  celebrating  their 
families,  actions,  or  qualities. 

What  other  cavils  have  been  raised  against 
Homer,  are  such  as  hardly  deserve  a reply,  but 
will  yet  be  taken  notice  of  as  they  occur  in  the 
course  of  the  work.  Many  have  been  occa- 
sioned by  an  injudicious  endeavour  to  exalt 
Virgil ; which  is  much  the  same,  as  if  one 
should  think  to  raise  the  superstructure  by  un- 
dermining the  foundation  : one  would  imagine 
by  the  whole  course  of  their  parallels,  that  these 
critics  never  so  much  as  heard  of  Homer’s  hav- 
ing written  first ; a consideration  which  who- 
ever compares  these  two  poets  ought  to  have 
always  in  his  eye.  Some  accuse  him  for  the 
same  things  which  they  overlook  or  praise  him 
in  the  other ; as  when  they  prefer  the  fable 
and  moral  of  the  Mneis  to  those  of  the  Iliad , 
for  the  same  reasons  which  might  set  the 
Odyssey  above  the  JEneis ; as  that  the  hero  is 
a wiser  man  and  the  action  of  the  one  more 
beneficial  to  his  country  than  that  of  the  other : 
or  else  they  blame  him  for  not  doing  what  he 
never  designed  ; as  because  Achilles  is  not  as 
good  and  perfect  a prince  as  A5neas,  when  the 
very  moral  of  his  poem  required  a contrary 
character ; it  is  thus  that  Rapin  judges  in  his 
comparison  of  Homer  and  Virgil.  Others  se- 
lect those  particular  passages  of  Homer,  which 
are  not  so  laboured  as  some  that  Virgil  drew 
out  of  them  : this  is  the  whole  management  of 
> Hesiod,  lib.  i.  ver,  155,  &o. 


THE  ILIAD 


257 


Scaliger  in  his  Poetics.  Others  quarrel  with 
what  they  take  for  low  and  mean  expressions, 
sometimes  through  a false  delicacy  and  refine- 
ment, oftener  from  an  ignorance  of  the  graces 
of  the  original ; and  then  triumph  in  the  awk- 
wardness of  their  own  translations : this  is  the 
conduct  of  Perrault  in  his  Parallels.  Lastly, 
there  are  others,  who,  pretending  to  a fairer 
proceeding,  distinguish  between  the  personal 
merit  of  Homer,  and  that  of  his  work;  but 
when  they  come  to  assign  the  causes  of  the 
great  reputation  of  the  Iliad , they  found  it 
upon  the  ignorance  of  his  times,  and  the  pre- 
judice of  those  that  followed ; and  in  pursu- 
ance of  this  principle,  they  make  those  acci- 
dents (such  as  the  contention  of  the  cities,  &c. ) 
to  be  the  causes  of  his  fame,  which  were  in 
reality  the  consequences  of  his  merit.  The 
same  might  as  wreli  be  said  of  Virgil,  or  any 
great  author,  whose  general  character  will  in- 
fallibly raise  many  casual  additions  to  their 
reputation.  This  is  the  method  of  Mans,  de 
la  Motte  ; who  yet  confesses  upon  the  whole, 
that  in  whatever  age  Homer  had  lived,  he 
must  have  been  the  greatest  poet  of  his  nation, 
and  that  he  may  be  said  in  this  sense  to  be  the 
master  even  of  those  who  surpassed  him. 

In  all  these  objections  we  see  nothing  that! 
contradicts  his  title  to  the  honour  of  the  chief,! 
Invention;  and  as  long  as  this  (which  is  indeed! 
the  characteristic  of  poetry  itself)  remains  un-jf 
equalled  by  his  followers,  he  still  continues! 
superior  to  them.  A cooler  judgment  may? 
commit  fewer  faults,  and  be  more  approved  | 
in  the  eyes  of  one  sort  of  critics  : but  that 
warmth,  of  fancy  will  carry  the  loudest  and 
most  universal  applauses,  which  holds  the  heart 
of  a reader  under  the  strongest  enchantment./ 
Homer  not  only  appears  the  inventor  of  poetry, 
but  excels  all  the  inventors  of  other  arts  in 
this,  that  he  has  swallowed  up  the  honour  of 
those  who  succeeded  him.  What  he  has  done 
admitted  no  increase,  it  only  left  room  for  con- 
traction or  regulation.  He  showed  all  the 
stretch  of  fancy  at  once  ; and  if  he  has  failed 
in  some  of  his  flights,  it  was  but  because  he 
attempted  every  thing.  A work  of  this  kind 
seems  like  a mighty  tree  which  rises  from  the 
most  vigorous  seed,  is  improved  with  industry, 
flourishes,  and  produces  the  finest  fruit ; nature 
and  art  conspire  to  raise  it ; pleasure  and  pro- 
fit join  to  make  it  valuable  ; and  they  who  find 
the  justest  faults,  have  only  said,  that  a few 
branches  (which  run  luxuriant  through  a rich- 
ness of  Nature)  might  be  lopped  into  form  to 
give  it  a more  regular  appearance. 

Having  now  spoken  of  the  beauties  and  de- 
fects of  the  Original,  it  remains  to  treat  of  the 
Translation,  with  the  same  view  to  the  chief 


characteristic.  As  far  as  that  is  seen  in  the 
main  parts  of  the  poem,  such  as  the  Fable, 
Manners,  and  Sentiments,  no  translator  can 
prejudice  it  but  by  wilful  omissions  or  con- 
tractions. As  it  also  breaks  out  in  every  par- 
ticular image,  description,  and  simile;  whoever 
lessens  or  too  much  softens  those,  takes  off 
from  this  chief  character.  It  is  the  first  grand 
duty  of  an  interpreter  to  give  his  author  entire 
and  unmaimed ; and  for  the  rest,  the  diction 
and  versification  only  are  his  proper  province  ; 
since  these  must  be  his  own,  but  the  others  he 
is  to  take  as  he  finds  them. 

It  should  then  be  considered  what  methods 
may  afford  some  equivalent  in  our  language 
for  the  graces  of  these  in  the  Greek.  It  is  cer- 
tain no  literal  ti’anslation  can  be  just  to  an  ex- 
cellent original  in  a superior  language  : but  it 
is  a great  mistake  to  imagine  (as  many  have 
done)  that  a rash  paraphrase  can  make  amends 
for  this  general  defect : which  is  no  less  in 
danger  to  lose  the  spirit  of  an  ancient,  by  devi- 
ating into  the  modern  manners  of  expression. 
If  there  be  sometimes  a darkness,  there  is  often 
a light  in  antiquity,  which  nothing  better  pre- 
serves than  a version  almost  literal.  I know 
no  liberties  one  ought  to  take,  but  those  which 
are  necessary  for  transfusing  the  spirit  of  the 
original,  and  supporting  the  poetical  stvle  of 
the  translation : and  I will  venture  to  say 
there  have  not  been  more  men  misled  in  former 
times  by  a servile  dull  adherence  to  the  letter, 
than  have  been  deluded  in  ours  by  a chimeri- 
cal insolent  hope  of  raising  and  improving  their 
author.  It  is  not  to  be  doubted  that  the  fire  1 
of  the  poem  is  what  a translator  should  princi- 
pally regard,  as  it  is  most  likely  to  expire  in 
his  managing  : however,  it  is  his  safest  way  to 
be  content  with  preserving  this  to  his  utmost 
in  the  whole,  without  endeavouring  to  be  more 
than  he  finds  his  author  is,  in  any  particular 
place.  It  is  a great  secret  in  writing  to  know 
when  to  be  plain,  and  when  poetical  and  figur- 
ative ; and  it  is  what  Homer  will  teach  us,  if 
we  will  but  follow  modestly  in  his  footsteps. 
Where  his  diction  is  bold  and  lofty,  let  us  raise 
ours  as  high  as  we  can ; but  where  his  is  plain 
and  humble,  we  ought  not  to  be  deterred  from 
imitating  him  by  the  fear  of  incurring  the  cen- 
sure of  a mere  English  critic.  Nothing  that 
belongs  to  Homer  seems  to  have  been  more 
commonly  mistaken  than  the  just  pitch  of  his 
style:  some  of  his  translators  having  swelled 
into  fustian  in  a proud  confidence  of  the  Sub- 
lime ; others  sunk  into  flatness  in  a cold  and 
timorous  notion  of  Simplicity.  Methinks  I see 
these  different  followers  of  Homer,  some  sweat" 
ing  and  straining  after  him  by  violent  leaps 
and  bounds  (the  certain  signs  of  false  mettle) ; 
others  slowly  and  servilely  creeping  in  his 


258 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


train,  while  the  poet  himself  is  all  the  time 
proceeding  with  an  unaffected  and  equal  ma- 
jesty before  them.  However,  of  the  two  ex- 
tremes one  could  sooner  pardon  frenzy  than 
frigidity  : no  author  is  to  be  envied  for  such 
commendations  as  he  may  gain  by  that  char- 
acter of  style,  which  his  friends  must  agree  to- 
gether to  call  Simplicity,  and  the  rest  of  the 
world  will  call  Dulness  There  is  a graceful 
and  dignified  simplicity,  as  well  as  a bald  and 
sordid  one,  which  differ  as  much  from  each 
other  as  the  air  of  a plain  man  from  that  of  a 
sloven:  it  is  one  thing  to  be  tricked  up,  and 
another  not  to  be  dressed  at  all.  Simplicity  is 
the  mean  between  ostentation  and  rusticity. 

This  pure  and  noble  simplicity  is  nowhere 
in  such  perfection  as  in  the  Scripture  and  our 
Author.  One  may  affirm,  with  all  respect  to 
the  inspired  writings,  that  the  divine  Spirit 
made  use  of  no  other  words  but  what  were  in- 
telligible and  common  to  men  at  that  time, 
and  in  that  part  of  the  world ; and  as  Homer 
is  the  author  nearest  to  those,  his  style  must  of 
course  bear  a greater  resemblance  to  the  sacred 
books  than  that  of  any  other  writer.  This  con- 
sideration (together  with  what  has  been  ob- 
served of  the  parity  of  some  of  his  thoughts) 
may,  methinks,  induce  a translator  on  the  one 
hand  to  give  into  several  of  those  general 
phrases  and  manners  of  expression,  which  have 
attained  a veneration  even  in  our  language 
from  being  used  in  the  Old  Testament ; as,  on 
the  other,  to  avoid  those  which  have  been  ap- 
propriated to  the  Divinity,  and  in  a manner 
consigned  to  mystery  and  religion. 

For  a farther  preservation  of  this  air  of  sim- 
plicity, a particular  care  should  be  taken  to 
express  with  all  plainness  those  moral  sentences 
and  proverbial  speeches  which  are  so  numer- 
ous in  this  poet.  They  have  something  vener- 
able, and,  as  I may  say,  oracular,  in  that  un- 
adorned gravity  and  shortness  with  which  they 
are  delivered  : a grace  which  would  be  utterly 
lost  by  endeavouring  to  give  them  what  we 
call  a more  ingenious  (that  is,  a more  modern) 
turn  in  the  paraphrase. 

Perhaps  the  mixture  of  some  Grsecisms  and 
old  words  after  the  manner  of  Milton,  if  done 
without  too  much  affectation,  might  not  have 
an  ill  effect  in  a version  of  this  particular  work, 
which  most  of  any  other  seems  to  require  a 
venerable  antique  cast.  But  certainly  the  use 
of  modern  terms  of  war  and  government,  such 
as  platoon , campaign , junto , or  the  like  (into 
which  some  of  his  translators  have  fallen),  can- 
not be  allowable  ; those  only  excepted,  without 
which  it  is  impossible  to  treat  the  subjects  in 
any  living  language. 

There  are  two  peculiarities  in  Homer’s  dic- 
tion which  are  a sort  of  marks,  or  moles,  by 


which  every  common  eye  distinguishes  him  at 
first  sight : those  who  are  not  his  greatest  ad- 
mirers look  upon  them  as  defects,  and  those 
who  are,  seem  pleased  with  them  as  beauties. 

I speak  of  his  Compound  Epithets,  and  of  his 
Repetitions.  Many  of  the  former  cannot  be 
done  literally  into  English  without  destroy- 
ing the  purity  of  our  language.  I believe  such 
should  be  retained  as  slide  easily  of  themselves 
into  an  English  compound,  without  violence 
to  the  ear  or  to  the  received  rules  of  composi- 
tion : as  well  as  those  which  have  received  a 
sanction  from  the  authority  of  our  best  poet, 
and  are  become  familiar  through  their  use  of 
them  ; such  as  ‘ the  cloud-compelling  Jove,’ 
&c.  As  for  the  rest,  whenever  they  can  be  as 
fully  and  significantly  expressed  in  a single  word 
as  in  a compound  one,  the  course  to  be  taken  is 
obvious. 

Some  that  cannot  be  so  turned  as  to  preserve 
their  full  image  by  one  or  two  words,  may  have 
justice  done  them  by  circumlocution ; as  the 
epithet  slvoalQvWos  to  a mountain,  would  ap- 
pear little  or  ridiculous  translated  literally 
‘ leaf-shaking,’  but  affords  a majestic  idea  in 
the  periphrasis  : ‘ The  lofty  mountain  shakes 
his  waving  woods.’  Others  that  admit  of  dif- 
fering significations,  may  receive  an  advan- 
tage by  a judicious  variation  according  to  the 
occasions  on  which  they  are  introduced.  For 
example,  the  epithet  of  Apollo,  cKr]fi6Aos,  or 
‘ far-shooting.’  is  capable  of  two  explications; 
one  literal  in  respect  of  the  darts  and  bow,  the 
ensigns  of  that  God  ; the  other  allegorical,  with 
regard  to  the  rays  of  the  sun  : therefore  in  such 
places  where  Apollo  is  represented  as  a God  in 
person,  I wrould  use  the  former  interpretation, 
and  where  the  effects  of  the  sun  are  described, 
I would  make  choice  of  the  latter.  Upon  the 
whole,  it  will  be  necessary  to  avoid  that  per- 
petual repetition  of  the  same  epithets  which 
we  find  in  Homer,  and  which,  though  it  might 
be  accommodated  (as  has  been  already  shewn) 
to  the  ear  of  those  times,  is  by  no  means  so  to 
ours : but  one  may  wait  for  opportunities  of 
placing  them  where  they  derive  an  additional 
beauty  from  the  occasions  on  which  they  are 
employed  ; and  in  doing  this  properly,  a trans- 
lator may  at  once  shew  his  fancy  and  his  judg- 
ment. 

As  for  Homer’s  Repetitions,  we  may  divide 
them  into  three  sorts ; of  whole  narrations  and 
speeches,  of  single  sentences,  and  of  one  verse 
or  hemistich.  I hope  it  is  not  impossible  to 
have  such  a regard  to  these,  as  neither  to  lose 
so  known  a mark  of  the  author  on  the  one 
hand,  nor  to  offend  the  reader  too  much  on  the 
other.  The  repetition  is  not  ungraceful  in 
those  speeches  where  the  dignity  of  the  speaker 
renders  it  a sort  of  insolence  to  alter  his  words ; 


THE  ILIAD 


259 


as  in  the  messages  from  Gods  to  men,  or  from 
higher  powers  to  inferiors  in  concerns  of  state, 
or  where  the  ceremonial  of  religion  seems  to 
require  it,  in  the  solemn  forms  of  prayers, 
oaths,  or  the  like.  In  other  cases,  I believe 
the  best  rule  is  to  be  guided  by  the  nearness  or 
distance  at  which  the  repetitions  are  placed  in 
the  original : when  they  follow  too  close,  one 
may  vary  the  expression,  but  it  is  a question 
whether  a professed  translator  be  authorized  to 
omit  any ; if  they  be  tedious,  the  author  is  to 
answer  for  it. 

It  only  remains  to  speak  of  the  Versification. 
Homer  (as  has  been  said)  is  perpetually  apply- 
ing the  sound  to  the  sense,  and  varying  it  on 
every  new  subject.  This  is  indeed  one  of  the 
most  exquisite  beauties  of  poetry,  and  attain- 
able by  very  few : I know  only  of  Homer  emi- 
nent for  it  in  the  Greek,  and  Virgil  in  Latin.  I 
am  sensible  it  is  what  may  sometimes  happen 
by  chance,  when  a writer  is  warm,  and  fully 
possessed  of  his  image : however,  it  may  rea- 
sonably be  believed  they  designed  this,  in  whose 
verse  it  so  manifestly  appears  in  a superior  de- 
gree to  all  others.  Few  readers  have  the  ear 
to  be  judges  of  it,  but  those  who  have,  will  see 
I have  endeavoured  at  this  beauty. 

Upon  the  whole,  I must  confess  myself  ut- 
terly incapable  of  doing  justice  to  Homer.  I 
attempt  him  in  no  other  hope  but  that  which 
one  may  entertain  without  much  vanity,  of 
giving  a more  tolerable  copy  of  him  than  any 
entire  translation  in  verse  has  yet  done.  We 
have  only  those  of  Chapman,  Hobbes,  and 
Ogilby.  Chapman  has  taken  the  advantage  of 
an  immeasurable  length  of  verse,  notwithstand- 
ing which,  there  is  scarce  any  paraphrase  more 
loose  and  rambling  than  his.  He  has  frequent 
interpolations  of  four  or  six  lines,  and  I re- 
member one  in  the  thirteenth  book  of  the 
Odyssey,  ver.  312,  where  he  has  spun  twenty 
verses  out  of  two.  He  is  often  mistaken  in  so 
bold  a manner,  that  one  might  think  he  deviated 
on  purpose,  if  he  did  not  in  other  places  of  his 
notes  insist  so  much  upon  verbal  trifles.  He 
appears  to  have  had  a strong  affectation  of  ex- 
tracting new  meanings  out  of  his  author,  inso- 
much as  to  promise,  in  his  rhyming  preface,  a 
poem  of  the  mysteries  he  had  revealed  in 
Homer  ; and  perhaps  he  endeavoured  to  strain 
the  obvious  sense  to  this  end.  His  expression 
is  involved  in  fustian  ; a fault  for  which  he  was 
remarkable  in  his  original  writings,  as  in  the 
tragedy  of  Bussv  d’Amboise,  &c.  In  a word, 
the  nature  of  the  man  may  account  for  his 
whole  performance  ; for  he  appears  from  his 
preface  and  remarks  to  have  been  of  an  arro- 
gant turn,  and  an  enthusiast  in  poetry.  His 
own  boast  of  having  finished  half  the  Iliad  in 
less  than  fifteen  weeks,  shews  with  what  negli- 


gence his  version  was  performed.  But  that 
which  is  to  be  allowed  him,  and  which  very 
much  contributed  to  cover  his  defects,  is  a 
daring  fiery  spirit  that  animates  his  translation, 
which  is  something  like  what  one  might  ima- 
gine Homer  himself  would  have  writ  before  he 
arrived  to  years  of  discretion. 

Hobbes  has  given  us  a correct  explanation 
of  the  sense  in  general ; but  for  particulars  and 
circumstances,  he  continually  lops  them,  and 
often  omits  the  most  beautiful.  As  for  its  be- 
ing esteemed  a close  translation,  I doubt  not 
many  have  been  led  into  that  error  by  the 
shortness  of  it,  which  proceeds  not  from  his 
following  the  original  line  by  line,  but  from 
the  contractions  above  mentioned.  He  some- 
times omits  whole  similes  and  sentences,  and  is 
now  and  then  guilty  of  mistakes,  into  which  no 
writer  of  his  learning  could  have  fallen,  but 
through  carelessness.  His  poetry,  as  well  as 
Ogilby’s,  is  too  mean  for  criticism. 

It  is  a great  loss  to  the  poetical  world  that 
Mr.  Dryden  did  not  live  to  translate  the  Iliad. 
He  has  left  us  only  the  first  book,  and  a small 
part  of  the  sixth ; in  which  if  he  has  in  some 
places  not  truly  interpreted  the  sense,  or  pre- 
served the  antiquities,  it  ought  to  be  excused 
on  account  of  the  haste  he  was  obliged  to  write 
in.  He  seems  to  have  had  too  much  regard  to 
Chapman,  whose  words  he  sometimes  copies, 
and  has  unhappily  followed  him  in  passages 
where  he  wanders  from  the  original.  How- 
ever, had  he  translated  the  whole  work,  I 
would  no  more  have  attempted  Homer  after 
him  than  Virgil,  his  version  of  whom  (notwith- 
standing some  human  errors)  is  the  most  noble 
and  spirited  translation  I know  in  any  lan- 
guage. But  the  fate  of  great  geniuses  is  like 
that  of  great  ministers : though  they  are  con- 
fessedly the  first  in  the  commonwealth  of  let- 
ters, they  must  be  envied  and  calumniated  only 
for  being  at  the  head  of  it. 

That  which  in  my  opinion  ought  to  be  the  4 
endeavour  of  any  one  who  translates  Homer,  is  ] 
above  all  things  to  keep  alive  that  spirit  and  f 
fire  which  makes  his  chief  character  : in  parti- 1 
cular  places,  where  the  sense  can  bear  any| 
doubt,  to  follow  the  strongest  and  most  poeti-l 
cal,  as  most  agreeing  with  that  character ; to 
copy  him  in  all  the  variations  of  his  style,  and 
the  different  modulations  of  his  numbers ; to 
preserve,  in  the  more  active  or  descriptive 
parts,  a warmth  and  elevation  ; in  the  more 
sedate  or  narrative,  a plainness  and  solemnity; 
in  the  speeches,  a fulness  and  perspicuity ; in 
the  sentences,  a shortness  and  gravity  : not  to 
neglect  even  the  little  figures  and  turns  on  the 
words,  nor  sometimes  the  very  cast  of  the 
periods  ; neither  to  omit  nor  confound  anv  rites 
or  customs  of  antiquity : perhaps,  too,  he 


260 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


ought  to  conclude  the  whole  in  a shorter  com- 
pass than  has  hitherto  been  done  by  any  trans- 
lator who  has  tolerably  preserved  either  the 
sense  or  poetry.  What  I would  farther  recom- 
mend to  him,  is  to  study  his  author  rather  from 
his  own  text,  than  from  any  commentaries,  how 
learned  soever,  or  whatever  figure  they  may 
make  in  the  estimation  of  the  world  ; to  con- 
sider him  attentively  in  comparison  with  Virgil 
above  all  the  ancients,  and  with  Milton  above 
all  the  moderns.  Next  these,  the  Archbishop 
of  Cambray’s  Telemachus  may  give  him  the 
truest  idea  of  the  spirit  and  turn  of  our  author, 
and  Bossu’s  admirable  treatise  of  the  Epic 
Poem  the  justest  notion  of  his  design  and  con- 
duct. But,  after  all,  with  whatever  judgment 
and  study  a man  may  proceed,  or  with  what- 
ever happiness  he  may  perform  such  a work, 
he  must  hope  to  please  but  a few ; those  only 
who  have  at  once  a taste  of  poetry,  and  com- 
petent learning.  For  to  satisfy  such  as  want 
either,  is  not  in  the  nature  of  bis  undertaking  ; 
since  a mere  modern  Wit  can  like  nothing  that 
is  not  modern,  and  a Pedant  nothing  that  is  not 
Greek. 

What  I have  done  is  submitted  to  the  public, 
from  whose  opinions  I am  prepared  to  learn ; 
though  I fear  no  judges  so  little  as  our  best 
poets,  who  are  most  sensible  of  the  weight  of 
this  task.  As  for  the  worst,  whatever  they 
shall  please  to  say,  they  may  give  me  some 
concern  as  they  are  unhappy  men,  but  none  as 
they  are  malignant  writers.  I was  guided  in 
this  translation  by  judgments  very  different 
from  theirs,  and  by  persons  for  whom  they  can 
have  no  kindness,  if  an  old  observation  be  true, 
that  the  strongest  antipathy  in  the  world  is 
that  of  fools  to  men  of  wit.  Mr.  Addison  was 
the  first  whose  advice  determined  me  to  under- 
take this  task;  who  was  pleased  to  write  to 
me  upon  that  occasion  in  such  terms  as  I can- 
not, repeat  without  vanity.  I was  obliged  to 
bir  Richard  Steele  for  a very  early  recommen- 
dation of  my  undertaking  to  the  public.  Dr. 
Swift  promoted  my  interest  with  that  warmth 
with  which  he  always  serves  his  friend.  The 
humanity  and  frankness  of  Sir  Samuel  Garth 
are  what  I never  knew  wanting  on  any  occasion. 
I must  also  acknowledge,  with  infinite  plea- 
sure, the  many  friendly  offices,  as  well  as  sin- 
cere criticisms,  of  Mr.  Congreve,  who  had  led 
me  the  wav  in  translating  some  parts  of  Homer. 
I must  add  the  names  of  Mr.  Rowe  and  Dr. 
Parnell,  though  I shall  take  a farther  oppor- 
tunity of  doing  justice  to  the  last,  whose  good- 
nature (to  give  it  a great  panegyric)  is  no  less 
extensive  than  his  learning.  The  favour  of 
these  gentlemen  is  not  entirely  undeserved  by 
one  who  bears  them  so  true  an  affection.  But 
what  can  I say  of  the  honour  so  many  of  the 


great  have  done  me,  while  the  first  names  of 
the  age  appear  as  my  subscribers,  and  the  most 
distinguished  patrons  and  ornaments  of  learn- 
ing, as  my  chief  encouragers  ? Among  these 
it  is  a particular  pleasure  to  me  to  find,  that 
my  highest  obligations  are  to  such  who  have 
done  most  honour  to  the  name  of  poet : That 
his  grace  the  Duke  of  Buckingham  was  not 
displeased  I should  undertake  the  author  to 
whom  he  has  given  (in  his  excellent  Essay ) so 
complete  a praise : 

Read  Homer  once,  and  you  can  read  no  more; 

For  all  books  else  appear  so  mean,  so  poor, 

Verse  will  seem  prose  ; but  still  persist  to  read 

And  Homer  will  be  all  the  books  you  need  : 

That  the  Earl  of  Halifax  was  one  of  the  first 
to  favour  me,  of  whom  it  is  hard  to  say  whether 
the  advancement  of  the  Polite  Arts  is  more 
owing  to  his  generosity  or  his  example  : That 
such  a genius  as  my  Lord  Bolingbroke,  not 
more  distinguished  in  the  great  scenes  of  busi- 
ness, than  in  all  the  useful  and  entertaining 
parts  of  learning,  has  not  refused  to  be  the 
critic  of  these  sheets,  and  the  patron  of  their 
writer:  and  that  the  noble  author1  of  the 
tragedy  of  Heroic  Love  has  continued  his  par- 
tiality to  me,  from  my  writing  Pastorals,  to  my 
attempting  the  Iliad.  I cannot  deny  myself  the 
pride  of  confessing,  that  I have  had  the  ad- 
vantage not  only  of  their  advice  for  the  con- 
duct in  general,  but  their  correction  of  several 
particulars  of  this  translation. 

I could  say  a great  deal  of  the  pleasure  of 
being  distinguished  by  the  Earl  of  Carnarvon, 
but  it  is  almost  absurd  to  particularize  any  one 
generous  action  in  a person  whose  whole  life  is 
a continued  series  of  them.  Mr.  Stanhope,  the 
present  secretary  of  state,  will  pardon  my  de- 
sire of  having  it  known  that  he  was  pleased  to 
promote  this  affair.  The  particular  zeal  of 
Mr.  Harcourt  (the  son  of  the  late  Lord  Chan- 
cellor) gave  me  a proof  how  much  I am  hon- 
oured in  a share  of  his  friendship.  I must 
attribute  to  the  same  motive  that  of  several 
others  of  my  friends,  to  whom  all  acknowledg- 
ments are  rendered  unnecesary  by  the  privi- 
leges of  a familiar  correspondence ; and  I am 
satisfied  I can  no  way  better  oblige  men  of 
their  turn  than  by  my  silence. 

In  short,  I have  found  more  patrons  than 
ever  Homer  wanted.  He  would  have  thought 
himself  happy  to  have  met  the  same  favour  at 
Athens,  that  has  been  shown  me  by  its  learned 
rival,  the  university  of  Oxford.  And  I can 
hardly  envy  him  those  pompous  honours  he 
received  after  death,  when  I reflect  on  the  en- 
joyment of  so  many  agreeable  obligations,  and 
easy  friendships,  which  make  the  satisfaction 
of  life.  This  distinction  is  the  more  to  be  ac- 
1 George  Granville,  Lord  Lansdowue. 


THE  ILIAD 


261 


knowledged,  as  it  i3  shewn  to  one  whose  pen 
has  never  gratified  the  prejudices  of  particular 
•parties , or  the  vanities  of  particular  men.  What- 
ever the  success  may  prove,  I shall  never  repent 
of  an  undertaking  in  which  I have  experienced 
the  candour  and  friendship  of  so  many  persons 
of  merit;  and  in  which  I hope  to  pass  some  of 
those  years  of  youth  that  are  generally  lost 
in  a circle  of  follies,  after  a manner  neither 
wholly  unuseful  to  others,  nor  disagreeable  to 
myself. 


BOOK  I 

THE  CONTENTION  OF  ACHILLES  AND  AGA- 
MEMNON 

THE  ARGUMENT 

In  the  war  of  Tr<jv,  the  Greeks  having  sacked 
some  of  the  neighbouring  towns,  and  taking 
from  thence  two  beautiful  captives,  Chryseis 
and  Briseis,  allotted  the  first  to  Agamemnon, 
and  the  last  to  Achilles.  Chryses,  the  father 
of  Chryseis,  and  priest  of  Apollo,  comes  to 
the  Grecian  camp  to  ransom  her ; with  which 
the  action  of  the  poem  opens,  in  the  tenth  year 
of  the  siege.  The  priest  being  refused  “and 
insolently  dismissed  by  Agamemnon,  entreats 
for  vengeance  from  his  god,  who  inflicts  a 
pestilence  on  the  Greeks.  Achilles  calls  a 
council,  and  encourages  Chalcas  to  declare 
the  cause  of  it,  who  attributes  it  to  the  re- 
fusal of  Chryseis.  The  king  being  obliged  to 
send  back  his  captive,  enters  into  a furious 
contest  with  Achilles,  which  Nestor  pacifies  ; 
however,  as  he  had  the  absolute  command  of 
the  army,  he  seizes  on  Briseis  in  revenge. 
Achilles  in  discontent  withdraws  himself  and 
his  forces  from  the  rest  of  the  Greeks;  and 
complaining  to  Thetis,  she  supplicates  Jupi- 
ter to  render  them  sensible  of  the  wrong 
done  to  her  son,  by  giving  victory  to  the 
Trojans.  Jupiter  granting  her  suit,  incenses 
Juno,  between  whom  the  debate  runs  high, 
till  they  are  reconciled  by  the  address  of 
Vulcan. 

The  time  of  two-and-twentv  days  is  taken  up 
in  this  book;  nine  during  the  plague,  one  in 
the  council  and  quarrel  of  the  Princes,  and 
twelve  for  Jupiter’s  stay  with  the  Ethiopians, 
at  whose  return  Thetis  prefers  her  petition. 
The  scene  lies  in  the  Grecian  camp,  then 
changes  to  Chrysa,  and  lastly  to  Olympus. 

Ichilles’  wrath,  to  Greece  the  direful 
spring 

woes  unnumber’d,  heav’nly  Goddess, 
sing! 


That  wrath  which  hurl’d  to  Pluto’s  gloomy 
reign 

The  souls  of  mighty  chiefs  untimely  slain: 
Whose  limbs,  unburied  on  the  naked  shore, 
Devouring  dogs  and  hungry  vultures  tore: 
Since  great  Achilles  and  Atrides  strove, 
Such  was  the  Sov’reign  doom,  and  such  the 
will  of  Jove! 

Declare,  O Muse!  in  what  ill-fated  hour 
Sprung  the  fierce  strife,  from  what  offended 
power  ? I0 

Latona’s  son  a dire  contagion  spread, 

And  heap’d  the  camp  with  mountains  of 
the  dead; 

The  King  of  Men  his  rev’rend  priest  defied, 
And  for  the  King’s  offence,  the  people  died. 

For  Chryses  sought  with  costly  gifts  to 
gain 

His  captive  daughter  from  the  victor’s 
chain. 

Suppliant  the  venerable  father  stands; 
Apollo’s  awful  ensigns  grace  his  hands: 

By  these  he  begs:  and,  lowly  bending 
down,  Ig 

Extends  the  sceptre  and  the  laurel  crown. 
He  sued  to  all,  but  chief  implored  for  grace 
The  brother-kings  of  Atreus’  royal  race: 

‘ Ye  Kings  and  Warriors!  may  your  vows 
be  crown’d, 

And  Troy’s  proud  walls  lie  level  with  the 
ground; 

May  Jove  restore  you,  when  your  toils 
are  o’er, 

Safe  to  the  pleasures  of  your  native  shore. 
But  oh  ! relieve  a wretched  parent’s  pain, 
And  give  Chryseis  to  these  arms  again; 

If  mercy  fail,  yet  let  my  presents  move, 
And  dread  avenging  Phcebus,  son  of  Jove.’ 

The  Greeks  in  shouts  their  joint  assent 
declare,  3, 

The  Priest  to  rev’rence  and  release  the 
Fair. 

Not  so  Atrides:  he,  with  kingly  pride, 
Repuls’d  the  sacred  sire,  and  thus  replied: 

‘ Hence  on  thy  life,  and  fly  these  hostile 
plains, 

Nor  ask,  presumptuous,  what  the  King  de- 
tains: 

Hence,  with  thy  laurel  crown,  and  golden 
rod, 

Nor  trust  too  far  those  ensigns  of  thy  God. 
Mine  is  thy  daughter,  Priest,  and  shall  re- 
main; 

And  prayers,  and  tears,  and  bribes,  shall 
plead  in  vain;  ^ 


262 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


Till  time  shall  rifle  ev’ry  youthful  grace, 
And  age  dismiss  her  from  my  cold  em- 
brace, 

In  daily  labours  of  the  loom  employ’d, 

Or  doom’d  to  deck  the  bed  she  once  en- 
joy’d. 

Hence  then!  to  Argos  shall  the  maid  re- 
tire, 

Far  from  her  native  soil,  and  weeping  sire.’ 

The  trembling  priest  along  the  shore 
return’d, 

And  in  the  anguish  of  a father  mourn’d. 
Disconsolate,  not  daring  to  complain, 

Silent  he  wander’d  by  the  sounding  main:  50 
Till,  safe  at  distance,  to  his  God  he  prays, 
The  God  who  darts  around  the  world  his 
rays. 

‘ O Smintheus!  sprung  from  fair  Latona’s 
line, 

Thou  guardian  power  of  Cilia  the  divine, 
Thou  source  of  light!  whom  Tenedos 
adores, 

And  whose  bright  presence  gilds  thy 
Chrysa’s  shores; 

If  e’er  with  wreaths  I hung  thy  sacred 
fane, 

Or  fed  the  flames  with  fat  of  oxen  slain, 
God  of  the  silver  bow!  thy  shafts  employ, 
Avenge  thy  servant,  and  the  Greeks  de- 
stroy.’ 60 

Thus  Chryses  pray’d:  the  fav’ring power 
attends, 

And  from  Olympus’  lofty  tops  descends. 
Bent  was  his  bow,  the  Grecian  hearts  to 
wound; 

Fierce,  as  he  mov’d,  his  silver  shafts  re- 
sound. 

Breathing  revenge,  a sudden  night  he 
spread, 

And  gloomy  darkness  roll’d  around  his 
head. 

The  fleet  in  view,  he  twang’d  his  deadly 
bow, 

And  hissing  fly  the  feather’d  fates  below. 
On  mules  and  dogs  th’  infection  first  began; 
And  last,  the  vengeful  arrows  fix’d  in 
man.  7° 

For  nine  long  nights,  thro’  all  the  dusky  air 
The  pyres  thick-flaming  shot  a dismal 
glare. 

But  ere  the  tenth  revolving  day  was  run, 
Inspired  by  Juno,  Thetis’  god-iike  son 
Convened  to  council  all  the  Grecian  train; 
For  much  the  Goddess  mourn’d  her  heroes 
slain. 


Th’  assembly  seated,  rising  o’er  the  rest, 

Achilles  thus  the  King  of  Men  address’d: 

‘ Why  leave  we  not  the  fatal  Trojan 
shore, 

And  measure  hack  the  seas  we  cross’d 
before  ? £0 

The  Plague  destroying  whom  the  Sword 
would  spare, 

’T  is  time  to  save  the  few  remains  of  war. 

But  let  some  prophet  or  some  sacred  sage 

Explore  the  cause  of  great  Apollo’s  rage; 

Or  learn  the  wasteful  vengeance  to  remove 

By  mystic  dreams,  for  dreams  descend 
from  Jove. 

If  broken  vows  this  heavy  curse  have  laid, 

Let  altars  smoke,  and  hecatombs  be  paid. 

So  Heav’n  atoned  shall  dying  Greece  re- 
store, 

And  Phoebus  dart  his  burning  shafts  no 
more.’  9° 

He  said,  and  sat:  when  Chalcas  thus 
replied: 

Chalcas  the  wise,  the  Grecian  priest  and 
guide, 

That  sacred  seer,  whose  comprehensive 
view 

The  past,  the  present,  and  the  future 
knew; 

Uprising  slow,  the  venerable  sage 

Thus  spoke  the  prudence  and  the  fears  of 


age: 

‘Belov’d  of  Jove,  Achilles!  would’st 
thou  know 

Why  angry  Phoebus  bends  his  fatal  bow  ? 

First  give  thy  faith,  and  plight  a Prince’s 
word 

Of  sure  protection,  by  thy  power  and 
sword,  100 

For  I must  speak  what  wisdom  would  con- 
ceal, 

And  truths  invidious  to  the  great  reveal. 

Bold  is  the  task,  when  subjects,  grown  too 
wise, 

Instruct  a monarch  where  his  error  lies; 

For  tho’  we  deem  the  short-lived  fury  past, 

’T  is  sure,  the  mighty  will  revenge  at  last.’ 

To  whom  Pelides:  ‘ From  thy  inmost  soul 

Speak  what  thou  know’st,  and  speak  with- 
out control. 

Ev’n  by  that  God  I swear,  who  rules  the 


day, 

To  whom  thy  hands  the  vows  of  Greece 


convey,  # 1 

And  whose  blest  oracles  thy  lips  declare; 
Long  as  Achilles  breathes  this  vital  air, 


THE  ILIAD 


263 


No  daring  Greek,  of  all  the  numerous  band, 
Against  his  priest  shall  lift  an  impious 
hand : 

Not  ev’n  the  Chief  by  whom  our  hosts  are 
led, 

The  King  of  Kings,  shall  touch  that  sacred 
head.’ 

Encouraged  thus,  the  blameless  man  re- 
plies: 

Nor  vows  unpaid,  nor  slighted  sacrifice, 
But  he,  our  Chief,  provoked  the  raging 
pest,  119 

Apollo’s  vengeance  for  his  injured  priest. 
Nor  will  the  God’s  awaken’d  fury  cease, 

But  plagues  shall  spread,  and  funeral  fires 
increase, 

HU  the  great  King,  without  a ransom  paid, 
To  her  own  Chrysa  send  the  black-eyed 
maid. 

Perhaps,  with  added  sacrifice  and  prayer, 
Che  Priest  may  pardon,  and  the  God  may 
spare.’ 

The  prophet  spoke;  when,  with  a gloomy 
frown, 

?he  Monarch  started  from  his  shining 
throne; 

Black  choler  fill’d  his  breast  that  boil’d 
with  ire, 

aid  from  his  eyeballs  flash’d  the  living 
i fire.  130 

Augur  accurs’d!  denouncing  mischief  still, 
Prophet  of  plagues,  for  ever  boding  ill! 
till  must  that  tongue  some  wounding  mes- 
sage bring, 

:.nd  still  thy  priestly  pride  provoke  thy 
King  ? 

or  this  are  Phoebus’  oracles  explor’d, 
o teach  the  Greeks  to  murmur  at  their 
lord  ? 

or  this  with  falsehoods  is  my  honour 
stain’d ; 

si  Heav’11  offended,  and  a priest  profaned, 
ecause  my  prize,  my  beauteous  maid,  1 
hold, 

nd  heav’nly  charms  prefer  to  proffer’d 

, ./old  ? 

I maid,  unmatch’d  in  manners  as  in  face, 
.till’d  in  each  art,  and  crown’d  with  ev’ry 
grace: 

iot  half  so  dear  were  Clytsemnestra’s 
charms, 

3 hen  first  her  blooming  beauties  bless’d 
>j  my  arms. 

?t,  if  the  Gods  demand  her,  let  her  sail; 
ir  cares  are  only  for  the  public  weal: 


Let  me  be  deem’d  the  hateful  cause  of  all, 
And  suffer,  rather  than  my  people  fall. 

The  prize,  the  beauteous  prize,  I will  re- 
sign, 

So  dearly  valued,  and  so  justly  mine.  i50 
But  since  for  common  good  I yield  the  Fair, 
My  private  loss  let  grateful  Greece  repair; 
Nor  unrewarded  let  your  Prince  complain, 
That  he  alone  has  fought  and  bled  in  vain.’ 

‘Insatiate  King!’  (Achilles  thus  re- 
plies) 

‘Fond  of  the  Power,  but  fonder  of  the 
Prize! 

Wouldst  thou  the  Greeks  their  lawful  prey 
should  yield, 

The  due  reward  of  many  a well -fought 
field  ? 6 

The  spoils  of  cities  razed,  and  warriors 
slain, 

We  share  with  justice,  as  with  toil  we 
_ Sain:  160 

But  to  resume  whate’er  thy  av’rice  craves 
(That  trick  of  tyrants)  may  be  borne  by 
slaves. 

Yet  if  our  Chief  for  plunder  only  fight, 

The  spoils  of  Ilion  shall  thy  loss  requite, 
Whene’er,  by  Jove’s  decree,  our  conquer- 
ing powers 

Shall  humble  to  the  dust  her  lofty  towers/ 
Then  thus  the  King:  ‘Shall  I my  prize 
resign 

With  tame  content,  and  thou  possess’d  of 
thine  ? 

Great  as  thou  art,  and  like  a God  in  fight, 
Think  not  to  rob  me  of  a soldier’s  right.  170 
At  thy  demand  shall  I restore  the  maid  ? 
First  let  the  just  equivalent  be  paid; 

Such  as  a King  might  ask;  and  let  it  be 
A treasure  worthy  her,  and  worthy  me. 

Or  grant  me  this,  or  with  a monarch’s 
claim 

This  hand  shall  seize  some  other  captive 
dame. 

The  mighty  Ajax  shall  his  prize  resign, 
Ulysses’  spoils,  or  ev’n  thy  own  be  mine. 

The  man  who  suffers,  loudly  may  com- 
plain; 

And  rage  he  may,  but  he  shall  rage  in 
vain.  l8o 

But  this  when  time  requires:  It  now  re- 
mains 

We  launch  a bark  to  plough  the  wat’ry 
plains, 

And  waft  the  sacrifice  to  Chrysa’s  shores, 
With  chosen  pilots,  and  with  lab’ring  oars. 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


264 


Soon  shall  the  Fair  the  sable  ship  ascend, 
And  some  deputed  prince  the  charge  attend. 
This  Creta’s  king,  or  Ajax  shall  fulfil, 

Or  wise  Ulysses  see  perform’d  our  will; 

Or,  if  our  royal  pleasure  shall  ordain,  189 
Achilles’  self  conduct  her  o’er  the  main; 

Let  fierce  Achilles,  dreadful  in  his  rage, 
The  God  propitiate,  and  the  pest  assuage.’ 

At  this,  Pelides,  frowning  stern,  replied: 

‘ O tyrant,  arm’d  with  insolence  and  pride! 
Inglorious  slave  to  int’rest,  ever  join’d 
With  fraud  unworthy  of  a royal  mind! 
What  gen’rous  Greek,  obedient  to  thy 
word, 

Shall  form  an  ambush,  or  shall  lift  the 
sword  ? 

What  cause  have  I to  war  at  thy  decree  ? 
The  distant  Trojans  never  injured  me;  200 
To  Phthia’s  realms  no  hostile  troops  they 
led  ; 

Safe  in  her  vales  my  warlike  coursers  fed; 
Far  hence  remov’d,  the  hoarse-resounding 
main. 

And  walls  of  rocks,  secure  my  native  reign, 
Whose  fruitful  soil  luxuriant  harvests 
grace, 

Rich  in  her  fruits,  and  in  her  martial  race. 
Hither  we  sail’d,  a voluntary  throng, 

T’  avenge  a private,  not  a public  wrong: 
What  else  to  Troy  th’  assembled  nations 
draws, 

But  thine,  ungrateful,  and  thy  brother’s 
cause?  2io 

Is  this  the  pay  our  blood  and  toils  deserve, 
Disgraced  and  injured  by  the  man  we 
serve  ? 

And  darest  thou  threat  to  snatch  my  prize 
away, 

Due  to  the  deeds  of  many  a dreadful  day  ? 
A prize  as  small,  O tyrant!  match’d  with 
thine, 

As  thy  own  actions  if  compared  to  mine. 
Thine  in  each  conquest  is  the  wealthy  prey, 
Tho’  mine  the  sweat  and  danger  of  the  day. 
Some  trivial  present  to  my  ships  I bear, 

Or  barren  praises  pay  the  wounds  of  war. 
But  know,  proud  Monarch,  I ’in  thy  slave 
no  more:  221 

My  fleet  shall  waft  me  to  Thessalia’s  shore. 
Left  by  Achilles  on  the  Trojan  plain, 

What  spoils,  what  conquests,  shall  Atrides 
gain  ? ’ 

To  this  the  King:  ‘ Fly,  mighty  warrior! 

fly, 

Thy  aid  we  need  not,  and  thy  threats  defy: 


There  want  not  chiefs  in  such  a cause  to 
fight. 

And  Jove  himself  shall  guard  a Monarch’s 
right. 

Of  all  the  Kings  (the  Gods’  distinguish5!; 

care)  22c 

To  pow’r  superior  none  such  hatred  bear; 
Strife  and  debate  thy  restless  soul  employ, 
And  wars  and  horrors  are  thy  savage  joy. 
If  thou  hast  strength,  ’t  was  Heav’11  thal 
strength  bestow’d, 

For  know,  vain  man!  thy  valour  is  fron 
God. 

Haste,  launch  thy  vessels,  fly  with  speec 
away, 

Rule  thy  own  realms  with  arbitrary  sway: 
I heed  thee  not,  but  prize  at  equal  rate 
Thy  short-lived  friendship,  and  thy  ground 
less  hate. 

Go,  threat  thy  earth-born  Myrmidons;  bu 
here 

’T  is  mine  to  threaten,  Prince,  and  thine  t< 
fear.  24 

Know,  if  the  God  the  beauteous  dame  ds 
maud, 

My  bark  shall  waft  her  to  her  native  land ; 
But  then  prepare,  imperious  Prince!  pre 
pare, 

Fierce  as  thou  art,  to  yield  thy  captiv 
fair: 

Ev’n  in  thy  tent  I ’ll  seize  the  bloomin' 
prize, 

Thy  loved  Brisei's,  with  the  radiant  eyes. 
Hence  shalt  thou  prove  my  might,  am 
curse  the  hour, 

Thou  stood’st  a rival  of  imperial  power; 
And  hence  to  all  our  host  it  shall  be  know 
That  Kings  are  subject  to  the  Gods  alone. 

Achilles  heard,  with  grief  and  rage  op 
press’d;  25 

His  heart  swell’d  high,  and  labour’d  in  hi 
breast. 

Distracting  thoughts  by  turns  his  bosoi; 
ruled, 

Now  fired  by  wrath,  and  now  by  reaso: 
cool’d: 

That  prompts  his  hand  to  draw  the  deadl 
sword, 

Force  thro’  the  Greeks,  and  pierce  thei 
haughty  lord; 

This  whispers  soft,  his  vengeance  to  contro" 
And  calm  the  rising  tempest  of  his  soul. 
Just  as  in  anguish  of  suspense  he  stay’d, 
While  half  unsheathed  appear’d  the  glitt  1 
ing  blade, 


THE  ILIAD 


265 


Minerva  swift  descended  from  above, 

Sent  by  the  sister  and  the  wife  of  Jove 
(For  both  the  princes  claim’d  her  equal 
care) ; 

Behind  she  stood,  and  by  the  golden  hair 
Achilles  seized;  to  him  alone  confess’d, 

A sable  cloud  conceal’d  her  from  the  rest. 
He  sees,  and  sudden  to  the  Goddess  cries 
a (Known  by  the  flames  that  sparkle  from 
her  eyes) : 

‘ Descends  Minerva,  in  her  guardian  care, 
A heav’nly  witness  of  the  wrongs  I bear  270 
.From  Atreus’  son?  Then  let  those  eyes 
that  view 

The  daring  crime,  behold  the  vengeance 
too.’ 

1 ‘ Forbear!  ’ (the  progeny  of  Jove  replies) 

‘ To  calm  thy  fury  I forsake  the  skies: 

[Let  great  Achilles,  to  the  Gods  resign’d, 

To  reason  yield  the  empire  o’er  his  mind. 
By  awful  Juno  this  command  is  giv’n; 

The  King  and  you  are  both  the  care  of 
Heav’n. 

The  force  of  keen  reproaches  let  him  feel, 
But  sheathe,  obedient,  thy  revenging  steel. 
For  I pronounce  (and  trust  a heav’nly 
Power)  281 

Thy  injured  honour  has  its  fated  hour, 

When  the  proud  monarch  shall  thy  arms 
1 implore, 

ind  bribe  thy  friendship  with  a boundless 
store. 

Then  let  revenge  no  longer  bear  the  sway, 
Command  thy  passions,  and  the  Gods  obey.’ 

To  her  Pelides:  ‘With  regardful  ear, 
r.T  is  just,  O Goddess!  I thy  dictates  hear. 
Hard  as  it  is,  my  vengeance  I suppress: 
Those  who  revere  the  Gods,  the  Gods  will 
_ bless.’  290 

1 le  said,  observant  of  the  blue-eved  maid ; 
Chen  in  the  sheath  return’d  the  shining 

( blade. 

he  Goddess  swift  to  high  Olympus  flies, 

Jnd  joins  the  sacred  senate  of  the  skies. 

Nor  yet  the  rage  his  boiling  breast  for- 
{ sook; 

Thick  thus  redoubling  on  Atrides  broke: 

?0  monster!  mix’d  of  insolence  and  fear, 

'hou  dog  in  forehead,  but  in  heart  a deer! 
Then  wert  thou  known  in  ambush’d  fights 
to  dare, 

>r  nobly  face  the  horrid  front  of  war  ? 300 
|£  is  ours,  the  chance  of  fighting  fields  to 
try, 

hine  to  look  on,  and  bid  the  valiant  die. 


So  much ’t  is  safer  thro’  the  camp  to  go, 
And  rob  a subject,  than  despoil  a foe. 
Scourge  of  thy  people,  violent  and  base! 
Sent  in  .Jove’s  anger  on  a slavish  race, 
Who,  lost  to  sense  of  gen’rous  freedom 
past, 

Are  tamed  to  wrongs,  or  this  had  been  thy 
last. 

Now  by  this  sacred  sceptre  hear  me  swear, 
Which  never  more  shall  leaves  or  blossoms 
bear,  3I0 

Which,  sever’d  from  the  trunk  (as  I from 
thee) 

On  the  bare  mountains  left  its  parent  tree; 
This  sceptre,  form’d  by  temper’d  steel  to 
prove 

A11  ensign  of  the  delegates  of  Jove, 

From  whom  the  power  of  laws  and  justice 
springs 

(Tremendous  oath!  inviolate  to  Kings): 

By  this  I swear,  when  bleeding  Greece 
again 

Shall  call  Achilles,  she  shall  call  in  vain. 
When,  flush’d  with  slaughter,  Hector  comes 
to  spread 

The  purpled  shore  with  mountains  of  the 
dead,  32<J 

Then  shalt  thou  mourn  th’  affront  thy  mad- 
ness gave, 

Forced  to  deplore,  when  impotent  to  save: 
Then  rage  in  bitterness  of  soul,  to  know 
This  act  has  made  the  bravest  Greek  thy 
foe.’ 

He  spoke;  and  furious  hurl’d  against 
the  ground 

His  sceptre  starr’d  with  golden  studs 
around ; 

Then  sternly  silent  sat.  With  like  disdain, 
The  raging  King  return’d  his  frowns  again. 

To  calm  their  passion  with  the  words 

of  age>  329 

Slow  from  his  seat  arose  the  Pylian  sage. 
Experienced  Nestor,  in  persuasion  skill’d; 
Words  sweet  as  honey  from  his  lips  dis- 
till’d : 

Two  generations  now  had  pass’d  away, 

Wise  by  his  rules,  and  happy  by  his  sway; 
Two  ages  o’er  his  native  realm  he  reign’d, 
And  now  th’  example  of  the  third  remain’d. 
All  view’d  with  awe^he  venerable  man; 
Who  thus,  with  mild  benevolence,  began: 

‘ What  shame,  what  woe  is  this  to  Greece! 
what  joy 

To  Troy’s  proud  monarch,  and  the  friends 
^ Troy!  34<) 


266 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


That  adverse  Gods  commit  to  stern  debate 
The  best,  the  bravest  of  the  Grecian  state. 
Young  as  you  are,  this  youthful  heat  re- 
strain, 

Nor  think  your  Nestor’s  years  and  wisdom 
vain. 

A godlike  race  of  heroes  once  I knew, 

Such  as  no  more  these  aged  eyes  shall  view! 
Lives  there  a chief  to  match  Pirithous’ 
fame, 

Dryas  the  bold,  or  Ceneus’  deathless  name; 
Theseus,  endued  with  more  than  mortal 
might,  349 

Or  Polyphemus,  like  the  Gods  in  fight  ? 
With  these  of  old  to  toils  of  battle  bred, 

In  early  youth  my  hardy  days  I led; 

Fired  with  the  thirst  which  virtuous  envy 
breeds, 

And  smit  with  love  of  honourable  deeds. 
Strongest  of  men,  they  pierc’d  the  mournO 
tain  boar, 

Ranged  the  wild  deserts  red  with  mon-  I 
sters’  gore,  f 

And  from  their  hills  the  shaggy  Centaurs 
tore.  J 

Yet  these  with  soft  persuasive  arts  I sway’d; 
When  Nestor  spoke,  they  listen’d  and 
obey’d. 

If  in  my  youth,  ev’n  these  esteem’d  me 
-wise,  360 

Do  you,  young  warriors,  hear  my  age  advise. 
Atrides,  seize  not  on  the  beauteous  slave; 
That  prize  the  Greeks  by  common  suffrage 
gave: 

Nor  thou,  Achilles,  treat  our  Prince  with 
pride; 

Let  Kings  be  just;  and  sov’reign  power 
preside. 

Thee,  the  first  honours  of  the  war  adorn, 
Like  Gods  in  strength,  and  of  a Goddess 
born ; 

Him,  awful  majesty  exalts  above 
The  powers  of  earth,  and  sceptred  sons  of 
Jove.  _ 369 

Let  both  unite  with  well-consenting  mind, 
So  shall  authority  with  strength  be  join’d. 
Leave  me,  O King!  to  calm  Achilles’  rage; 
Rule  thou  thyself,  as  more  advanced  in  age. 
Forbid  it,  Gods!  Achilles  should  be  lost, 
The  pride  of  Greece^ and  bulwark  of  our 
host.’ 

This  said,  he  ceas’d:  the  King  of  Men 
replies: 

6 Thy  years  are  awful,  and  thy  words  are 
wise. 


But  that  imperious,  that  unconquer’d  soul, 
No  laws  can  limit,  no  respect  control: 
Before  his  pride  must  his  superiors  fall,  380  ; 
His  word  the  law,  and  he  the  lord  of  all  ? 
Him  must  our  hosts,  our  chiefs,  ourself, 
obey  ? 

What  King  can  bear  a rival  in  his  sway  ? 
Grant  that  the  Gods  his  matchless  force 
have  giv’n; 

Has  foul  reproach  a privilege  from 
Heav’n  ? ’ 

Here  on  the  Monarch’s  speech  Achilles 
broke, 

And  furious,  thus,  and  interrupting,  spoke: 

‘ Tyrant,  I well  deserv’d  thy  galling  chain,  j 
To  live  thy  slave,  and  still  to  serve  in  vain, 
Should  I submit  to  each  unjust  decree:  390 
Command  thy  vassals,  but  command  not 
me. 

Seize  on  Brisei's,  whom  the  Grecians  doom’d 
My  prize  of  war,  yet  tamely  see  resumed; 
And  seize  secure;  no  more  Achilles  draws 
His  conquering  sword  in  any  woman’s 
cause. 

The  Gods  command  me  to  forgive  the  past; 
But  let  this  first  invasion  be  the  last: 

For  know,  thy  blood,  when  next  thon  darest 
invade, 

Shall  stream  in  vengeance  on  my  reeking 
blade.’ 

At  this  they  ceas’d;  the  stern  debate  ex- 
pired : 40c 

The  Chiefs  in  sullen  majesty  retired. 

Achilles  with  Patroclus  took  his  way, 
Where  near  his  tents  his  hollow  vessels  lay. 
Meantime  Atrides  launch’d  with  numerous 
oars 

A well  - rigg’d  ship  for  Chrysa’s  sacred 
shores: 

High  on  the  deck  was  fair  Chrvseis  placed 
And  sage  Ulysses  with  the  conduct  graced 
Safe  in  her  sides  the  hecatomb  they  stow’d 
Then,  swiftly  sailing,  cut  the  liquid  road. 

The  host  to  expiate,  next  the  King  pre 
pares,  411 

With  pure  lustrations  and  with  solemi 
prayers. 

Wash’d  by  the  briny  wave,  the  pious  train 
Are  cleans’d;  and  cast  th’  ablutions  in  th< 
main. 

Along  the  shores  whole  hecatombs  wer< 
laid, 

And  bulls  and  goats  to  Phoebus’  altars  paid 
The  sable  fumes  in  curling  spires  arise, 
And  waft  their  grateful  odours  to  the  skies 


THE  ILIAD 


267 


The  army  thus  in  sacred  rites  engaged, 
Atrides  still  with  deep  resentment  raged. 
To  wait  his  will  two  sacred  heralds  stood, 
Talthybius  and  Eury bates  the  good.  42, 
‘Haste  to  the  fierce  Achilles’ tent’  (he  cries), 
r Thence  bear  Briseis  as  our  royal  prize : 
Submit  he  must;  or,  if  they  will  not  part, 
Ourself  in  arms  shall  tear  her  from  his 
heart.’ 

Th’  unwilling  heralds  act  their  lord’s 
commands; 

Pensive  they  walk  along  the  barren  sands: 
Arrived,  the  hero  in  his  tent  they  find, 

With  gloomy  aspect,  on  his  arm  reclin’d. 

At  awful  distance  long  they  silent  stand,  43o 
Loth  to  advance,  or  speak  their  hard  com- 
mand ; 

Decent  confusion!  This  the  godlike  man 
Perceiv’d,  and  thus  with  accent  mild  be- 
gan: 

‘ With  leave  and  honour  enter  our 
abodes, 

fe  sacred  ministers  of  men  and  Gods! 

. know  your  message;  by  constraint  you 
came ; 

^ot  you,  but  your  imperious  lord,  I blame. 
Pat  rod  us,  haste,  the  fair  Briseis  bring; 
Conduct  my  captive  to  the  haughty  King. 
>ut  witness,  Heralds,  and  proclaim  mv 
vow,  44o 

fitness  to  Gods  above,  and  men  below! 

>ut  first,  and  loudest,  to  your  Prince  de- 
clare, 

hat  lawless  tyrant  whose  commands  vou 
r bear; 

[fn mov’d  as  death  Achilles  shall  remain, 
ho’  prostrate  Greece  should  bleed  at 
1 ev’ry  vein: 

he  raging  Chief  in  frantic  passion  lost, 
jlind  to  himself,  and  useless  to  his  host, 
nskill’d  to  judge  the  future  by  the  past, 

,i  blood  and  slaughter  shall  repent  at  last.’ 
Patroelus  now  th’  unwilling  beautv 

f . br<fSht;  450 

le,  m soft  sorrows,  and  in  pensive  thought, 
1'iss’d  silent,  as  the  heralds  held  her  hand* 
ad  oft  look’d  back,  slow-moving  o’er  the 
/ strand. 

| Not  so  his  loss  the  fierce  Achilles  bore; 
it  sad  retiring  to  the  sounding  shore, 
ier  the  wild  margin  of  the  deep  he  hung, 
tat  kindred  deep  from  whence  his  mother 
f sprung; 

ere,  bathed  in  tears  of  anger  and  disdain, 

) us  loud  lamented  to  the  stormy  main: 


‘O  parent  Goddess!  since  in  early  bloom 
Thy  son  must  fall,  by  too  severe  a doom; 
Sure,  to  so  short  a race  of  glory  born,  462 
Great  Jove  in  justice  should  this*  span 
adorn. 

Honour  and  Fame  at  least  the  Thund’rer 
owed; 

And  ill  he  pays  the  promise  of  a God, 

If  yon  proud  monarch  thus  thy  son  defies, 
Obscures  my  glories,  and  resumes  mv 
prize.’ 


rar  111  the  deep  recesses  of  the  main, 

7 liere  aged  Ocean  holds  his  waf  ry  reign, 

The  Goddess-mother  heard.  The  waves 
divide; 

And  like  a mist  she  rose  above  the  tide; 

Beheld  him  mourning  on  the  naked  shores, 

And  thus  the  sorrows  of  his  soul  explores: 

‘ Why  grieves  my  son  ? thy  anguish  let  me 
share, 

Keveal  the  cause,  and  trust  a parent’s  care.’ 
He  deeply  sighing  said:  ‘To  tell  my  woe, 

Is  but  to  mention  what  too  well  you  know. 

From  Thebe,  sacred  to  Apollo’s  name 

(Eetion  s realm),  our  conquering  army 
came, 

With  treasure  loaded  and  triumphant 

wu  S?°ilS’  48o 

W hose  just  division  crown’d  the  soldier’s 
toils; 

But  bright  Chrysei's,  heav’nly  prize!  was 
led 

By  vote  selected  to  the  gen’ral’s  bed. 

The  priest  of  Phoebus  sought  by  gifts  to 
gain 

His  beauteous  daughter  from  the  victor’s 
chain ; 


The  fleet  he  reach’d,  and,  lowly  bendino- 
down,  0 

Held  forth  the  sceptre  and  the  laurel  crown, 
Entreating  all;  but  chief  implor’d  for 
grace 


The  brother-kings  of  Atreus’  royal  race: 

The  gen’rous  Greeks  their  joint  consent 
declare,  4go 

The  Priest  to  rev’rence,  and  release  the 
Fair. 

Not  so  Atrides:  he,  with  wonted  pride, 

The  sire  insulted,  and  his  gifts  denied: 

Th  insulted  sire  (his  God’s  peculiar  care) 

To  Phoebus  pray’d,  and  Phoebus  heard  the 
prayer: 

A dreadful  plague  ensues;  th*  avenging- 
darts 

Incessant  fly,  and  pierce  the  Grecian  hearts, 


263 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


A prophet  then,  inspired  by  Heav’n,  arose, 
And  points  the  crime,  and  tlience  derives 
the  woes: 

Myself  the  first  tli’  assembled  chiefs  in- 
cline 500 

T’  avert  the  vengeance  of  the  Power  di- 
vine; 

Then,  rising  in  his  wrath,  the  Monarch 
storm’d ; 

Incens’d  he  threaten’d,  and  his  threats  per- 
form’d: 

The  fair  Chrysei's  to  her  sire  was  sent, 

With  offer’d  gifts  to  make  the  God  relent; 
But  now  he  seized  Briseis’  heav’nly  charms, 
And  of  my  valour’s  prize  defrauds  my 
arms, 

Defrauds  the  votes  of  all  the  Grecian  train; 
And  Service,  Faith,  and  Justice,  plead  in 
vain. 

But,  Goddess!  thou  thy  suppliant  sou  at- 
tend, 5 10 

To  high  Olympus’  shining  court  ascend, 
Grge  all  the  ties  to  former  service  owed, 
A.nd  sue  for  vengeance  to  the  thuud’ring 
God. 

Oft  hast  thou  triumph’d  in  the  glorious 
boast 

That  thou  stood’st  forth,  of  all  tli’  ethereal 
host, 

When  bold  rebellion  shook  the  realms 
above, 

Tli’  undaunted  guard  of  cloud-compelling 
Jove. 

When  the  bright  partner  of  his  awful 
reign, 

The  warlike  maid,  and  Monarch  of  the 
Main, 

The  Traitor-gods,  by  mad  ambition  driv’n, 
Durst  threat  with  chains  th’  omnipotence 
of  Heav’n,  521 

Then  call’d  by  thee,  the  monster  Titan 
came 

(Whom  Gods  Briareus,  men  Egeon  name) ; 
Thro’  wond'ring  skies  enormous  stalk’d 
along; 

Not  he  that  shakes  the  solid  earth  so 
strong: 

With  giant  pride  at  Jove’s  high  throne  he 
stands, 

And  brandish’d  round  him  all  his  hundred 
hands. 

Th’  affrighted  Gods  confess’d  their  awful 
lord, 

They  dropp’d  the  fetters,  trembled  and 
adored. 


This,  Goddess,  this  to  his  rememb’rance 
call,  530 

Embrace  his  knees,  at  his  tribunal  fall; 
Conjure  him  far  to  drive  the  Grecian  train, 
To  hurl  them  headlong  to  their  fleet  and 
main, 

To  heap  the  shores  with  copious  death,  and 
bring 

The  Greeks  to  know  the  curse  of  such  a 
King: 

Let  Agamemnon  lift  his  haughty  head 
O’er  all  his  wide  dominion  of  the  dead, 
And  mourn  in  blood,  that  e’er  he  durst  dis- 
grace 

The  boldest  warrior  of  the  Grecian  race.’ 

‘ Unhappy  son!  ’ (fair  Thetis  thus  re- 
plies, 54c 

While  tears  celestial  trickle  from  hei 
eyes) 

‘ Why  have  I borne  thee  with  a mother’s 
throes, 

To  fates  averse,  and  nurs’d  for  futur( 
woes  ? 

So  short  a space  the  light  of  Heav’n  to 
view! 

So  short  a space!  and  fill’d  with  sorrov 
too! 

()  might  a parent’s  careful  wish  prevail, 
Far,  far  from  Ilion  should  thy  vessels  sail 
And  thou,  from  camps  remote,  the  dange 
shun, 

Which  now,  alas!  too  nearly  threats  m; 
son. 

Yet  (what  I can)  to  move  thy  suit  I ’1 
go  55 

To  great  Olympus  crown’d  with  fleec 
snow. 

Meantime,  secure  within  thy  ships  froi^ 
far 

Behold  the  field,  nor  mingle  in  the  war. 
The  Sire  of  Gods,  and  all  th’  ethereal  trail 
On  the  warm  limits  of  the  farthest  main, 
Now  mix  with  mortals,  nor  disdain  t 
grace 

The  feasts  of  Ethiopia’s  blameless  race:. 
Twelve  days  the  Powers  indulge  the  genu 
rite, 

Returning  with  the  twelfth  revolving  ligli 
Then  will  I mount  the  brazen  dome,  an 
move  5' 

The  high  tribunal  of  immortal  Jove.’ 

The  Goddess  spoke:  the  rolling  wavo 
unclose; 

Then  down  the  deep  she  plunged,  fro: 
whence  she  rose, 


THE  ILIAD 


269 


And  left  him  sorrowing  on  the  lonely  coast 
In  wild  resentment  for  the  Fair  he  lost. 

In  Chrysa’s  port  now  sage  Ulysses  rode; 
Beneath  the  deck  the  destin’d  victims 
stow’d: 

The  sails  they  furl’d,  they  lash’d  the  mast 
aside, 

And  dropp’d  their  anchors,  aud  the  pinnace 
tied. 

Sext  on  the  shore  their  hecatomb  they 
hind,  57G 

uhryseis  last  descending  on  the  strand, 
per,  thus  returning  from  the  furrow’d 
main, 

Jlysses  led  to  Phoebus’  sacred  fane; 

Where  at  his  solemn  altar,  as  the  maid 
le  gave  to  Chryses,  thus  the  hero  said : 

‘ Hail,  rev’rend  Priest!  to  Phoebus’ awful 
dome 

^ suppliant  I from  great  Atrides  come: 
.Jnransom’d  here  receive  the  spotless  Fair; 
rccept  the  hecatomb  the  Greeks  prepare; 
ind  may  thy  God  who  scatters  darts 
around,  _ s8o 

itoned  by  sacrifice,  desist  to  wound.’ 

At  this  the  sire  embraced  the  maid  again, 

0 sadly  lost,  so  lately  sought  in  vain. 

'hen  near  the  altar  of  the  darting  King 
disposed  in  rank  their  hecatomb  they 

bring: 

7ith  water  purify  their  hands,  and  take 
, he  sacred  off ’ring  of  the  salted  cake; 

/Pile  thus  with  arms  devoutly  raised  in 
air, 

nd  solemn  voice,  the  priest  directs  his 
prayer: 

* God  of  the  Silver  Bow,  thy  ear  in- 
ti Cline>  590 

hose  power  encircles  Cilia  the  divine; 
hose  sacred  eye  thy  Tenedos  surveys, 
aid  gilds  fair  Chrysa  with  distinguish’d 
rays! 

(,  fired  to  vengeance  at  thy  priest’s  re- 
quest, 

ly  direful  darts  inflict  the  raging  pest; 

;;ice  more  attend!  avert  the  wasteful  woe, 
id  smile  propitious,  and  unbend  thy  bow.’ 
,So  Chryses  pray’d,  Apollo  heard  his 
prayer: 

id  now  the  Greeks  their  hecatomb  pre- 

1 pare ; 

, tween  their  horns  the  salted  barley 
threw,  A 

ja  with  their  heads  to  Heav’n  the  victims 
slew: 


The  limbs  they  sever  from  th’  inclosing 
hide; 

The  thighs,  selected  to  the  Gods,  divide: 

On  these,  in  double  cauls  involv’d  with 
art, 

The  choicest  morsels  lay  from  every  part. 

The  priest  himself  before  his  altar  stands, 

And  burns  the  off ’ring  with  his  holy  hands, 

Pours  the  black  wine,  and  sees  the  flames 
aspire ; 

The  youths  with  instruments  surround  the 
fire: 

The  thighs  thus  sacrificed,  and  entrails 

, ^lreSfc>  6.0 

1 li  assistants  part,  transfix,  and  roast  the 
rest: 

Then  spread  the  tables,  the  repast  prepare, 

Each  takes  his  seat,  and  each  receives  his 
share. 

When  now  the  rage  of  hunger  was  re- 
press’d, 

With  pure  libations  they  conclude  the 
feast: 

ihe  youths  with  wine  the  copious  goblets 
crown’d, 

And,  pleas’d,  dispense  the  flowing  bowls 
around. 

With  hymns  divine  the  joyous  banquet 
ends, 

The  Pfeans  lengthen’d  till  the  sun  de- 
scends: 

The  Greeks,  restor’d,  the  grateful  notes 
prolong:  620 

Apollo  listens,  and  approves  the  song. 

’T  was  night;  the  chiefs  beside  their 
vessel  lie, 

Till  rosy  morn  had  purpled  o’er  the  sky: 

Then  launch,  and  hoist  the  mast;  indulgent 
gales, 

Supplied  by  Phoebus,  fill  the  swelling  sails; 

The  milk-white  canvas  bellying  as  they 
blow, 

The  parted  ocean  foams  and  roars  below: 

Above  the  bounding  billows  swift  they 
flew, 

Till  now  the  Grecian  camp  appear’d  in 
view. 

Far  on  the  beach  they  haul  their  barks  to 
land,  63(J 

(The  crooked  keel  divides  the  yellow 
sand), 

Then  part,  where  stretch’d  along  the  wind- 
ing bay 

The  ships  and  tents  in  mingled  prospect 
lay. 


270 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


/ 


But,  raging  still,  amidst  his  navy  sate 
The  stern  Achilles,  steadfast  in  his  hate; 
Nor  mix’d  in  combat,  nor  in  council  join’d; 
But  wasting  cares  lay  heavy  on  his  mind: 
In  his  black  thoughts  revenge  and  slaugh- 
ter roll^ 

And  scenes^  of  blood  rise  dreadful  in  his 


soul. 

Twelve  days  were  past,  and  now  the 
dawning  light  640 

The  Gods  had  summon’d  to  th’  Olympian 
height: 

Jove,  first  ascending  from  the  wat’ry 
bowers, 

Leads  the  long  order  of  ethereal  Powers. 
When  like  the  morning  mist,  in  early  day, 
Rose  from  the  flood  the  Daughter  of  the 
Sea; 

And  to  the  seats  divine  her  flight  ad- 
dress’d. 

There,  far  apart,  and  high  above  the  rest, 
The  Thund’rer  sat;  where  old  Olympus 
shrouds 

His  hundred  heads  in  Heav’n,  and  props 
the  clouds. 

Suppliant  the  Goddess  stood:  one  hand  she 
placed  650 

Beneath  his  beard,  and  one  his  knees  em- 
braced. 

4 If  e’er,  O father  of  the  Gods!  ’ she  said, 

4 My  words  could  please  thee,  or  my  actions 
aid; 

Some  marks  of  honour  on  thy  son  bestow, 
And  pay  in  glory  what  in  life  you  owe. 
Fame  is  at  least  by  heav’nly  promise  due 
To  life  so  short,  and  now  dishonour’d  too. 
Avenge  this  wrong,  oh  ever  just  and  wise! 
Let  Greece  be  humbled,  and  the  Trojans 
rise; 

Till  the  proud  King,  and  all  th’  Achaian 
race  660 

Shall  heap  with  honours  him  they  now  dis- 
grace.’ 

Thus  Thetis  spoke,  but  Jove  in  silence 
held 

The  sacred  councils  of  his  breast  conceal’d. 
Not  so  repuls’d,  the  Goddess  closer  press’d, 
Still  grasp’d  his  knees,  and  urged  the  dear 
request. 

40  Sire  of  Gods  and  men!  thy  suppliant 
hear, 

Refuse,  or  grant;  for  what  has  Jove  to 
fear  ? 

Or,  oh!  declare,  of  all  the  Powers  above, 

Is  wretched  Thetis  least  the  care  of  Jove  ? ’ 


She  said,  and  sighing  thus  the  God  re- 
plies, 670 

Who  rolls  the  thunder  o’er  the  vaulted 
skies: 

4 What  hast  thou  ask’d  ? Ah,  why  should 
Jove  engage 

In  foreign  contests,  and  domestic  rage, 

The  Gods’  complaints,  and  Juno’s  fierce 
alarms, 

While  I,  too  partial,  aid  the  Trojan  arms  ? 
Go,  lest  the  haughty  partner  of  my  sway 
With  jealous  eyes  thy  close  access  survey; 
But  part  in  peace,  secure  thy  prayer  is  sped: 
Witness  the  sacred  honours  of  our  head, 
The  nod  that  ratifies  the  will  divine,  680 
The  faithful,  fix’d, 'irrevocable  sign; 

This  seals  thy  suit,  and  this  fulfils  thy 
vows  — * 

He  spoke,  and  awful  bends  his  sable  brows. 
Shakes  his  ambrosial  curls,  and  gives  the 
nod; 

The  stamp  of  Fate,  and  sanction  of  the 
God: 

High  Heav’n  with  trembling  the  dread  sig- 
nal took, 

And  all  Olympus  to  the  centre  shook. 

Swift  to  the  seas  profound  the  Goddess 
flies, 

Jove  to  his  starry  mansion  in  the  skies.  68< 
The  shining  Synod  of  th’  Immortals  wait 
The  coming  God,  and  from  their  throne; 
of  state 

Arising  silent,  rapt  in  holy  fear, 

Before  the  Majesty  of  Heav’n  appear. 
Trembling  they  stand,  while  Jove  assumei 
the  throne, 

All,  but  the  God’s  imperious  Queen  alone: 
Late  had  she  view’d  the  silver  - footed 
dame, 

And  all  her  passions  kindled  into  flame. 

4 Say,  artful  manager  of  Heav’n’  (she  cries) 
‘Who  now  partakes  the  secrets  of  th< 
skies  ? 

Thy  Juno  knows  not  the  decrees  of  Fate,  7c 
In  vain  the  partner  of  imperial  state. 
What  fav’rite  Goddess  then  those  care 
divides, 

Which  Jove  in  prudence  from  his  consoi 
hides  ? ’ 

To  this  the  Thund’rer:  4 Seek  not  tho 
to  find 

The  sacred  counsels  of  almighty  mind: 
Involved  in  darkness  lies  the  great  decree 
Nor  can  the  depths  of  Fate  be  piorc  d b 
tiiee. 


THE  ILIAD 


27 1 


What  fits  tliy  knowledge,  thou  the  first 
shalt  know: 

The  first  of  Gods  above  and  men  below: 
liut  thou,  nor  they,  shall  search  the 
thoughts  that  roll  7xo 

Deep  in  the  close  recesses  of  my  soul.’ 

Full  on  the  Sire,  the  Goddess  of  the  skies 
Roll’d  the  large  orbs  of  her  majestic  eyes, 
And  thus  return’d:  ‘Austere  Saturnius, 
say, 

■From  whence  this  wrath,  or  who  controls 
thy  sway  ? 

Thy  boundless  will,  for  me,  remains  in 
force, 

And  all  thy  counsels  take  the  destin’d 
course. 

But  ’t is  for  Greece  I fear:  for  late  was 
seen 

In  close  consult  the  Silver-footed  Queen. 

1 Jove  to  his  Thetis  nothing  could  deny,  720 
Nor  was  the  signal  vain  that  shook  the  sky. 
What  fatal  favour  has  the  Goddess  won, 

To  grace  her  fierce  inexorable  son  ? 

Perhaps  in  Grecian  blood  to  drench  the 
plain, 

And  glut  his  vengeance  with  my  people 
slain.’ 

Then  thus  the  God:  ‘ Oh  restless  fate  of 
pride, 

That  strives  to  learn  what  Heav’11  resolves 
to  hide; 

Fain  is  the  search,  presumptuous  and 
abhorr’d, 

Anxious  to  thee,  and  odious  to  thy  Lord. 

,~<et  this  suffice:  th’  immutable  decree  73o 
*0  force  can  shake:  what  is,  that  ought  to 
be. 

Goddess,  submit,  nor  dare  our  will  with- 
stand, 

lut  dread  the  power  of  this  avenging  hand; 
p1’  united  strength  of  all  the  Gods  above 
n vain  resist  th’  omnipotence  of  Jove.’ 

The  Thund’rer  spoke,  nor  durst  the 
Queen  reply; 

L rev’rend  horror  silenced  all  the  sky. 

\he  feast  disturb’d,  with  sorrow  Vulcan 
saw 

Jis  mother  menaced,  and  the  Gods  in  awe; 
’eace  at  his  heart,  and  pleasure  his  design, 
i'hus  interposed  the  architect  divine:  74i 
The  wretched  quarrels  of  the  mortal  state 
re  far  unworthy,  Gods!  of  your  debate: 

>iet  men  their  days  in  senseless  strife  em- 
ir • pl°y’ 

ve,  in  eternal  peace,  and  constant  joy. 


Thou,  Goddess-mother,  with  our  sire  com- 

xt  ply’ 

Nor  break  the  sacred  union  of  the  sky: 
Lest,  rous’d  to  rage,  he  shake  the  blest 
abodes, 

Launch  the  red  lightning,  and  dethrone  the 
Gods. 

If  you  submit,  the  Thund’rer  stands  ap- 
peas’d; 7So 

The  gracious  Power  is  willing  to  be 
pleas’d.’ 

Thus  Vulcan  spoke;  and,  rising  with  a 
bound, 

The  double  bowl  with  sparkling  nectar 
crown’d, 

Which  held  to  Juno  in  a cheerful  way, 
‘Goddess  ’ (he  cried),  ‘ be  patient  and  obey. 
Dear  as  you  are,  if  Jove  his  arm  extend, 

I can  but  grieve,  unable  to  defend. 

What  God  so  daring  in  your  aid  to  move, 
Or  lift  his  hand  against  the  force  of  Jove  ? 
Once  in  your  cause  I felt  his  matchless 
might,  ?6o 

Hurl  d headlong  downward  from  th’  ethe- 
real height; 

Toss  d all  the  day  in  rapid  circles  round; 
Nor,  till  the  sun  descended,  touch’d  the 
ground: 

Breathless  I fell,  in  giddy  motion  lost; 

The  Sinthians  rais  d me  on  the  Lemnian 
coast.’ 

He  said,  and  to  her  hands  the  goblet 
heav’d, 

Which,  with  a smile,  the  white-arm’d  Queen 
receiv’d. 

Then  to  the  rest  he  fill’d;  and,  in  bis 
turn, 

Each  to  his  lips  applied  the  nectar’d  urn. 
Vulcan  with  awkward  grace  his  office 
Plies,  „„ 

And  unextinguish’d  laughter  shakes  the 
skies. 

Thus  the  blest  Gods  the  genial  day  pro- 
long, 

In  feasts  ambrosial,  and  celestial  song. 
Apollo  tuned  the  lyre;  the  Muses  round 
With  voice  alternate  aid  the  silver  sound. 
Meantime  the  radiant  sun,  to  mortal  sight 
Descending  swift,  roll’d  down  the  rapid 
light. 

Then  to  their  starry  domes  the  Gods  de- 
part, 

The  shining  monuments  of  Vulcan’s  art: 

Jove  on  his  couch  reclin’d  his  awful  head, 
And  J uuo  slumber’d  on  the  golden  bed.  781 


272 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


BOOK  II 

THE  TRIAL  OF  THE  ARMY  AND  CATALOGUE 
OF  THE  FORCES 

THE  ARGUMENT 

Jupiter,  in  pursuance  of  the  request  of  Thetis, 
sends  a deceitful  vision  to  Agamemnon,  per- 
suading him  to  lead  the  army  to  battle  ; in 
order  to  make  the  Greeks  sensible  of  their 
want  of  Achilles.  The  general,  who  is  de- 
luded with  the  hopes  of  taking  Troy  without 
his  assistance,  but  fears  the  army  was  dis- 
couraged by  his  absence  and  the  late  plague, 
as  well  as  by  lengtti  of  time,  contrives  to 
make  trial  of  their  disposition  by  a strata- 
gem. He  first  communicates  his  design  to 
the  Princes  in  council,  that  he  would  propose 
a return  to  the  soldiers,  and  that  they  should 
put  a stop  to  them  if  the  proposal  was  em- 
braced. Then  he  assembles  the  whole  host, 
and  upon  moving  for  a return  to  Greece,  they 
unanimously  agree  to  it,  and  run  to  prepare 
the  ships.  They  are  detained  by  the  manage- 
ment of  Ulysses,  who  chastises  the  insolence 
of  Thersites.  The  assembly  is  recalled,  sev- 
eral speeches  made  on  the  occasion,  and 
at  length  the  advice  of  Nestor  followed, 
which  was  to  make  a general  muster  of  the 
troops,  and  to  divide  them  into  their  sev- 
eral nations,  before  they  proceeded  to  battle. 
This  gives  occasion  to  the  poet  to  enumerate 
all  the  forces  of  the  Greeks  and  Trojans,  in  a 
large  catalogue. 

The  time  employed  in  this  book  consists  not 
entirely  of  one  day.  The  scene  lies  in  the 
Grecian  camp  and  upon  the  seashore ; to- 
ward the  end  it  removes  to  Troy. 

Now  pleasing  sleep  had  seal’d  each  mortal 
eye, 

Stretch’d  in  the  tents  the  Grecian  leaders 
lie, 

Th’  immortal  slumber’d  on  their  thrones 
above; 

All  but  the  ever- wakeful  eyes  of  Jove. 

To  honour  Thetis’  son  he  bends  his  care, 

And  plunge  the  Greeks  in  all  the  woes  of 
war : 

Then  bids  an  empty  Phantom  rise  to  sight, 

And  thus  commands  the  Vision  of  the 
night: 

* Fly  hence,  deluding  Dream!  and,  light 
as  air, 

To  Agamemnon’s  ample  tent  repair.  io 

Bid  him  in  arms  draw  forth  th’  embattled 
train. 

Lead  all  his  Grecians  to  the  dusty  plain. 


Declare,  ev’n  now ’t  is  given  him  to  destroy 
The  lofty  towers  of  wide-extended  Troy. 

For  now  no  more  the  Gods  with  Fate  con- 
tend, 

At  Juno’s  suit  the  heav’nly  factions  end. 
Destruction  hangs  o’er  yon  devoted  wall, 
And  nodding  Ilion  waits  th’  impending 
fall.’ 

Swift  as  the  word  the  vain  Illusion  fled,  | 
Descends,  and  hovers  o’er  Atrides’  head;  20 
Clothed  in  the  figure  of  the  Pylian  sage, 
Renown’d  for  wisdom,  and  revered  for 
age; 

Around  his  temples  spreads  his  golden 
wing, 

And  thus  the  flatt’ring  Dream  deceives  the  1 
King: 

‘ Canst  thou,  with  all  a Monarch’s  cares 
oppress’d, 

O Atreus’  son  ! canst  thou  indulge  thy 
rest  ? 

Ill  fits  a chief  who  mighty  nations  guides, 
Directs  in  council,  and  in  war  presides, 

To  whom  its  safety  a whole  people  owes, 

To  waste  long  nights  in  indolent  repose.  30 
Monarch,  awake!  ’tis  Jove’s  command  I 
bear, 

Thou  and  thy  glory  claim  his  heav’nly 
care. 

I11  just  array  draw  forth  tli’  embattled  train, 
Lead  all  thy  Grecians  to  the  dusty  plain; 
Ev’n  now,  O King!  ’tis  given  thee  to  de- 
stroy 

The  lofty  towers  of  wide-extended  Troy. 
For  now  no  more  the  Gods  with  Fate  con- 
tend, 

At  Juno’s  snit  the  heav’nly  factions  end. 
Destruction  hangs  o’er  yen  devoted  wall, 
And  nodding  Ilion  waits  th’  impending 
fall,  40 

Awake,  but,  waking,  this  advice  approve, 
And  trust  the  vision  that  descends  from 
Jove.’ 

The  Phantom  said;  then  vanish’d  from 
his  sight, 

Fesolves  to  air,  and  mixes  with  the  night. 

A thousand  schemes  the  Monarch’s  mind 
employ ; 

Elate  in  thought,  he  sacks  untaken  Troy; 
Vain  as  he  was,  and  to  the  future  blind; 
Nor  saw  what  Jove  and  secret  Fate  de- 
sign’d ; 

What  mighty  toils  to  either  host  remain, 
What  scenes  of  grief,  and  numbers  of  the 
slain!  5® 


THE  ILIAD 


273 


Eager  lie  rises,  and  in  fancy  hears 
The  voice  celestial  murm’ring  in  his  ears. 
First  on  his  limbs  a slender  vest  he  drew, 
Around  him  next  the  regal  mantle  threw, 
Tli’  embroider’d  sandals  on  his  feet  were 
tied; 

The  starry  falchion  glitter’d  at  his  side: 
And  last  his  arm  the  massy  sceptre  loads, 
Unstain’d,  immortal,  and  the  gift  of  Gods. 

Now  rosy  Morn  ascends  the  court  of 
Jove, 

Lifts  up  her  light,  and  opens  day  above.  60 
The  King  dispatch'd  his  heralds  with  com- 
mands 

To  range  the  camp  and  summon  all  the 
bands : 


The  gath’ring  hosts  the  Monarch’s  word 
obey ; 

While  to  the  fleet  Atrides  bends  his  way. 
In  his  black  ship  the  Pylian  Prince  he 
found ; 

There  calls  a senate  of  the  peers  around: 
Th’  assembly  placed,  the  King  of  Men  ex- 
press’d 

The  counsels  lab’ring  in  his  artful  breast: 

'Friends  and  confed’rates!  with  atten- 
tive ear 

Receive  my  words,  and  credit  what  you 
hear.  7o 

Late  as  I slumber’d  in  the  shades  of  night, 
A Dream  divine  appear’d  before  my  sight; 
Whose  visionary  form  like  Nestor  came, 
The  same  in  habit,  and  in  mien  the  same, 
rhe  heav’nly  Phantom  hover’d  o’er  mv 
head, 

Vnd,  “ Dost  thou  sleep,  O Atreus’  son  ? ” 
(he  said) 

1 pl  fits  a chief  who  mighty  nations  guides, 
Directs  in  council,  and  in  war  presides, 

To  whom  its  safety  a whole  people  owes, 

Co  waste  long  nights  in  indolent  repose.  80 
Monarch,  awake!  ’t  is  Jove’s  command  I 
J bear, 

hou  and  thy  glory  claim  his  heav’nly  care; 
n just  array  draw  forth  th’  embattled  train, 
ymd  lead  the  Grecians  to  the  dusty  plain, 
iv’n  now,  O King!  ’t  is  giv’n  thee  to  de- 
j,  stroy 

’he  lofty  towers  of  wide-extended  Troy, 
or  now  no  more  the  Gods  with  Fate  con- 
tend, 

t Juno’s  suit  the  heav’nly  factions  end. 

1 'estruction  hangs  o’er  yon  devoted  wall, 
nd  nodding  Ilion  waits  th’  impending 
fall.  9D 


This  hear  observant,  and  the  Gods  obey!” 

The  Vision  spoke,  and  pass’d  in  air  away. 

Now,  valiant  chiefs!  since  Heav’n  itself 
alarms, 

Unite,  and  rouse  the  sons  of  Greece  to 
arms. 

But  first,  with  caution,  try  what  yet  they 
dare, 

Worn  with  nine  years  of  unsuccessful  war. 

To  move  the  troops  to  measure  back  the 
main, 

Be  mine;  and  yours  the  province  to  detain/ 
He  spoke,  and  sat;  when  Nestor  rising 
said 

(Nestor,  whom  Pylos’  sandy  realms 
obey’d):  IOO 

‘Princes  of  Greece,  your  faithful  ears  in- 
cline, 

Nor  doubt  the  Vision  of  the  Powers  divine; 

Sent  by  great  Jove  to  him  who  rules  the 
host, 

Forbid  it,  Heav’n!  this  warning  should  be 
lost! 

Then  let  us  haste,  obey  the  God’s  alarms, 

And  join  to  rouse  the  sons  of  Greece  to 
arms.’ 

Thus  spoke  the  sage:  the  Kings  without 
delay 

Dissolve  the  council,  and  their  Chief  obey: 

The  sceptred  rulers  lead;  the  foil’ wine 
host, 

Pour’d  forth  by  thousands,  darkens  all  the 
coast.  ri0 

As  from  some  rocky  cleft  the  shepherd 
sees 

Clust’ring  in  heaps  on  heaps  the  driving 
bees, 

Rolling  and  black’ning,  swarms  succeeding 
swarms 

With  deeper  murmurs  and  more  hoarse 
alarms; 

Dusky  they  spread,  a close  - embodied 
crowd, 

And  o’er  the  vale  descends  the  living 
cloud. 

So,  from  the  tents  and  ships,  a length’ning 
train 

Spreads  all  the  beach,  and  wide  o’ershades 
the  plain; 

Along  the  region  runs  a deaf’ning  sound; 

Beneath  their  footsteps  groans  the  trem- 
bling ground.  I20 

Fame  flies  before,  the  messenger  of  Jove, 

And  shining  soars,  and  claps  her  wings 
above. 


274 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


Nine  sacred  heralds  now  proclaiming  loud 
The  Monarch’s  will,  suspend  the  list’ning 
crowd. 

Soon  as  the  throngs  ill  order  ranged  ap- 
pear, 

And  fainter  murmurs  died  upon  the  ear, 
The  King  of  Kings  his  awful  figure  raised; 
High  in  his  hand  the  golden  sceptre  blazed: 
The  golden  sceptre,  of  celestial  frame, 

By  Vulcan  form’d,  from  Jove  to  Hermes 
came : 130 

To  Pelops  he  th’  immortal  gift  resign’d; 

Tli’  immortal  gift  great  Pelops  left  behind, 
In  Atreus’  hand,  which  not  with  Atreus 
ends, 

To  rich  Thyestes  next  the  prize  descends; 
And  now,  the  mark  of  Agamemnon’s  reign, 
Subjects  all  Argos,  and  controls  the  main. 

On  this  bright  sceptre  now  the  King  re- 
clin’d, 

And  artful  thus  pronounced  the  speech  de- 
sign’d ; 

‘Ye  sons  of  Mars!  partake  your  leader’s 
care, 

Heroes  of  Greece,  and  brothers  of  the  war! 
Of  partial  Jove  with  justice  I complain,  141 
And  heav’nly  oracles  believ’d  in  vain. 

A safe  return  was  promis’d  to  our  toils, 
Renown’d,  triumphant,  and  enrich’d  with 
spoils. 

Now  shameful  flight  alone  can  save  the 
host, 

Our  blood,  our  treasure,  and  our  glory  lost. 
So  Jove  decrees,  resistless  Lord  of  all! 

At  whose  command  whole  empires  rise  or 
fall: 

He  shakes  the  feeble  props  of  human  trust, 
And  towns  and  armies  humbles  to  the  dust. 
What  shame  to  Greece  a fruitless  war  to 
wage,  fS1 

Oh  lasting  shame  in  ev’ry  future  age! 

Once  great  in  arms,  the  common  scorn  we 
grow, 

Repuls’d  and  baffled  by  a feeble  foe. 

So  small  their  number,  that,  if  wars  were 
ceas’d, 

And  Greece  triumphant  held  a gen’ral 
feast, 

All  rank’d  by  tens;  whole  decades,  when 
they  dine, 

Must  want  a Trojan  slave  to  pour  the  wine. 
But  other  forces  have  our  hopes  o’er- 
thrown, 

And  Troy  prevails  by  armies  not  her 
own.  160 


Now  nine  long  years  of  mighty  Jove  are 
run, 

Since  first  the  labours  of  this  war  begun; 
Our  cordage  torn,  decay’d  our  vessels  lie, 
And  scarce  ensure  the  wretched  power  to 
%• 

Haste  then,  for  ever  leave  the  Trojan  wall! 
Our  weeping  wives,  our  tender  children 
call; 

Love,  Duty,  Safety,  summon  us  away, 

’T  is  Nature’s  voice,  and  Nature  we  obey. 
Our  f-hatter’d  barks  may  yet  transport  us 
o’er, 

Safe  and  inglorious,  to  our  native  shore.  170 
Fly,  Grecians,  fly!  your  sails  and  oars  em- 
ploy, 

And  dream  no  more  of  Heav’n-defended 
Troy.’ 

His  deep  design  unknown,  the  hosts  ap- 
prove 

Atrides’  speech.  The  mighty  numbers 
move. 

So  roll  the  billows  to  th’  Icarian  shore, 
From  east  and  south  when  winds  begin  to 
roar, 

Burst  their  dark  mansions  in  the  clouds, 
and  sweep 

The  whitening  surface  of  the  ruffled  deep: 
And  as  on  corn  when  western  gusts  de- 
scend, 

Before  the  blast  the  lofty  harvests  bend;  i8oi 
Thus  o’er  the  field  the  moving  host  appears^ 
With  nodding  plumes  and  groves  of  wav-! 
ing  spears, 

The  gath’ring  murmur  spreads,  their  tram- 
pling feet 

Beat  the  loose  sands,  and  thicken  to  the 
fleet. 

With  long-resounding  cries  they  urge  the; 
train 

To  fit  the  ships,  and  launch  into  the  main. 
They  toil,  they  sweat,  thick  clouds  of  dust 
arise, 

The  doubling  clamours  echo  thro’  the 
skies. 

Ev’n  then  the  Greeks  had  left  the  hostile 
plain, 

And  Fate  decreed  the  fall  of  Troy  in  vain 
But  Jove’s  imperial  Queen  their  flight  sur- 
vey’d, 19' 

And  sighing  thus  bespoke  the  blne-eyec 
maid : 

‘ Shall  then  the  Grecians  fly  ? 0 dire  dis- 
grace! 

And  leave  unpunish’d  this  perfidious  race  ‘ 


THE  ILIAD 


275 


Shall  Troy,  shall  Priam,  and  the  adult’rous 
spouse, 

In  peace  enjoy  the  fruits  of  broken  vows  ? 
And  bravest  chiefs,  in  Helen’s  quarrel  slain, 
Lie  unavenged  on  yon  detested  plain  ? 

No:  let  my  Greeks,  unmov’d  by  vain 
alarms, 

Once  more  refulgent  shine  in  brazen  arms. 
Haste,  Goddess,  haste!  the  flying  host  de- 
tain, 201 

Nor  let  one  sail  be  hoisted  on  the  main.’ 

Pallas  obeys,  and  from  Olympus’  height 
Swift  to  the  ships  precipitates  her  flight; 
Ulysses,  first  in  public  cares,  she  found, 

For  prudent  counsel  like  the  Gods  renown’d; 
Oppress’d  with  gen’rous  grief  the  hero 
stood ; 

Nor  drew  his  sable  vessels  to  the  flood. 

And  is  it  thus,  divine  Laertes’  son! 

Thus  fly  the  Greeks  ? ’ (the  Martial  Maid 
begun)  2I0 

‘ Thus  to  their  country  bear  their  own  dis- 
grace, 

And  Fame  eternal  leave  to  Priam’s  race  ? 
Shall  beauteous  Helen  still  remain  unfreed, 
ijStill  unrevenged  a thousand  heroes  bleed  ? 
Haste,  gen’rous  Ithacus!  prevent  the 
shame, 

Recall  your  armies,  and  your  chiefs  re- 
claim. 

Your  own  resistless  eloquence  employ, 

And  to  th’  immortals  trust  the  fall  of 
Troy.’ 

The  voice  divine  confess’d  the  Warlike 
Maid, 

Ulysses  heard,  nor  uninspired  obey’d:  220 
Then,  meeting  first  Atrides,  from  his  hand 
Receiv’d  th’  imperial  sceptre  of  command. 
Thus  graced,  attention  and  respect  to  gain, 
le  runs,  he  flies  thro’  all  the  Grecian 
train, 

?3ach  Prince  of  name,  or  Chief  in  arms 
approv’d, 

le  fired  with  praise,  or  with  persuasion 
mov’d: 

‘Warriors  like  you,  with  strength  and 
wisdom  blest, 

Ty  brave  examples  should  confirm  the 
1 rest. 

,fhe  Monarch’s  will  not  yet  reveal’d  ap- 
pears; 

le  tries  our  courage,  but  resents  our 
j fears.  230 

Th’  unwary  Greeks  his  fury  may  provoke; 
Tot  thus  the  King  in  secret  council  spoke. 


Jove  loves  our  Chief,  from  Jove  his  honour 
springs, 

Beware!  for  dreadful  is  the  wrath  of 
Kings.’ 

But  if  a clam’rous  vile  plebeian  rose, 
Him  with  reproof  he  check’d  or  tamed 
with  blows. 

‘ Be  still,  thou  slave,  and  to  thy  betters 
yield; 

Unknown  alike  in  council  and  in  field: 

Ye  Gods,  what  dastards  would  our  host 
command  ? 239 

Swept  to  the  war,  the  number  of  a land. 

Be  silent,  wretch,  and  think  not  here 
allow’d 

That  worst  of  tyrants,  an  usurping  crowd. 
To  one  sole  monarch  Jove  commits  the 
sway; 

His  are  the  laws,  and  him  let  all  obey.’ 

With  words  like  these  the  troops  Ulysses 
ruled, 

The  loudest  silenc’d,  and  the  fiercest  cool’d. 
Back  to  th’  assembly  roll  the  thronging 
train, 

Desert  the  ships,  and  pour  upon  the  plain. 
Murm’ring  they  move,  as  when  old  Ocean 
roars, 

And  heaves  huge  surges  to  the  trembling 
shores:  250 

The  groaning  banks  are  burst  with  bellow- 
ing sound, 

The  rocks  remurmur,  and  the  deeps  re- 
bound. 

At  length  the  tumult  sinks,  the  noises  cease, 
And  a still  silence  lulls  the  camp  to  peace. 

Thersites  only  clamour’d  in  the  throng, 
Loquacious,  loud,  and  turbulent  of  tongue: 
Awed  by  no  shame,  by  no  respect  con- 
troll’d, 

In  scandal  busy,  in  reproaches  bold; 

With  witty  malice  studious  to  defame;  259 
Scorn  all  his  joy,  and  laughter  all  his  aim. 
But  chief  he  gloried  with  licentious  style 
To  lash  the  great,  and  monarchs  to  revile. 
His  figure  such  as  might  his  soul  pro- 
claim: 

One  eye  was  blinking,  and  one  leg  was 
lame: 

His  mountain-shoulders  half  his  breast 
o’erspread; 

Thin  hairs  bestrew’d  his  long  misshapen 
head. 

Spleen  to  mankind  his  envious  heart 
possess’d, 

And  much  he  hated  all,  but  most  the  best. 


276 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


Ulysses  or  Achilles  still  his  theme; 

But  royal  scandal  his  delight  supreme.  270 
Long  had  he  lived  the  scorn  of  ev'ry 
Greek; 

Vex’d  when  he  spoke,  yet  still  they  heard 
him  speak. 

Sharp  was  his  voice;  which,  in  the  shrillest 
tone, 

Thus  with  injurious  taunts  attack’d  the 
throne : 

‘ Amidst  the  glories  of  so  bright  a reign, 
What  moves  the  great  Atrides  to  com- 
plain ? 

’Tis  thine  whate’er  the  warrior’s  breast 
inflames, 

The  golden  spoil,  and  thine  the  lovely 
dames. 

With  all  the  wealth  our  wars  and  blood 
bestow, 

Thy  tents  are  crowded,  and  thy  chests 
o’erflow.  280 

Thus  at  full  ease,  in  heaps  of  riches  roll’d 
What  grieves  the  Monarch  ? Is  it  thirst  of 
gold  ? 

Say,  shall  we  march  with  our  unconquer’d 
powers 

(The  Greeks  and  I),  to  Ilion’s  hostile 
towers, 

And  bring  the  race  of  royal  bastards  here, 
For  Troy  to  ransom  at  a price  too  dear  ? 
But  safer  plunder  thy  own  host  supplies; 
Say,  wouldst  thou  seize  some  valiant  lead- 
er's prize  ? 

Or,  if  thy  heart  to  gen’rous  love  be  led, 
Some  captive  fair,  to  bless  thy  kingly 
bed  ? _ 29o 

Whate’er  our  master  craves,  submit  we 
must, 

Plagued  with  his  pride,  or  punish’d  for  his 
lust. 

Oh,  women  of  Achaia!  men  no  more! 
Hence  let  us  fly,  and  let  him  waste  his  I 
store  _ r 

In  loves  and  pleasures  on  the  Phrygian 
shore.  J 

We  may  be  wanted  on  some  busy  day, 
When  Hector  comes:  so  great  Achilles 
may : 

From  him  be  forced  the  prize  we  jointly 
gave, 

From  him,  the  fierce,  the  fearless,  and  the 
brave : 

And  durst  he,  as  he  ought,  resent  that 
wrong,  300 

This  mighty  tyrant  were  .iO  tyrant  long.’ 


Fierce  from  his  seat,  at  this,  Ulysses 
springs 

In  gen’rous  vengeance  of  the  King  of  Kings. 
With  indignation  sparkling  in  his  eyes, 

He  views  the  wretch,  and  sternly  thus  re- 
plies: 

‘Peace,  factious  monster!  born  to  vex 
the  state, 

With  wrangling  talents  form’d  for  foul  de- 
bate: 

Curb  that  impetuous  tongue,  nor,  rashly 
vain 

And  singly  mad,  asperse  the  sovereign  reign. 
Have  we  not  known  thee,  Slave!  of  all  our 
host,  310 

The  man  who  acts  the  least,  upbraids  the 
most  ? 

Think  not  the  Greeks  to  shameful  flight  to 
bring, 

Nor  let  those  lips  profane  the  name  of 
King. 

For  our  return  we  trust  the  heav’nly 
powers; 

Be  that  their  care;  to  fight  like  men  be 
ours. 

But  grant  the  host  with  wealth  the  gen’ral 
load, 

Except  detraction,  what  hast  thou  be- 
stow’d ? 

Suppose  some  hero  should  his  spoils  resign, 
Art  thou  that  hero,  could  those  spoils  be 
thine  ? 3*9 

Gods!  let  me  perish  on  this  hateful  shore, 
And  let  these  eyes  behold  my  son  no  more ; 
If,  on  thy  next  offence,  this  hand  forbear 
To  strip  those  arms  thou  ill  deserv’st  to 
wear, 

Expel  the  council  where  our  Princes  meet, 
And  send  thee  scourged,  and  howling 
thro’  the  fleet.’ 

He  said,  and  cow’ring  as  the  dastard 
bends, 

The  weighty  sceptre  on  his  back  descends, 
On  the  round  bunch  the  bloody  tumours 
rise; 

The  tears  spring  starting  from  his  haggard 
eyes: 

Trembling  he  sat,  and,  shrunk  in  abjeci 
fears,  _ 33< 

From  his  vile  visage  wiped  the  scalding 

While  to  his  neighbour  each  express’d  hi; 
thought: 

‘ Ve  Gods!  what  wonders  has  Ulyssei 
wrought! 


THE  ILIAD 


277 


What  fruits  his  conduct  and  his  courage 
yield, 

Great  in  the  council,  glorious  in  the  field! 
i Gen’rous  he  rises  in  the  Crown’s  defence, 
To  curb  the  factious  tongue  of  insolence. 
Such  just  examples  on  offenders  shewn 
t Sedition  silence,  and  assert  the  throne.’ 

’T  was  thus  the  gen’ral  voice  the  hero 
praised  340 

Who,  rising  high,  th’  imperial  sceptre 
rais’d: 

The  blue-eyed  Pallas,  his  celestial  friend 
(In  form  a herald),  bade  the  crowds  at- 
tend ; 

Th’  expecting  crowds  in  still  attention 
hung, 

To  hear  the  wisdom  of  his  heav’nly  tongue. 
Then,  deeply  thoughtful,  pausing  ere  he 
spoke, 

His  silence  thus  the  prudent  hero  broke: 

‘ Unhappy  Monarch!  whom  the  Grecian 
race, 

With  shame  deserting,  heap  with  vile  dis- 
grace, 

Not  such  at  Argos  was  their  gen’rous 

VOW,  350 

Once  all  their  voice,  but  ah!  forgotten  now: 
Ne’er  to  return,  was  then  the  common  cry, 
Till  Troy’s  proud  structures  should  in  ashes 
lie. 

-Behold  them  weeping  for  their  native 
1 shore! 

What  could  their  wives  or  helpless  children 
more  ? 

What  heart  but  melts  to  leave  the  tender 
train, 

And,  one  short  month,  endure  the  wintry 
main  ? 

Few  leagues  remov’d,  we  wish  our  peace- 
ful seat, 

When  the  ship  tosses  and  the  tempests 
beat: 

Then  well  may  this  long  stay  provoke  their 
tears,  360 

The  tedious  length  of  nine  revolving  years. 
Not  for  their  grief  the  Grecian  host  I 
blame; 

But  vanquish’d!  baffled!  oh  eternal  shame! 
Expect  the  time  to  Troy’s  destruction  giv’n, 
A.nd  try  the  faith  of  Calchas  and  of 
Heav’n. 

What  pass’d  at  Aulis,  Greece  can  witness 
bear, 

^.nd  all  who  live  to  breathe  this  Phrygian 
air. 


Beside  a fountain’s  sacred  brink  we  rais’d 
Our  verdant  altars,  and  the  victims  blazed 
(’T  was  where  the  plane-tree  spread  its 
shades  around);  37o 

The  altars  heav’d;  and  from  the  crumbling 
ground 

A mighty  dragon  shot,  of  dire  portent; 
From  Jove  himself  the  dreadful  sign  was 
sent. 

Straight  to  the  tree  his  sanguine  spires  he 
roll’d, 

And  curl’d  around  in  many  a winding  fold. 
The  topmost  branch  amother-bird  possess’d; 
Eight  callow  infants  fill’d  the  mossy  nest; 
Herself  the  ninth:  the  serpent,  as  he  hung, 
Stretch’d  his  black  jaws,  and  crash’d  the 
crying  young; 

While  hov’ring  near,  with  miserable  moan, 
The  drooping  mother  wail’d  her  children 
gone.  381 

The  mother  last,  as  round  the  nest  she  flew, 
Seiz’d  by  the  beating  wing,  the  monster 
slew: 

Nor  long  survived;  to  marble  turn’d  he 
stands 

A lasting  prodigy  on  Aulis’  sands, 

Such  was  the  will  of  Jove;  and  hence  we 
dare 

Trust  in  his  omen,  and  support  the  war. 

For  while  around  we  gazed  with  wond’ring 
eyes, 

And  trembling  sought  the  Powers  with 
sacrifice,  389 

Full  of  his  God,  the  rev’rend  Calchas  cried; 
“Ye  Grecian  warriors ! lay  your  fears  aside : 
This  wondrous  signal  Jove  himself  displays, 
Of  long,  long  labours,  but  eternal  praise, 

As  many  birds  as  by  the  snake  were  slain, 
So  many  years  the  toils  of  Greece  remain; 
But  wait  the  tenth,  for  Uion’s  fall  decreed:  ” 
Thus  spoke  the  prophet,  thus  the  Fates 
succeed. 

Obey,  ye  Grecians,  with  submission  wait, 
Nor  let  your  flight  avert  the  Trojan  fate.’ 

He  said:  the  shores  with  loud  applauses 
sound,  4oo 

The  hollow  ships  each  deaf’ning  shout  re 
bound. 

Then  Nestor  thus:  ‘These  vain  debates 
forbear : 

Ye  talk  like  children,  not  like  heroes  dare. 
Where  now  are  all  your  high  resolves  at 
last  ? 

Your  leagues  concluded,  your  engagements 
past  ? 


ItjpWiySgi  i 


278 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


ca, 


u 


Vow’d  with  libations  and  with  victims 
then, 

Now  vanish’d  like  their  smoke:  the  faith 
of  men! 

While  useless  words  consume  th’  unactive 
hours, 

No  wonder  Troy  so  long  resists  our  powers. 
Rise,  great  Atrides!  and  with  courage 
sway;  410 

We  march  to  war,  if  thou  direct  the  way. 
But  leave  the  few  that  dare  resist  thy  laws, 
The  mean  deserters  of  the  Grecian  cause, 
To  grudge  the  conquests  mighty  Jove  pre- 
pares, 

And  view,  with  envy,  our  successful  wars. 
On  that  great  day  when  first  the  martial 
train, 

Big  with  the  fate  of  Ilion,  plough’d  the 
main; 

Jove  on  the  right  a prosp’rous  signal  sent, 
And  thunder  rolling  shook  the  firmament. 
Encouraged  hence,  maintain  the  glorious 
strife,  420 

Till  ev’ry  soldier  grasp  a Phrygian  wife, 
Till  Helen’s  woes  at  full  revenged  appear, 
And  Troy’s  proud  matrons  render  tear  for 
tear. 

Before  that  day,  if  any  Greek  invite 
His  country’s  troops  to  base,  inglorious 
flight, 

Stand  forth  that  Greek!  and  hoist  his  sail 
to  fly; 

And  die  the  dastard  first,  who  dreads  to  die. 
But  now,  O monarch!  all  thy  Chiefs  advise: 
Nor  what  they  offer,  thou  thyself  despise. 
Among  those  counsels,  let  not  mine  be 
vain ; 430 

In  tribes  and  nations  to  divide  thy  train : 
His  sep’rate  troops  let  ev’ry  leader  call, 
Each  strengthen  each,  and  all  encourage 
all. 

What  Chief,  or  soldier,  of  the  numerous 
band, 

Or  bravely  fights,  or  ill  obeys  command, 
When  thus  distinct  they  war,  shall  soon  be 
known, 

And  what  the  cause  of  Ilion  not  o’erthrown ; 
If  Fate  resists,  or  if  our  arms  are  slow, 

If  Gods  above  prevent,  or  men  below.’ 

To  him  the  King:  ‘How  much  thy  years 
excel  44° 

In  arts  of  council,  and  in  speaking  well! 

Oh  would  the  Gods,  in  love  to  Greece,  de- 
cree 

But  ten  such  sages  as  they  grant  in  thee ; 


Such  wisdom  soon  should  Priam’s  force 
destroy, 

And  soon  should  fall  the  haughty  towers  of 
Troy! 

But  Jove  forbids,  who  plunges  those  he 
hates 

In  fierce  contention  and  in  vain  debates. 
Now  great  Achilles  from  our  aid  withdraws, 
Byrne  provoked;  a captive  maid  the  cause: 
If  e’er  as  friends  we  join,  the  Trojan  wall 
Must  shake,  and  heavy  will  the  vengeance 
fall!  451 

But  now,  ye  warriors,  take  a short  repast; 
And,  well  - refresh’d,  to  bloody  conflict 
haste. 

His  sharpen’d  spear  let  every  Grecian  wield 
And  every  Grecian  fix  his  brazen  shield; 

Let  all  excite  the  fiery  steeds  of  war, 

And  all  for  combat  fit  the  rattling  car. 

This  day,  this  dreadful  day,  let  each  con- 
tend; 

No  rest,  no  respite,  till  the  shades  descend; 
Till  darkness,  or  till  death  shall  cover  all,  460 
Let  the  war  bleed,  and  let  the  mighty  fall; 
Till  bathed  in  sweat  be  ev’ry  manly  breast, 
With  the  huge  shield  each  brawny  arm  de- 
press’d, 

Each  aching  nerve  refuse  the  lance  to 
throw, 

And  each  spent  courser  at  the  chariot  blow. 
Who  dares,  inglorious,  in  his  ships  to  stay, 
Who  dares  to  tremble  on  this  signal  day, 
That  wretch,  too  mean  to  fall  by  martial 
power, 

The  birds  shall  mangle  and  the  dogs  de- 
vour.’ 

The  Monarch  spoke : and  straight  a mur 
mur  rose,  47* 

Loud  as  the  surges  when  the  tempest 
blows, 

That  dash’d  on  broken  rocks  tumultuous 
roar, 

And  foam  and  thunder  on  the  stony  shore. 
Straight  to  the  tents  the  troops  dispersing 
bend, 

The  fires  are  kindled,  and  the  smokes 
ascend; 

With  hasty  feasts  they  sacrifice,  and  pray 
T’  avert  the  dangers  of  the  doubtful  day. 

A steer  of  five  years’ age,  large  limb’d,  and 
fed, 

To  Jove’s  high  altars  Agamemnon  led: 
There  bade  the  noblest  of  the  Grecian 
peers,  . 4St> 

And  Nestor  first,  as  most  advanc’d  in  years. 


THE  ILIAD 


279 


Next  came  Idomeneus  and  Tydeus’  son, 
Ajax  the  less,  and  Ajax  Telamon; 

Then  wise  Ulysses  in  his  rank  was  placed; 
And  Menelaus  came  unhid,  the  last. 

The  Chiefs  surround  the  destin’d  beast,  and 
take 

The  sacred  off’ring  of  the  salted  cake: 
When  thus  the  King  prefers  his  solemn 
prayer: 

* Oh  thou!  whose  thunder  rends  the  clouded 
air, 

Who  in  the  Heav’n  of  Heav’ns  hast  fix’d 
thy  throne , 490 

Supreme  of  Gods!  unbounded  and  alone! 
Hear,  and  before  the  burning  sun  descends, 
Before  the  night  her  gloomy  veil  extends, 
Low  in  the  dust  be  laid  yon  hostile  spires, 
Be  Priam’s  palace  sunk  in  Grecian  fires, 

In  Hector’s  breast  be  plunged  this  shining 
sword, 

And  slaughter’d  heroes  groan  around  their 
lord! ’ 

Thus  pray’d  the  Chief:  his  unavailing 
prayer 

Great  Jove  refused,  and  toss’d  in  empty 
air: 

The  God,  averse,  while  yet  the  fumes  arose, 

1 Prepar’d  new  toils,  and  doubled  woes  on 
woes.  soi 

Their  prayers  perform’d,  the  Chiefs  the 
rites  pursue, 

The  barley  sprinkled,  and  the  victim  slew. 
The  limbs  they  sever  from  th’  enclosing 
hide, 

The  thighs,  selected  to  the  Gods,  divide. 

On  these,  in  double  cauls  involv’d  with 
art, 

' The  choicest  morsels  lie  from  every  part. 
From  the  cleft  wood  the  crackling  flames 
aspire, 

' While  the  fat  victim  feeds  the  sacred  fire. 
The  thighs  thus  sacrificed  and  entrails 
dress’d,  510 

Th’  assistants  part,  transfix,  and  roast  the 
rest; 

Then  spread  the  tables,  the  repast  prepare, 
Each  takes  his  seat,  and  each  receives  his 
share. 

, Soon  as  the  rage  of  hunger  was  suppress’d, 
The  gen’rous  Nestor  thus  the  Prince  ad- 
dress’d: 

1 Now  bid  thy  heralds  sound  the  loud 
alarms, 

And  call  the  squadrons  sheathed  in  brazen 
arms: 


Now  seize  th’  occasion,  now  the  troops  sur- 
vey, 

And  lead  to  war  when  Heav’n  directs  the 
way.’ 

He  said;  the  Monarch  issued  his  com- 
mands; 520 

Straight  the  loud  heralds  call  the  gath’ring 
bands. 

The  Chiefs  enclose  their  King:  the  hosts 
divide, 

In  tribes  and  nations  rank’d  on  either  side. 
High  in  the  midst  the  blue-eyed  Virgin  flies; 
From  rank  to  rank  she  darts  her  ardent 
eyes: 

The  dreadful  aegis,  Jove’s  immortal  shield, 
Blazed  011  her  arm,  and  lighten’d  all  the 
field: 

Round  the  vast  orb  a hundred  serpents 
roll’d, 

Form’d  the  bright  fringe,  and  seem’d  to 
burn  in  gold. 

With  this  each  Grecian’s  manly  breast  she 
warms,  530 

Swells  their  bold  hearts,  and  strings  their 
nervous  arms; 

No  more  they  sigh  inglorious  to  return, 

But  breathe  revenge,  and  for  the  combat 
burn. 

As  on  some  mountain,  thro’  the  lofty 
grove, 

The  crackling  flames  ascend  and  blaze 
above, 

The  fires,  expanding  as  the  winds  arise, 
Shoot  their  long  beams,  and  kindle  half  the 
skies, 

So  from  the  polish’d  arms,  and  brazen 
shields, 

A gleamy  splendour  flash’d  along  the  fields. 
Not  less  their  number  than  th’  embodied 
cranes,  540 

Or  milk-white  swans  in  Asius’  wat’ry 
plains, 

That  o’er  the  windings  of  Cayster’s  springs 
Stretch  their  long  necks,  and  clap  their 
rustling  wings, 

Now  tower  aloft,  and  course  in  airy  rounds; 
Now  light  with  noise;  with  noise  the  field 
resounds. 

Thus  numerous  and  confused,  extending 
wide, 

The  legions  crowd  Scamander’sflow’ry  side; 
With  rushing  troops  the  plains  are  cover’d 
o’er, 

And  thund’ring  footsteps  shake  the  sound' 
ing  shore; 


28o 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


Along  the  river’s  level  meads  they  stand,  550 
Thick  as  in  spring  the  flowers  adorn  the 
land, 

Or  leaves  the  trees;  or  thick  as  insects  play, 
The  wand’ring  nation  of  a summer’s  day, 
That,  drawn  by  milky  steams,  at  ev’ning 
hours, 

In  gather’d  swarms  surround  the  rural 
bowers; 

From  pail  to  pail  with  busy  murmur  run 
The  gilded  legions,  glitt’ring  in  the  sun. 

So  throng’d,  so  close,  the  Grecian  squadrons 
stood 

In  radiant  arms,  and  thirst  for  Trojan 
blood. 

Each  leader  now  his  scatter’d  force  con- 
joins 560 

In  close  array,  and  forms  the  deep’ning 
lines. 

Not  with  more  ease  the  skilful  shepherd 
swain 

Collects  his  flock  from  thousands  on  the 
plain. 

The  King  of  Kings,  majestically  tall, 
Towers  o’er  his  armies,  and  outshines  them 
all: 

Like  some  proud  bull  that  round  the  pas- 
tures leads 

His  subject  - herds,  the  monarch  of  the 
meads. 

Great  as  the  Gods  tli’  exalted  Chief  was 
seen, 

His  strength  like  Neptune,  and  like  Mars 
his  mien; 

Jove  o’er  his  eyes  celestial  glories  spread, 
And  dawning  conquest  play’d  around  his 
head.  571 

Say,  Virgins,  seated  round  the  throne 
divine, 

All-knowing  Goddesses!  immortal  Nine! 
Since  earth’s  wide  regions,  Heav’n’s  un- 
measured height, 

And  Hell’s  abyss,  hide  nothing  from  your 
sight 

(We,  wretched  mortals!  lost  in  doubts  be- 
low, 

But  guess  by  rumour,  and  but  boast  we 
know), 

Oh  say  what  heroes,  fired  by  thirst  of 
fame, 

Or  urged  by  wrongs,  to  Troy’s  destruction 
came  ? 

To  count  them  all,  demands  a thousand 
tongues,  580 

A throat  of  brass,  and  adamantine  lungs; 


Daughters  of  Jove,  assist!  inspired  by  you, 
The  mighty  labour  dauntless  I pursue: 
What  crowded  armies,  from  what  climes, 
they  bring, 

Their  names,  their  numbers,  and  their 
Chiefs,  I sing. 

The  hardy  warriors  whom  Bceotia  bred, 
Peneleus,  Leitus,  Prothoenor  led: 

With  these  Arcesilaus  and  Clonius  stand, 
Equal  in  arms,  and  equal  in  command. 
These  head  the  troops  that  rocky  Aulis 
yields,  59o 

And  Eteon’s  hills,  and  Hyrie’s  wat’ry 
fields, 

And  Schcenos,  Scolos,  Grsea  near  the  main, 
And  Mycalessia’s  ample  piny  plain. 

Those  who  in  Peteon  or  Ilesion  dwell, 

Or  Harma,  where  Apollo’s  prophet  fell; 
Heleon  and  Hyle,  which  the  springs  o’er- 
fiow; 

And  Medeon  lofty,  and  Ocalea  low; 

Or  in  the  meads  of  Haliartus  stray, 

Or  Thespia,  sacred  to  the  God  of  Day. 
Onchestus,  Neptune’s  celebrated  groves;  600 
Copse,  and  Thisb&,  famed  for  silver  doves, 
For  flocks  Erythrse,  Glissa  for  the  vine; 
Platsea  green,  and  Nisa  the  divine. 

And  they  whom  Thebes’  well-built  walls  en- 
close, 

Where  Myde,  Eutresis,  Coron&  rose; 

And  Arne  rich,  with  purple  harvests 
crown’d ; 

And  Anthedon,  Bceotia’s  utmost  bound. 
Full  fifty  ships  they  send,  and  each  con- 
veys 

Twice  sixty  warriors  thro’  the  foaming 
seas. 

To  these  succeed  Asplendon’s  martial 
train,  610 

Who  plough  the  spacious  Orchomenian 
plain. 

Two  valiant  brothers  rule  th’  undaunted 
throng, 

Ialmen  and  Ascalaphus  the  strong, 

Sons  of  Astyoche,  the  heav’nly  Fair, 

Whose  virgin  charms  subdued  the  God  of 
War 

(In  Actor’s  court  as  she  retired  to  rest, 
The  strength  of  Mars  the  blushing  maid 
compress’d) : 

Their  troops  in  thirty  sable  vessels  sweep, 
With  equal  oars,  the  hoarse  - resounding 
deep.  619 

The  Phocians  next  in  forty  barks  repair, 
Epistrophus  and  Schedius  head  the  war; 


THE  ILIAD 


281 


From  those  rich  regions  where  Cephissus 
leads 

His  silver  current  thro’  the  flowery  meads; 
From  Panopea,  Clirysa  the  divine, 

Where  Anemoria’s  stately  turrets  shine, 
Where  Pytho,  Daulis,  Cyparissus  stood, 
And  fair  Lilaea  views  the  rising  flood. 
These,  ranged  in  order  on  the  floating  tide, 
Close,  on  the  left,  the  bold  Boeotians’  side. 

Fierce  Ajax  led  the  Locrian  squadrons 
on,  630 

Ajax  the  less,  Oileus’  valiant  son; 

Skill’d  to  direct  the  flying  dart  aright; 
Swift  in  pursuit,  and  active  in  the  fight. 
Him,  as  their  chief,  the  chosen  troops  at- 
tend, 

Which  Bessa,  Thronus,  and  rich  Cynos 
send ; 

Opus,  Calliarus,  and  Scarphe’s  bands; 

And  those  who  dwell  where  pleasing 
Augia  stands, 

And  where  Boagrius  floats  the  lowly  lands, 

Or  in  fair  Tarphe’s  sylvan  seats  reside; 

In  forty  vessels  cut  the  yielding  tide.  640 

Euboea  next  her  martial  sons  prepares, 
And  sends  the  brave  Abantes  to  the  wars; 
Breathing  revenge,  in  arms  they  take  their 
way 

From  Chalcis’  walls,  and  strong  Eretria; 
Th’  Isteian  fields  for  gen’rous  vines  re- 
nown’d, 

The  fair  Carystos,  and  the  Styrian  ground; 
Where  Dios  from  her  towers  o’erlooks  the 
plain, 

And  high  Cerinthus  views  the  neighb’ring 
main, 

Down  their  broad  shoulders  falls  a length 
of  hair; 

Their  hands  dismiss  not  the  long  lance  in 
air:  650 

But  with  portended  spears,  in  fighting 
fields, 

Pierce  the  tough  corselets  and  the  brazen 
shields. 

Twice  twenty  ships  transport  the  warlike 
bands. 

Which  bold  Elphenor,  fierce  in  arms,  com- 
mands. 

Full  fifty  more  from  Athens  stem  the 
main, 

Led  by  Menestheus  thro’  the  liquid  plain 
(Athens  the  fair,  where  great  Erectheus 
sway’d, 

That  owed  his  nurture  to  the  blue-eyed 
! maid, 


But  from  the  teeming  furrow  took  his 
birth, 

The  mighty  offspring  of  the  foodfull 
earth.  660 

Him  Pallas  placed  amidst  her  wealthy 
fane, 

Ador’d  with  sacrifice  and  oxen  slain; 
Where  as  the  years  revolve  her  altars 
blaze, 

And  all  the  tribes  resound  the  Goddess’ 
praise). 

No  Chief  like  thee,  Menestheus!  Greece 
could  yield, 

To  marshal  armies  in  the  dusty  field, 

Th’  extended  wings  of  battle  to  display, 

Or  close  th’  embodied  host  in  firm  array. 
Nestor  alone,  improv’d  by  length  of  days, 
For  martial  conduct  bore  an  equal 
praise.  670 

With  these  appear  the  Salaminian  bands, 
Whom  the  gigantic  Telamon  commands; 

In  twelve  black  ships  to  Troy  they  steer 
their  course, 

And  with  the  great  Athenians  join  their 
force. 

Next  move  to  war  the  gen’rous  Argive] 
train 

From  high  Trcezene,  and  Maseta’s  plain,  [ 
And  fair  iEgina  circled  by  the  main:  J 

Whom  strong  Tirynthe’s  lofty  walls  sur- 
round, 

And  Epidaure  with  viny  harvests  crown’d: 
And  where  fair  Asinen  and  Hermion 
shew  680 

Their  cliffs  above,  and  ample  bay  below. 
These  by  the  brave  Euryalus  were  led, 
Great  Sthenelus,  and  greater  Diomed, 

But  Chief  Tydides  bore  the  sov’reign  sway; 
In  fourscore  barks  they  plough  the  wat’ry 
way. 

The  proud  Mycene  arms  her  martial 
powers, 

Cleone,  Corinth,  with  imperial  towers, 

Fair  Argethyrea,  Ornia’s  fruitful  plain, 

And  iEgion,  and  Adrastus’  ancient  reign; 
And  those  who  dwell  along  the  sandy 
shore,  6go 

And  where  Pellene  yields  her  fleecy  store, 
Where  Helice  and  Hyperesia  lie, 

And  Gonoessa’s  spires  salute  the  sky. 

Great  Agamemnon  rules  the  numerous] 
band, 

A hundred  vessels  in  long  order  stand,  > 
And  crowded  nations  wait  his  dread  com-  I 
maud.  J 


282 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


High  on  the  deck  the  King  of  men  appears, 
And  his  refulgent  arms  in  triumph  wears; 
Proud  of  his  host,  unri vail’d  in  his  reign, 

In  silent  pomp  he  moves  along  the 
main.  700 

His  brother  follows,  and  to  vengeance 
warms 

The  hardy  Spartans,  exercised  in  arms: 
Phares  and  Brysia’s  valiant  troops,  and 
those 

Whom  Lacedaemon’s  lofty  hills  enclose: 

Or  Messe’s  towers  for  silver  doves  re- 
nown’d, 

Amyclae,  Laas,  Augia’s  happy  ground, 

And  those  whom  CEtylos’  low  walls  con- 
tain, 

And  Helos  on  the  margin  of  the  main: 
These  o’er  the  bending  ocean,  Helen’s 
cause 

In  sixty  ships  with  Menelaus  draws:  710 

Eager  and  loud,  from  man  to  man  he  flies, 
Revenge  and  fury  flaming  in  his  eyes; 
While,  vainly  fond,  in  fancy  oft  he  hears 
The  fair  one’s  grief,  and  sees  her  falling 
tears. 

In  ninety  sail,  from  Pylos’  sandy  coast, 
Nestor  the  sage  conducts  his  chosen  host: 
From  Amphigenia’s  ever-fruitful  land; 
Where  -Epy  high,  and  little  Pteleon  stand: 
Where  beauteous  Arene  her  structures 
shows, 

And  Thryon’s  walls  Alpheiis’  streams  en- 
close: 720 

And  Dorion,  famed  for  Thamyris’  disgrace, 
Superior  once  of  all  the.  tuneful  race, 

Till,  vain  of  mortal’s  empty  praise,  he 
strove 

To  match  the  seed  of  cloud-compelling 
Jove! 

Too  daring  bard!  whose  unsuccessful  pride 
Tli’  immortal  Muses  in  their  art  defied. 

Th’  avenging  Muses  of  the  light  of  day 
Deprived  his  eyes,  and  snatch’d  his  voice 
away; 

No  more  his  heav’nly  voice  was  heard  to 
sing; 

His  hand  no  more  awaked  the  silver 
string.  730 

Where  under  high  Cyllenfc,  crown’d  with 
wood, 

The  shaded  tomb  of  old  .ZEpytus  stood; 
From  Ripk,  Stratie,  Tegea’s  bord’ring 
towns, 

The  Phenean  fields,  and  Orchomenian 
downs, 


Where  the  fat  herds  in  plenteous  pasture 
rove; 

And  Stymphelus  with  her  surrounding 
grove, 

Parrhasia,  on  her  snowy  cliffs  reclin’d, 

And  high  Enispe  shook  by  wintry  wind, 
And  fair  Mantinea’s  ever-pleasing  site; 

In  sixty  sail  th’  Arcadian  bands  unite.  740 
Bold  Agapenor,  glorious  at  their  head 
(Ancseus’  son),  the  mighty  squadron  led. 
Their  ships,  supplied  by  Agamemnon’s 
care, 

Thro’  roaring  seas  the  wond’ring  warriors 
bear; 

The  first  to  battle  on  th’  appointed  plain, 
But  new  to  all  the  dangers  of  the  main. 

Those,  where  fair  Elis  and  Buprasium 
join; 

Whom  Hyrmin,  here,  and  Myrsinus  con- 
fine, 

And  bounded  there,  where  o’er  the  valleys 
rose 

Th’  Olenian  rock;  and  where  Alisium 
flows;  75° 

Beneath  four  Chiefs  (a  numerous  army) 
came: 

The  strength  and  glory  of  th’  Epean  name. 
In  sep’rate  squadrons  these  their  train 
divide, 

Each  leads  ten  vessels  thro’  the  yielding 
tide. 

One  was  Amphimachus,  and  Thalpius  one; 
(Eurytus’  this,  and  that  Teatus’  son): 
Diores  sprung  from  Amarynceus’  line; 

And  great  Polyxenus,  of  force  divine. 

But  those  who  view  fair  Elis  o’er  the  seas 
From  the  blest  islands  of  th’  Ecliinades,  760 
In  forty  vessels  under  Meges  move, 

Begot  by  Phyleus,  the  belov’d  of  Jove. 

To  strong  Dulichium  from  his  sire  he  fled, 
And  thence  to  Troy  his  hardy  warriors  led. 

Ulysses  follow’d  thro’  the  wat’ry  road, 

A Chief,  in  wisdom  equal  to  a God. 

With  those  whom  Cephallenia’s  isle  en- 
closed, 

Or  till  their  fields  along  the  coast  opposed; 
Or  where  fair  Ithaca  o’erlooks  the  floods, 
Where  high  Neritos  shakes  his  waving 
woods,  77° 

Where  JEgilipa’s  rugged  sides  are  seen, 
Crocylia  rocky,  and  Zaoynthus  green. 
These,  in  twelve  galleys  with  vermillion 
prores, 

Beneath  his  conduct  sought  the  Phrygian 
shores. 


THE  ILIAD 


283 


Thoas  came  next,  Andrsemon’s  valiant 
son, 

From  Pleuron’s  walls  and  chalky  Calydon, 
And  rough  Pylen6,  and  th’  Olenian  steep, 
And  Chalcis,  beaten  by  the  rolling  deep. 
He  led  the  warriors  from  th’  iEtolian 
shore, 

For  now  the  sons  of  (Eneus  were  no 
more!  78o 

The  glories  of  the  mighty  race  were  fled! 
(Eneus  himself,  and  Meleager  dead! 

To  Thoas’ care  now  trust  the  martial  train: 
His  forty  vessels  follow  thro’  the  main. 

Next  eighty  barks  the  Cretan  King  com- 
mands, 

Of  Gnossus,  Lyctus,  and  Gortyna’s  bands, 
And  those  who  dwell  where  Rhytion’s 
domes  arise, 

Or  white  Lycastus  glitters  to  the  skies, 

Or  where  by  Phsestus  silver  Jardan  runs; 
Crete’s  hundred  cities  pour  forth  all  her 
sons.  7go 

These  march’d,  Idomeneus,  beneath  thy 
care, 

And  Merion,  dreadful  as  the  God  of  War. 
Tlepolemus,  the  son  of  Hercules, 

Led  nine  swift  vessels  thro’  the  foamy  seas; 
From  Rhodes,  with  everlasting  sunshine 
bright, 

Jalyssus,  Lindus  and  Camirus  white. 

His  captive  mother  fierce  Alcides  bore 
From  Ephyr’s  walls,  and  Selle’s  winding 
shore, 

Where  mighty  towns  in  ruins  spread  the 
plain, 

And  saw  their  blooming  warriors  early 
slain.  800 

The  hero,  when  to  manly  years  he  grew, 
Alcides’  uncle,  old  Licyinnius,  slew; 

, For  this  constrain’d  to  quit  his  native 
place, 

And  shun  the  vengeance  of  th’  Herculean 
race, 

A fleet  he  built,  and  with  a numerous 
train 

Of  willing  exiles,  wander’d  o’er  the  main; 
Where,  many  seas  and  many  suff’rings  past, 

; On  happy  Rhodes  the  Chief  arrived  at  last: 
There  in  three  tribes  divides  his  native 
band, 

And  rules  them  peaceful  in  a foreign 
land;  810 

Increas’d  and  prosper’d  in  their  new 
abodes 

By  mighty  Jove,  the  sire  of  men  and  Gods; 


With  joy  they  saw  the  growing  empire 
rise, 

And  showers  of  wealth  descending  from 
the  skies. 

Three  ships  with  Nireus  sought  the  Tro- 
jan shore, 

Nireus,  whom  Aglae  to  Charopus  bore, 
Nireus,  in  faultless  shape,  and  blooming 
grace, 

The  loveliest  youth  of  all  the  Grecian  race; 
Pelides.only  match’d  his  early  charms; 

But  few  his  troops,  and  small  his  strength 
in  arms.  820 

Next  thirty  galleys  cleave  the  liquid 
plain, 

Of  those  Calydnse’s  sea-girt  isles  contain; 
With  them  the  youth  of  Nisyrus  repair, 
Casus  the  strong,  and  Crapathus  the  fair; 
Cos,  where  Eurypylus  possess’d  the  sway, 
Till  great  Alcides  made  the  realms  obey: 
These  Antiphus  and  bold  Phidippus  bring, 
Sprung  from  the  God  by  Thessalus  the 
King. 

Now,  Muse,  recount  Pelasgic  Argos’ 
powers,  829 

From  Alos,  Alop6,  and  Trechin’s  towers; 
From  Phthia’s  spacious  vales;  and  Hella. 
bless’d 

With  female  beauty  far  beyond  the  rest. 
Full  fifty  ships  beneath  Achilles’  care 
Th’  Achaians,  Myrmidons,  Hellenians  bear; 
Thessalians  all,  tho’  various  in  their  name, 
The  same  their  nation,  and  their  Chief  the 
same. 

But  now  inglorious,  stretch’d  along  the 
shore, 

They  hear  the  brazen  voice  of  war  no  more; 
No  more  the  foe  they  face  in  dire  array: 
Close  in  his  fleet  their  angry  leader  lay;  840 
Since  fair  Briseis  from  his  arms  was  torn, 
The  noblest  spoil  from  sack’d  Lyrnessus 
borne, 

Then,  when  the  Chief  the  Theban  walls  o’er- 
threw, 

And  the  bold  sons  of  great  Even  us  slew. 
There  mourn’d  Achilles,  plunged  in  depth 
of  care, 

But  soon  to  rise  in  slaughter,  blood,  and 
war. 

To  these  the  youth  of  Phylacfe  succeed, 
Itona,  famous  for  her  fleecy  breed, 

And  grassy  Pteleon  deck’d  with  cheerful 
greens, 

The  bowers  of  Ceres,  and  the  sylvan 
scenes,  85c 


284 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


Sweet  Pyrrliasus,  with  blooming  flowerets 
crown’d, 

And  Antron’s  wat’ry  dens,  and  cavern’d 
ground. 

These  own’d  as  Chief  Protesilas  the  brave, 
Who  now  lay  silent  in  the  gloomy  grave: 
The  first  who  boldly  touch’d  the  Trojan 
shore, 

And  dyed  a Phrygian  lance  with  Grecian 
gore; 

There  lies,  far  distant  from  his  native  plain ; "l 
Unfinish’d  his  proud  palaces  remain,  > 
And  his  sad  consort  beats  her  breast  in  vain.  J 
His  troops  in  forty  ships  Podarces  led,  860 
Iphiclus’  son,  and  brother  to  the  dead; 

Nor  he  unworthy  to  command  the  host; 

Yet  still  they  mourn’d  their  ancient  leader 
lost. 

The  men  who  Glaphyra’s  fair  soil  par- 
take, 

Where  hills  encircle  Beebe’s  lowly  lake, 
Where  Pherse  hears  the  neighb’ring  waters 
fall, 

Or  proud Tolcus  lifts  her  airy  wall, 

In  ten  black  ships  embark’d  for  Ilion’s 
shore, 

With  bold  Eumelus,  whom  Alcestk  bore: 
All  Pelias’  race  Alcest&  far  outshined,  870 
The  grace  and  glory  of  the  beauteous  kind. 

The  troops  Methon6,  or  Thaurnacia 
yields, 

Olizon’s  rocks,  or  Melibcea’s  fields, 

With  Philoctetes  sail’d,  whose  matchless 
art 

From  the  tough  bow  directs  the  feather’d 
dart. 

Seven  were  his  ships:  each  vessel  fifty  row, 
Skill’d  in  his  science  of  the  dart  and  bow. 
But  he  lay  raging  on  the  Lemnian  ground ; 
A pois’nous  Hydra  gave  the  burning 
wound; 

There  groan’d  the  Chief  in  agonizing  pain, 
Whom  Greece  at  length  shall  wish,  nor 
wish  in  vain.  881 

His  forces  Medon  led  from  Lemnos’  shore, 
Oi'leus’  son,  whom  beauteous  Rhena  bore. 

Th’  CEchalian  race,  in  those  high  towers 
contain’d, 

Where  once  Eurytus  in  proud  triumph 
reign’d, 

Or  where  her  humbler  turrets  Tricca  rears, 
Or  where  Ithom&,  rough  with  rocks,  ap- 
pears ; 

In  thirty  sail  the  sparkling  waves  divide, 
Which  Podalirius  and  Machaon  guide. 


To  these  his  skill  their  Parent-god  imparts, 
Divine  professors  of  the  healing  arts.  891 

The  bold  Ormenian  and  Asterian  bands 
In  forty  barks  Eurypylus  commands, 
Where  Titan  hides  his  hoary  head  in  snow, 
And  where  Hyperia’s  silver  fountains  flow. 

Thy  troops,  Argissa,  Polypcetes  leads, 
And  Eleon,  shelter’d  by  Olympus’  shades, 
Gry tone’s  warriors;  and  where  Orth6  lies, 
And  Oloosson’s  chalky  cliffs  arise. 

Sprung  from  Pirithoiisof  immortal  race,  900 
The  fruit  of  fair  Hippodame’s  embrace 
(That  day,  when,  hurl’d  from  Pelion’s 
cloudy  head, 

To  distant  dens  the  shaggy  Centaurs  fled), 
With  Polypcetes  join’d  in  equal  sway, 
Leonteus  leads,  and  forty  ships  obey. 

In  twenty  sail  the  bold  Perrhsebians  came 
From  Cy pirns,  Guneus  was  their  leader’s 
name. 

With  these  the  Enians  join’d,  and  those 
who  freeze 

Where  cold  Dodona  lifts  her  holy  trees; 

Or  where  the  pleasing  Titaresius  glides,  910 
And  into  Peneus  rolls  his  easy  tides; 

Yet  o’er  the  silver  surface  pure  they  flow, 
The  sacred  stream  unmix’d  with  streams 
below, 

Sacred  and  awful!  From  the  dark  abodes 
Styx  pours  them  forth,  the  dreadful  oath  of 
Gods! 

Last  under  Prothous  the  Magnesians 
stood, 

Prothous  the  swift,  of  old  Tenthredon’s 
blood ; 

Who  dwell  where  Pelion,  crown’d  with  piny 
boughs, 

Obscures  the  glade,  and  nods  his  shaggy 
brows: 

Or  where  thro’  flowery  Temp6  Peneus 
stray’d  920 

(The  region  stretch’d  beneath  his  mighty 
shade): 

In  forty  sable  barks  they  stemm’d  the 
main ; 

Such  were  the  Chiefs,  and  such  the  Grecian 
train. 

Say  next,  O Muse!  of  all  Achaia  breeds, 
Who  bravest  fought,  or  rein’d  the  noblest 
steeds  ? 

Eumelus’  mares  were  foremost  in  the  chase, 
As  eagles  fleet,  and  of  Pheretian  race; 

Bred  where  Pieria’s  fruitful  fountains  flow, 
And  train’d  by  him  who  bears  the  silver 
bow. 


THE  ILIAD 


285 


Fierce  in  the  fight,  their  nostrils  breathed  a 
flame,  930 

Their  height,  their  colour,  and  their  age, 
the  same; 

O’er  fields  of  death  they  whirl  the  rapid 
car, 

And  break  the  ranks,  and  thunder  thro’  the 
war. 

Ajax  in  arms  the  first  renown  acquired, 
While  stern  Achilles  in  his  wrath  retired 
(His  was  the  strength  that  mortal  might 
exceeds, 

And  his  th’  unrivall’d  race  of  heav’nly 
steeds): 

But  Thetis’  son  now  shines  in  arms  no 
more ; 

His  troops,  neglected  on  the  sandy  shore, 
In  empty  air  their  sportive  jav’lins  throw, 
Or  whirl  the  disk,  or  bend  an  idle  bow:  941 
Unstain’d  with  blood  his  cover’d  chariots 
stand ; 

Th’  immortal  coursers  graze  along  the 
strand ; 

But  the  brave  Chiefs  tli’  inglorious  life  de- 
plor’d, 

And,  wand’ ring  o’er  the  camp,  required 
their  lord. 

Now,  like  a deluge,  cov’ring  all  around, 
The  shining  armies  swept  along  the  ground ; 
Swift  as  a flood  of  fire,  when  storms  arise, 
Floats  the  wide  field,  and  blazes  to  the 
skies. 

Earth  groan’d  beneath  them ; as  when  an- 
gry Jove  _ 950 

Hurls  down  the  forky  lightning  from 
above, 

O11  Arim&  when  he  the  thunder  throws, 
And  fires  Typhceus  with  redoubled  blows, 
Where  Typhon,  press’d  beneath  the  burn- 
ing load, 

Still  feels  the  fury  of  th’  avenging  God. 

But  various  Iris,  Jove’s  commands  to 
bear, 

Speeds  on  the  wings  of  winds  thro’  liquid  air; 
In  Priam’s  porch  the  Trojan  Chiefs  she 
found, 

The  old  consulting,  and  the  youths  around. 
Polites’  shape,  the  monarch’s  son,  she  chose, 
Who  from  iEsetes’  tomb  observ’d  the  foes, 
High  on  the  mound;  from  whence  in  pro- 
spect lay  962 

The  fields,  the  tents,  the  navy,  and  the  bay. 
In  this  dissembled  form  she  hastes  to  bring 
Th’  unwelcome  message  to  the  Phrygian 
King: 


* Cease  to  consult,  the  time  for  action 
calls, 

War,  horrid  war,  approaches  to  your  walls! 
Assembled  armies  oft  have  I beheld, 

But  ne’er  till  now  such  numbers  charged  a 
field. 

Thick  as  autumnal  leaves,  or  driving  sand, 
T he  moving  squadrons  blacken  all  the 
strand.  971 

Thou,  godlike  Hector!  all  thy  force  em- 
ploy* 

Assemble  all  th’  united  bands  of  Troy; 

In  just  array  let  every  leader  call 
The  foreign  troops:  this  day  demands  them 
all.’ 

The  voice  divine  the  mighty  Chief  alarms; 
The  council  breaks,  the  warriors  rush  to 
arms. 

The  gates  unfolding  pour  forth  all  their 
train, 

Nations  on  nations  fill  the  dusky  plain, 
Men,  steeds,  and  chariots,  shake  the  trem- 
bling ground;  980 

The  tumult  thickens,  and  the  skies  resound. 
Amidst  the  plain  in  sight  of  I lion  stands 
A rising  mount,  the  work  of  human  hands 
(This  for  Myrinne’s  tomb  th’  immortals 
know, 

Tho’  call’d  Bateia  in  the  world  below) ; 
Beneath  their  Chiefs  in  martial  order  here 
Th’  auxiliar  troops  and  Trojan  hosts  ap- 
pear. 

The  godlike  Hector,  high  above  the  rest, 
Shakes  his  huge  spear,  and  nods  his  plumy 
crest: 

In  throngs  around  his  native  bands  appear, 
And  groves  of  lances  glitter  in  the  air.  99i 

Divine  JEneas  brings  the  Dardan  race, 
Anchises’  son,  by  Venus’  stol’n  embrace, 
Born  in  the  shades  of  Ida’s  secret  grove 
(A  mortal  mixing  with  the  Queen  of  Love); 
Archilochus  and  Acamas  divide 
The  warrior’s  toils,  and  combat  by  his  side. 

Who  fair  Zeleia’s  wealthy  valleys  till, 
Fast  by  the  foot  of  Ida’s  sacred  hill; 

Or  drink,  iEsepus,  of  thy  sable  flood;  1000 
Were  led  by  Pandarus,  of  royal  blood. 

To  whom  his  art  Apollo  deign’d  to  shew, 
Graced  with  the  present  of  his  shafts  and 
bow. 

From  rich  Aptesus  and  Adrestia’s  towers, 
High  Teree’s  summits,  and  Pityea’s  bowers; 
From  these  the  congregated  troops  obey 
Young  Amphius  and  Adrastus’  equal 
sway; 


286 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


Old  Merops’  sons;  whom,  skill’d  in  fates  to 
come, 

The  sire  forewarn’d,  and  prophesied  their 
doom : 

Fate  urged  them  on!  the  sire  forewarn’d  in 
vain,  ioio 

They  rush’d  to  war,  and  perish’d  on  the 
plain. 

From  Practius’  stream,  Percot^’s  pasture 
lands, 

And  Sestos  and  Abydos’neighb’ring  strands, 
From  great  Arisba’s  walls  and  Selle’s  coast, 
Asius  Hyrtacides  conducts  his  host: 

High  on  his  car  he  shakes  the  flowing  reins, 
His  fiery  coursers  thunder  o’er  the  plains. 

The  fierce  Pelasgi  next,  in  war  reuown’d, 
March  from  Larissa’s  ever-fertile  ground: 
In  equal  arms  their  brother  leaders  shine, 
Hippothous  bold,  and  Pyleus  the  divine.  1021 

Next  Acamas  and  Pyroiis  lead  their 
hosts 

In  dread  array,  from  Thracia’s  wintry 
coasts ; 

Round  the  black  realms  where  Hellespon- 
tus  roars, 

And  Boreas  beats  the  hoarse-resounding 
shores. 

With  great  Euphemus  the  Ciconians 
move, 

Sprung  from  Trcezenian  Ceils,  lov’d  by 
Jove. 

Pyrsechmes  the  Pseonian  troops  attend, 
Skill’d  in  the  fight  their  crooked  bows  to 
bend ; 

From  Axius’  ample  bed  he  leads  them  on, 
Axius,  that  laves  the  distant  Amydon,  1031 
Axius,  that  swells  with  all  his  neighb’ring 
rills, 

And  wide  around  the  floating  region  fills. 

The  Paphlagonians  Pylsemenes  rules, 
Where  rich  Henetia  breeds  her  savage 
mules, 

Where  Erythinus’  rising  cliffs  are  seen, 

Thy  groves  of  box,  Cy torus!  ever  green; 
And  where  iEgialus  and  Cromna  lie, 

And  lofty  Sesainus  invades  the  sky; 

And  where  Parthenius  roll’d  thro’  banks  of 
flowers,  1040 

Reflects  her  bord’ring  palaces  and  bowers. 

Here  march’d  in  arms  the  Halizonian 
band, 

Whom  Odius  and  Epistrophus  command, 
From  those  far  regions  where  the  sun  re- 
fines 

The  ripening  silver  in  Alybean  mines. 


There,  mighty  Chromis  led  the  Mysian 
train, 

And  augur  Ennomus,  inspired  in  vain, 

For  stern  Achilles  lopp’d  his  sacred  head, 
Roll’d  down  Scamauder  with  the  vulgar 
dead. 

Phorcys  and  brave  Ascanius  here  unite 
Th’  Ascanian  Phrygians,  eager  for  the 

fight.  1051 

Of  those  who  round  Mseonia’s  realms 
reside, 

Or  whom  the  vales  in  shade  of  Tmolus 
hide, 

Mestles  and  Antiplius  the  charge  partake; 
Born  on  the  banks  of  Gyges’  silent  lake. 
There,  from  the  fields  where  wild  Mseander 
flows, 

High  Mycalk,  and  Latinos’  shady  brows, 
And  proud  Miletus,  came  the  Carian 
throngs, 

With  mingled  clamours,  and  with  barb’rous 
tongues:  1059 

Amphimachus  and  Naustes  guide  the  train, 
Naustes  the  bold,  Amphimachus  the  vain, 
Who,  trick’d  with  gold,  and  glitt’ring  on 
his  car, 

Rode  like  a woman  to  the  field  of  war. 

Fool  that  he  was!  by  fierce  Achilles  slain, 
The  river  swept  him^to  the  briny  main: 
There  whelm’d  with  waves  the  gaudy  war- 
rior lies; 

The  valiant  victor  seiz’d  the  golden  prize. 

The  forces  last  in  fair  array  succeed, 
Which  blameless  Glaucus  and  Sarpedon 
lead; 

The  warlike  bands  that  distant  Lycia 
yields  107# 

Where  gulfy  Xanthus  foams  along  the 
fields. 


BOOK  III 

THE  DUEL  OF  MENELAUS  AND  PARIS 
THE  ARGUMENT 

The  armies  being  ready  to  engage,  a single 
combat  is  agreed  upon  between  Menelaus 
and  Paris  (by  the  intervention  of  Hector)  for 
the  determination  of  the  war.  Iris  is  sent  to 
call  Helena  to  behold  the  fight.  She  leads 
her  to  the  walls  of  Troy,  where  Priam  sat 
with  his  counsellors,  observing  the  Grecian 
leaders  on  the  plain  below,  to  whom  Helen 
gives  an  account  of  the  chief  of  them.  The 
Kings  on  either  part  take  the  solemn  oath 


THE  ILIAD 


for  the  conditions  of  the  combat.  The  duel 
ensues,  wherein  Paris,  being1  overcome,  is 
snatched  away  in  a cloud  by  Venus,  and 
transported  to  his  apartment.  She  then  calls 
Helen  from  the  walls,  and  brings  the  lovers 
together.  Agamemnon,  on  the  part  of  the 
Grecians,  demands  the  restoration  of  Helen, 
and  the  performance  of  the  articles. 

The  three-and-twentieth  day  still  continues 
throughout  this  book.  The  scene  is  some- 
times in  the  field  before  Troy,  and  sometimes 
in  Troy  itself. 

Thus  by  their  leader’s  care  each  martial 
band 

Moves  into  ranks,  and  stretches  o’er  the 
land. 

With  shouts  the  Trojans,  rushing  from  afar, 
Proclaim  their  motions,  and  provoke  the 
war: 

So  when  inclement  winters  vex  the  plain 
With  piercing  frosts,  or  thick-descending 
rain, 

To  warmer  seas  the  cranes  embodied  fly, 
With  noise,  and  order,  thro’  the  midway 
sky; 

To  pigmy  nations  wounds  and  death  they 
bring, 

And  all  the  war  descends  upon  the  wing.  ro 
But  silent,  breathing  rage,  resolv’d,  and 
skill’d 

By  mutual  aids  to  fix  a doubtful  field, 

Swift  march  the  Greeks:  the  rapid  dust 
around 

Dark’ning  arises  from  the  labour’d  ground. 
Thus  from  his  flaggy  wings  when  Notus 
sheds 

A night  of  vapours  round  the  mountain- 
heads, 

Swift-gliding  mists  the  dusky  fields  invade, 
To  thieves  more  grateful  than  the  mid- 
night shade; 

While  scarce  the  swains  their  feeding  flocks 
survey, 

Lost  and  confused  amidst  the  thicken’d 
day:  20 

So,  wrapt  in  gath’ring  dust,  the  Grecian 
train, 

A moving  cloud,  swept  on,  and  hid  the 
plain. 

Now  front  to  front  the  hostile  armies 
stand, 

Eager  of  fight,  and  only  wait  command: 
When,  to  the  van,  before  the  sons  of  fame 
Whom  Troy  sent  forth,  the  beauteous  Paris 
came: 


9&Y 


In  form  a God  ! the  panther’s  speckled 
hide 

Flow’d  o’er  his  armour  with  an  easy  pride ; 
His  bended  bow  across  his  shoulders  flung, 
His  sword  beside  him  negligently  hung;  30 
Two  pointed  spears  he  shook  with  gallant 
grace, 

And  dared  the  bravest  of  the  Grecian  race. 

As  thus,  with  glorious  air  and  proud  dis- 
dain, 

He  boldly  stalk’d,  the  foremost  on  the 
plain, 

Him  Menelaus,  loved  of  Mars,  espies, 

With  heart  elated,  and  with  joyful  eyes: 

So  joys  a lion,  if  the  branching  deer 
Or  mountain  goat,  his  bulky  prize,  appear; 
In  vain  the  youths  oppose,  the  mastiffs  bay, 
The  lordly  savage  rends  the  panting  prey. 
Thus,  fond  of  vengeance,  with  a furious 
bound,  4i 

In  clangingarms  he  leaps  upon  the  ground 
From  his  high  chariot:  him,  approaching 
near, 

The  beauteous  champion  views  with  marks 
of  fear, 

Smit  with  a conscious  sense,  retires  behind, 
And  shuns  the  fate  he  well  deserv’d  to 
find. 

As  when  some  shepherd,  from  the  rustling 
trees 

Shot  forth  to  view,  a scaly  serpent  sees: 
Trembling  and  pale,  he  starts  with  wild 
. affright, 

And,  all  confused,  precipitates  his  flight:  50 
So  from  the  King  the  shining  warrior 
flies, 

And  plunged  amid  the  thickest  Trojans 
lies. 

As  godlike  Hector  sees  the  Prince  re- 
treat, 

He  thus  upbraids  him  with  a gen’rous  heat: 
‘Unhappy  Paris!  but  to  women  brave! 

So  fairly  form’d,  and  only  to  deceive! 

Oh,  hadst  thou  died  when  first  thou  saw’st 
the  light, 

Or  died  at  least  before  thy  nuptial  rite! 

A better  fate,  than  vainly  thus  to  boast, 
And  fly,  the  scandal  of  thy  Trojan  host.  60 
Gods!  how  the  scornful  Greeks  exult  to  see 
Their  fears  of  danger  undeceiv’d  in  thee! 
Thy  figure  promis’d  with  a martial  air, 

But  ill  thy  soul  supplies  a form  so  fair. 

In  former  days,  in  all  thy  gallant  pride, 
When  thy  tall  ships  triumphant  stemm’d 
the  tide, 


288 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


When  Greece  beheld  thy  painted  canvas 
flow, 

And  crowds  stood  wond’ring  at  the  passing 
show; 

Say,  was  it  thus,  with  such  a baffled  mien, 
You  met  tli’  approaches  of  the  Spartan 
Queen,  70 

Thus  from  her  realm  convey’d  the  beaute- 
ous prize, 

And  both  her  warlike  lords  outshined  in 
Helen’s  eyes  ? 

This  deed,  thy  foes’  delight,  thy  own  dis- 
grace, 

Thy  father’s  grief,  and  ruin  of  thy  race; 
This  deed  recalls  thee  to  the  proffer’d 
flight; 

Or  hast  thou  injured  whom  thou  dar’st  not 
right  ? 

Soon  to  thy  cost  the  field  would  make  thee 
know 

Thou  keep’st  the  consort  of  a braver  foe. 
Thy  graceful  form  instilling  soft  desire, 
Thy  curling  tresses,  and  thy  silver  lyre,  80 
Beauty  and  youth,  in  vain  to  these  you 
trust, 

When  youth  and  beauty  shall  be  laid  in 
dust: 

Troy  yet  may  wake,  and  one  avenging  blow 
Crush  the  dire  author  of  his  country’s 
woe.’ 

His  silence  here,  with  blushes,  Paris 
breaks : 

‘’Tis  just,  my  brother,  what  your  anger 
speaks: 

But  who  like  thee  can  boast  a soul  sedate, 
So  firmly  proof  to  all  the  shocks  of  Fate  ? 
Thy  force,  like  steel,  a temper’d  hardness 
shews, 

Still  edged  to  wound,  and  still  untired  with 
blows,  9° 

Like  steel,  uplifted  by  some  strenuous 
swain, 

With  falling  woods  to  strow  the  wasted 
plain. 

Thy  gifts  I praise;  nor  thou  despise  the 
charms 

With  which  a lover  golden  Venus  arms; 
Soft  moving  speech,  and  pleasing  outward 
show, 

No  wish  can  gain  them,  but  the  Gods  be- 
stow. 

Yet  wouldst  thou  have  the  proffer’d  combat 
stand, 

The  Greeks  and  Trojans  seat  on  either 
hand; 


Then  let  a mid-way  space  our  hosts  divide, 
And  on  that  stage  of  war  the  cause  be 
tried:  100 

By  Paris  there  the  Spartan  King  be  fought, 
For  beauteous  Helen  and  the  wealth  she 
brought; 

And  who  his  rival  can  in  arms  subdue, 

His  be  the  fair,  and  his  the  treasure  too. 
Thus  with  a lasting  league  your  toils  may 
cease, 

And  Troy  possess  her  fertile  fields  in  peace; 
Thus  may  the  Greeks  review  their  native 
shore, 

Much  famed  for  gen’rous  steeds,  for  beauty 
more.’ 

He  said.  The  challenge  Hector  heard 
with  jo}r, 

Then  with  his  spear  restrain’d  the  youth  of 
Troy,  no 

Held  by  the  midst,  athwart;  and  near  the 
foe 

Advanced  with  steps  majestically  slow; 
While  round  his  dauntless  head  the  Gre- 
cians pour 

Their  stones  and  arrows  in  a mingled 
shower. 

Then  thus  the  Monarch,  great  Atrides, 
cried : 

‘Forbear,  ye  warriors!  lay  the  darts  aside: 
A parley  Hector  asks,  a message  bears; 

We  know  him  by  the  various  plume  he 
wears.’ 

Awed  by  his  high  command  the  Greeks  at- 
tend, 119 

The  tumult  silence,  and  the  fight  suspend. 

While  from  the  centre  Hector  rolls  his 
eyes 

On  either  host,  and  thus  to  beth  applies: 

‘ Hear,  all  ye  Trojan,  all  ye  Grecian  bands! 
What  Paris,  author  of  the  war,  demands. 
Your  shining  swords  within  the  sheath  re- 
strain, 

And  pitch  your  lances  in  the  yielding  plain. 
Here,  in  the  midst,  in  either  army’s  sight, 
He  dares  the  Spartan  King  to  single  fight; 
And  wills,  that  Helen  and  the  ravish’d  spoil, 
That  caus’d  the  contest,  shall  reward  the 
toil.  130 

Let  these  the  brave  triumphant  victor  grace, 
And  diff’ring  nations  part  in  leagues  of 
peace.’ 

He  spoke:  in  still  suspense  on  either 
side 

Each  army  stood.  The  Spartan  Chief  re- 
plied: 


THE  ILIAD 


289 


* Me  too,  ye  warriors,  hear,  whose  fatal 
right 

A world  engages  in  the  toils  of  fight  — 

To  me  the  labour  of  the  field  resign; 

Me  Paris  injured;  all  the  war  be  mine. 

Fall  he  that  must,  beneath  his  rival’s  arms, 
And  live  the  rest  secure  of  future  harms. 
Two  lambs,  devoted  by  your  country’s 
rite,  141 

To  Earth  a sable,  to  the  Sun  a white, 

, Prepare,  ye  Trojans!  while  a third  we 
bring 

Select  to  Jove,  th’  inviolable  King. 

Let  rev’rend  Priam  in  the  truce  engage, 
And  add  the  sanction  of  consid’rate  age ; 
His  sons  are  faithless,  headlong  in  debate, 
And  youth  itself  an  empty  wav’ring  state: 
Cool  age  advances  venerably  wise, 

Turns  on  all  hands  its  deep-discerning 
eyes;  150 

Sees  what  befell,  and  what  may  yet  befall, 
Concludes  from  both,  and  best  provides  for 
all.’ 

The  nations  hear,  with  rising  hopes  pos- 
sess’d, 

And  peaceful  prospects  dawn  in  every 
breast. 

Within  the  lines  they  drew  their  steeds 
around, 

And  from  their  chariots  issued  on  the 
ground : 

Next  all,  unbuckling  the  rich  mail  they 
wore, 

Laid  their  bright  arms  along  the  sable  shore. 
On  either  side  the  meeting  hosts  are  seen 
With  lances  fix’d,  and  close  the  space  be- 
tween. 160 

Two  heralds  now,  despatch’d  to  Troy,  in- 
vite 

The  Phrygian  monarch  to  the  peaceful  rite ; 
Talthybius  hastens  to  the  fleet,  to  bring 
The  lamb  for  Jove,  th’  inviolable  King. 

Meantime,  to  beauteous  Helen,  from  the 
skies 

The  various  Goddess  of  the  Rainbow  flies 
(Like  fair  Laodice  in  form  and  face, 

The  loveliest  nymph  of  Priam’s  royal  race) ; 

' Her  in  the  palace,  at  her  loom  she  found; 
The  golden  web  her  own  sad  story  crown’d. 
The  Trojan  wars  she  weav’d  (herself  the 
1 prize),  _ i7i 

And  the  dire  triumphs  of  her  fatal  eyes. 

To  whom  the  Goddess  of  the  Painted  Bow: 
‘Approach,  and  view  the  wondrous  scene 
below! 


Each  hardy  Greek,  and  valiant  Trojan 
knight, 

So  dreadful  late,  and  furious  for  the  fight, 
Now  rest  their  spears,  or  lean  upon  their 
shields; 

Ceas’d  is  the  war,  and  silent  all  the  fields. 
Paris  alone  and  Sparta’s  King  advance, 

I11  single  fight  to  toss  the  beamy  lance;  180 
Each  met  in  arms,  the  fate  of  combat  tries, 
Thy  love  the  motive,  and  thy  charms  the 
prize.’ 

This  said,  the  many-colour’d  maid  in- 
spires 

Her  husband’s  love,  and  wakes  her  former 
fires; 

Her  country,  parents,  all  that  once  were 
dear, 

Rush  to  her  thought,  and  force  a tender 
tear. 

O’er  her  fair  face  a snowy  veil  she  threw 
And,  softly  sighing,  from  the  loom  with- 
drew. 

Her  handmaids  Clymene  and  iEthra  wait 
Her  silent  footsteps  to  the  Scsean  gate.  190 
There  sat  the  seniors  of  the  Trojan  race 
(Old  Priam’s  Chiefs,  and  most  in  Priam’s 
grace) ; 

The  King  the  first;  Thymcetes  at  his  side; 
Lampus  and  Clytius,  long  in  council  tried; 
Panthus,  and  Hicetaon,  once  the  strong; 
And  next  the  wisest  of  the  rev’rend  throng, 
Antenor  grave,  and  sage  Ucalegon, 

Lean’d  on  the  walls,  and  bask’d  before  the 
sun. 

Chiefs,  who  no  more  in  bloody  fights  en- 
gage, 

But,  wise  thro’  time,  and  narrative  with 
age,  200 

In  summer-days  like  grasshoppers  rejoice, 
A bloodless  race,  that  send  a feeble  voice. 
These,  when  the  Spartan  Queen  approach’d 
the  tower, 

In  secret  own’d  resistless  Beauty’s  power: 
They  cried,  ‘ No  wonder,  such  celestial 
charms 

For  nine  long  years  have  set  the  world  in 
arms! 

What  winning  graces!  what  majestic 
mien! 

She  moves  a Goddess,  and  she  looks  a 
Queen. 

Yet  hence,  oh  Heav’n!  convey  that  fatal 
face, 

And  from  destruction  save  the  Tra  jan 
race.’  21© 


2Q0 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


The  good  old  Priam  welcom’d  her,  and 
cried, 

‘ Approach,  my  child,  and  grace  thy  father’s 
side. 

See  on  the  plain  thy  Grecian  spouse  ap- 
pears, 

The  friends  and  kindred  of  thy  former 
years. 

No  crime  of  thine  our  present  sufferings 
draws, 

Not  thou,  but  Heav’n’s  disposing  will,  the 
cause; 

The  Gods  these  armies  and  this  force  em- 

p\oy, 

The  hostile  Gods  conspire  the  fate  of  Troy. 
But  lift  thine  eyes,  and  say,  what  Greek  is 
he 

(Far  as  from  hence  these  aged  orbs  can 
see),  220 

Around  whose  brow  such  martial  graces 
shine, 

So  tall,  so  awful,  and  almost  divine  ? 

Tho’  some  of  larger  stature  tread  the  green, 
None  match  his  grandeur  and  exalted  mien: 
He  seems  a monarch  and  his  country’s 
pride.’ 

Thus  ceas’d  the  King,  and  thus  the  Fair 
replied: 

‘ Before  thy  presence,  father,  I appear 
With  conscious  shame  and  reverential  fear, 
Ah!  had  I died,  ere  to  these  walls  I fled, 
False  to  my  country,  and  my  nuptial  bed, 
My  brothers,  friends,  and  daughter  left  be- 
hind, 231 

False  to  them  all,  to  Paris  only  kind! 

For  this  I mourn,  till  grief  or  dire  disease 
Shall  waste  the  form  whose  crime  it  was  to 
please! 

The  King  of  Kings,  Atrides,  you  survey, 
Great  in  the  war,  and  great  in  arts  of  sway: 
My  brother  once,  before  my  days  of  shame: 
And  oh!  that  still  he  bore  a brother’s 
name!  ’ 

With  wonder  Priam  view’d  the  godlike 
man, 

Extoll’d  the  happy  Prince,  and  thus  began: 
‘ O blest  Atrides!  born  to  prosp’rous  fate,  241 
Successful  monarch  of  a mighty  state! 

How  vast  thy  empire!  Of  yon  matchless 
train 

What  numbers  lost,  what  numbers  yet  re- 
main ! 

In  Phrygia  once  were  gallant  armies  known, 
In  ancient  time,  when  Otreus  fill’d  the 
throne; 


When  godlike  Mygdon  led  their  troops  of 
horse, 

And  I,  to  join  them,  rais’d  the  Trojan  force; 

Against  the  manlike  Amazons  we  stood, 

And  Sangar’s  stream  ran  purple  with  their 
blood.  250 

But  far  inferior  those,  in  martial  grace 

And  strength  of  numbers,  to  this  Grecian 
race.’ 

This  said,  once  more  he  view’d  the  war- 
rior train : 

‘ What ’s  he,  whose  arms  lie  scatter’d  on  the 
plain  ? 

Broad  is  his  breast,  his  shoulders  larger 
spread, 

Tho’  great  Atrides  overtops  his  head. 

Nor  yet  appear  his  care  and  conduct  small; 

From  rank  to  rank  he  moves,  and  orders 
all. 

The  stately  ram  thus  measures  o’er  the 
ground, 

And,  master  of  the  flocks,  surveys  them 
round.’  26o 

Then  Helen  thus:  ‘ Whom  your  discern- 
ing eyes 

Have  singled  out,  is  Ithacus  the  wise: 

A barren  island  boasts  his  glorious  birth; 

His  fame  for  wisdom  fills  the  spacious 
earth.’ 

Antenor  took  the  word,  and  thus  began: 

‘ Myself,  O King!  have  seen  that  wondrous 
man; 

When,  trusting  Jove  and  hospitable  laws, 

To  Troy  he  came,  to  plead  the  Grecian 
cause 

(Great  Menelaus  urged  the  same  request); 

My  house  was  honour’d  with  each  royal 
guest:  270 

I knew  their  persons,  and  admired  their 
parts, 

Both  brave  in  arms,  and  both  approv’d  in 
arts. 

Erect,  the  Spartan  most  engaged  our  view, 

Ulysses  seated  greater  rev’rence  drew. 

When  Atreus’  son  harangued  the  list’ning 
train, 

Just  was  his  sense,  and  his  expression 
plain, 

His  words  succinct,  yet  full,  without  a 
fault; 

He  spoke  no  more  than  just  the  thing  he 
ought. 

But  when  Ulysses  rose,  in  thought  pro- 
found, 

His  modest  eyes  he  fix’d  upon  the  ground; 


THE  ILIAD 


291 


As  one  unskill’d  or  dumb,  he  seem’d  to 
stand,  281 

Nor  rais’d  his  head,  nor  stretch’d  his  scep- 
tred hand; 

But  when  he  speaks,  what  elocution  flows! 
Soft  as  the  fleeces  of  descending  snows, 
The  copious  accents  fall,  with  easy  art; 
Melting  they  fall,  and  sink  into  the  heart! 
Wond’ring  we  hear,  and,  fix’d  in  deep  sur- 
prise, 

Our  ears  refute  the  censure  of  our  eyes.’ 

The  King  then  ask’d  (as  yet  the  camp 
he  view’d), 

‘ What  Chief  is  that,  with  giant  strength 
endued,  290 

Whose  brawny  shoulders,  and  whose  swell- 
ing chest, 

And  lofty  stature,  far  exceed  the  rest  ? ’ 

‘ Ajax  the  great  ’ (the  beauteous  Queen  re- 
plied), 

‘Himself  a host:  the  Grecian  strength  and 
pride. 

See!  bold  Idoineneus  superior  towers 
Amidst  yon  circle  of  his  Cretan  powers, 
Great  as  a God!  I saw  him  once  before, 
With  Menelaus  on  the  Spartan  shore. 

The  rest  I know,  and  could  in  order  name; 
All  valiant  Chiefs,  and  men  of  mighty 
fame.  300 

Yet  two  are  wanting  of  the  numerous  train, 
Whom  long  my  eyes  have  sought,  but 
sought  in  vain; 

Castor  and  Pollux,  first  in  martial  force, 
One  bold  on  foot,  and  one  reno  wil’d  for 
horse. 

My  brothers  these;  the  same  our  native 
shore, 

One  house  contain’d  us,  as  one  mother 
bore. 

Perhaps  the  Chiefs,  from  warlike  toils  at 
ease, 

For  distant  Troy  refused  to  sail  the  seas  : 
Perhaps  their  sword  some  nobler  quarrel 
draws, 

Ashamed  to  combat  in  their  sister’s  cause.’ 

So  spoke  the  Fair,  nor  knew  her  brothers’ 
doom,  311 

Wrapt  in  the  cold  embraces  of  the  tomb; 
Adorn’d  with  honours  in  their  native  shore, 
Silent  they  slept,  and  heard  of  wars  no 
more. 

Meantime,  the  heralds  thro’  the  crowded 
town 

Bring  the  rich  wine  and  destin’d  victims 
down. 


Idseus’  arms  the  golden  goblets  press’d, 
Who  thus  the  venerable  King  address’d: 
‘Arise,  O father  of  the  Trojan  state! 

The  nations  call,  thy  joyful  people  wait,  320 
To  seal  the  truce,  and  end  the  dire  debate. 
Paris,  thy  son,  and  Sparta’s  King  advance, 
In  measured  lists  to  toss  the  weighty  lance ; 
And  who  his  rival  shall  in  arms  subdue, 
His  be  the  dame,  and  his  the  treasure  too. 
Thus  with  a lasting  league  our  toils  may 
cease, 

And  Troy  possess  her  fertile  fields  in 
peace: 

So  shall  the  Greeks  review  their  native 
shore, 

Much  famed  for  gen’rous  steeds,  for  beauty 
more.’ 

With  grief  he  heard,  and  bade  the  Chiefs 
prepare  330 

To  join  his  milk-white  coursers  to  the  car: 
He  mounts  the  seat,  Antenor  at  his  side; 
The  gentle  steeds  thro’  Scaea’s  gates  they 
guide: 

Next  from  the  car,  descending  on  the  plain, 
Amid  the  Grecian  host  and  Trojan  train 
Slow  they  proceed:  the  sage  Ulyssesthen 
Arose,  and  with  him  rose  the  King  of  men. 
On  either  side  a sacred  herald  stands; 

The  wine  they  mix,  and  on  each  monarch’s 
hands 

Pour  the  full  urn;  then  draws  the  Grecian 
lord  340 

His  cutlass,  sheathed  beside  his  pond’rous 
sword; 

From  the  sign’d  victims  crops  the  curling 
hair, 

The  heralds  part  it,  and  the  Princes  share; 
Then  loudly  thus  before  th’  attentive  bands 
He  calls  the  Gods,  and  spreads  his  lifted 
hands: 

‘ O first  and  greatest  Power!  whom  all 
obey, 

Who  high  on  Ida’s  holy  mountain  sway, 
Eternal  Jove!  and  you  bright  Orb  that  roll 
From  east  to  west,  and  view  from  pole  to 
pole! 

Thou  mother  Earth!  and  all  ye  living 
Floods!  350 

Infernal  Furies,  and  Tartarean  Gods, 

Who  rule  the  dead,  and  horrid  woes  pre- 
pare 

For  perjured  Kings,  and  all  who  falsely 
swear! 

Hear,  and  be  witness.  If,  by  Paris  slain, 
Great  Menelaus  press  the  fatal  plain; 


2 92 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


The  dame  and  treasures  let  the  Trojan 
keep; 

And  Greece  returning  plough  the  wat’ry 
deep. 

If  by  my  brother’s  lance  the  Trojan  bleed, 
Be  his  the  wealth  and  beauteous  dame  de- 
creed: 

Th’  appointed  fine  let  Ilion  justly  pay,  360 
And  age  to  age  record  the  signal  day. 

This  if  the  Phrygians  shall  refuse  to  yield, 
Arms  must  revenge,  and  Mars  decide  the 
field.’ 

With  that  the  Chief  the  tender  victims 
slew, 

And  in  the  dust  their  bleeding  bodies 
threw: 

The  vital  spirit  issued  at  the  wound, 

And  left  the  members  quiv’ring  on  the 
ground. 

From  the  same  urn  they  drink  the  mingled 
wine, 

And  add  libations  to  the  Powers  divine. 
While  thus  their  prayers  united  mount  the 
sky:  37o 

‘ Hear,  mighty  Jove!  and  hear,  ye  Gods  on 
high! 

And  may  their  blood,  who  first  the  league 
confound, 

Shed  like  this  wine,  disdain  the  thirsty 
ground; 

May  all  their  consorts  serve  promiscuous 
lust, 

And  all  their  race  be  scatter’d  as  the  dust!  ’ 
Thus  either  host  their  imprecations  join’d, 
Which  Jove  refused,  and  mingled  with  the 
wind. 

The  rites  now  finish’d,  rev’rend  Priam 
rose, 

And  thus  express’d  a heart  o’ercharged  with 
woes: 

‘ Ye  Greeks  and  Trojans,  let  the  Chiefs  en- 
gage, 380 

But  spare  the  weakness  of  my  feeble  age: 
In  yonder  walls  that  object  let  me  shun, 
Nor  view  the  danger  of  so  dear  a son. 
Whose  arms  shall  conquer,  and  what  Prince 
shall  fall, 

Heav’n  only  knows,  for  Heav’n  disposes 
all.’ 

This  said,  the  hoary  King  no  longer 
stay’d, 

But  on  his  car  the  slaughter’d  victims  laid; 
Then  seiz’d  the  reins  his  gentle  steeds  to 
guide, 

And  drove  to  Troy,  Antenor  at  his  side. 


Bold  Hector  and  Ulysses  now  dispose  390 
The  lists  of  combat,  and  the  ground  en- 
close; 

Next  to  decide  by  sacred  lots  prepare, 

Who  first  shall  lance  his  pointed  spear  in 
air. 

The  people  pray  with  elevated  hands, 

And  words  like  these  are  heard  thro’  all 
the  bands: 

‘ Immortal  Jove!  high  Heav’n’s  superior 
lord, 

On  lofty  Ida’s  holy  mount  ador’d! 

Whoe’er  involv’d  us  in  this  dire  debate, 

Oh  give  that  author  of  the  war  to  Fate 
And  shades  eternal!  let  division  cease,  400 
And  joyful  nations  join  in  leagues  of  peace.’ 

With  eyes  averted  Hector  hastes  to  turn 
The  lots  of  fight,  and  shakes  the  brazen  1 
urn. 

Then,  Paris,  thine  leap’d  forth;  by  fatal 
chance 

Ordain’d  the  first  to  whirl  the  mighty 
lance. 

Both  armies  sat,  the  combat  to  survey, 
Beside  each  Chief  his  azure  armour  lay, 

And  round  the  lists  the  gen’rous  coursers 
neigh. 

The  beauteous  warrior  now  arrays  for  fight, 
In  gilded  arms  magnificently  bright:  410 

The  purple  cuishes  clasp  his  thighs  around, 
With  flowers  adorn’d,  with  silver  buckles 
bound: 

Lycaon’s  corslet  his  fair  body  dress’d, 

Braced  in,  and  fitted  to  his  softer  breast; 

A radiant  baldric,  o’er  his  shoulder  tied, 
Sustain’d  the  sword  that  glitter’d  at  his 
side : 

His  youthful  face  a polish’d  helm  over- 
spread ; 

The  waving  horse-hair  nodded  on  his  head: 
His  figured  shield,  a shining  orb,  he  takes, 
And  in  his  hand  a pointed  jav’lin  shakes.  420 
With  equal  speed,  and  fired  by  equal  I 
charms, 

The  Spartan  hero  sheathes  his  limbs  in  arms.  I 
Now  round  the  lists  th’  admiring  armies  I 
stand, 

With  jav’lins  fix’d,  the  Greek  and  Trojan  | 
band. 

Amidst  the  dreadful  vale  the  Chiefs  ad- 
vance, 

All  pale  with  rage,  and  shake  the  threat’- 
ning  lance. 

The  Trojan  first  his  shining  jav’lin  threw:  i 
Full  on  Atrides’  ringing  shield  it  liew, 


THE  ILIAD 


293 


Nor  pierc’d  the  brazen  orb,  but  with  a 
bound 

Leap’d  from  the  buckler  blunted  on  the 
ground.  ‘ 43o 

Atrides  then  liis  massy  lance  prepares, 

In  act  to  throw,  but  first  prefers  his 
prayers: 

‘Give  me,  great  Jove!  to  punish  lawless 
lust, 

And  lay  the  Trojan  gasping  in  the  dust; 
Destroy  th’  aggressor,  aid  my  righteous 
cause, 

Avenge  the  breach  of  hospitable  laws! 

Let  this  example  future  times  reclaim, 

And  guard  from  wrong  fair  friendship’s 
holy  name.’ 

He  said,  and,  pois’d  in  air,  the  jav’lin  sent; 
Thro’  Paris’  shield  the  forceful  weapon 
went,  _ 440 

His  corslet  pierces,  and  his  garment  rends, 
And,  glancing  downward,  near  his  flank 
descends. 

The  wary  Trojan,  bending  from  the  blow, 
Eludes  the  death,  and  disappoints  his 
foe: 

But  fierce  Atrides  waved  his  sword,  and 
struck 

Full  on  his  casque;  the  crested  helmet 
shook; 

The  brittle  steel,  unfaithful  to  his  hand, 
Broke  short:  the  fragments  glitter’d  on  the 
sand ; 

The  raging  warrior  to  the  spacious  skies 
Rais’d  his  upbraiding  voice,  and  angry 
eyes:  45o 

‘ Then  is  it  vain  in  Jove  himself  to  trust  ? 
And  is  it  thus  the  Gods  assist  the  just  ? 
When  crimes  provoke  us,  Heav’n  success 
denies: 

The  dart  falls  harmless,  and  the  falchion 
flies.’ 

Furious  he  said,  and  toward  the  Greciau 
crew 

^Seiz’d  by  the  crest)  th’  unhappy  warrior 
drew; 

Struggling  he  follow’d,  while  th’  em- 
broider’d thong, 

That  tied  his  helmet,  dragg’d  the  Chief 
along. 

Then  had  his  ruin  crown’d  Atrides’  joy, 

But  Venus  trembled  for  the  Prince  of 
Tr°y:  460 

Jnseen  she  came,  and  burst  the  golden 
band ; 

Lid  left  an  empty  helmet  in  his  hand. 


The  casque,  enraged,  amidst  the  Greeks  he 
threw; 

The  Greeks  with  smiles  the  polish’d  trophy 
view. 

Then,  as  once  more  he  lifts  the  deadly 
dart, 

Tn  thirst  of  vengeance,  at  his  rival’s  heart, 
The  Queen  of  Love  her  favour’d  champion 
shrouds 

(For  Gods  can  all  things)  in  a veil  of 
clouds. 

Rais’d  from  the  field  the  panting  youth  she 
led, 

And  gently  laid  him  on  the  bridal  bed,  47o 
With  pleasing  sweets  his  fainting  sense  re- 
news, 

And  all  the  dome  perfumes  with  heav’nly 
dews. 

Meantime  the  brightest  of  the  female 
kind, 

The  matchless  Helen,  o’er  the  walls  re- 
clin’d: 

To  her,  beset  with  Trojan  beauties,  came, 

In  borrow’d  form,  the  laughter -loving 
dame 

(She  seem’d  an  ancient  maid,  well  skill’d 
to  cull 

The  snowy  fleece,  and  wind  the  twisted 
wool). 

The  Goddess  softly  shook  her  silken  vest 
That  shed  perfumes,  and  whisp’ring  thus 
address’d:  4go 

‘Haste,  happy  nymph!  for  thee  thy  Paris 
calls 

Safe  from  the  fight,  in  yonder  lofty  walls, 
Fair  as  a God!  with  odours  round  him 
spread 

He  lies,  and  waits  thee  on  the  well-known 
bed, 

Not  like  a warrior  parted  from  the  foe, 

But  some  gay  dancer  in  the  public  show.’ 

She  spoke,  and  Helen’s  secret  soul  was 
mov’d ; 

She  scorn’d  the  champion,  but  the  man  she 
lov’d. 

Fair  Venus’  neck,  her  eyes  that  sparkled 
fire, 

And  breast,  reveal’d  the  Queen  of  soft  de- 
sire. 49Q 

Struck  with  her  presence,  straight  the 
lively  red 

Forsook  her  cheek;  and  trembling  thus  she 
said: 

‘ Then  is  it  still  thy  pleasure  to  deceive  ? 
And  woman’s  frailty  always  to  believe  ? 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


294 


Say,  to  new  nations  must  I cross  the  main, 
Or  carry  wars  to  some  soft  Asian  plain  ? 
For  whom  must  Helen  break  her  second 
vow  ? 

What  other  Paris  is  thy  darling  now  ? 

Left  to  Atrides  (victor  in  the  strife) 

An  odious  conquest  and  a captive  wife,  500 
Hence  let  me  sail:  and,  if  thy  Paris  bear 
My  absence  ill,  let  Venus  ease  his  care. 

A handmaid  Goddess  at  his  side  to  wait, 
Renounce  the  glories  of  thy  heav’nly  state, 
Be  fix’d  for  ever  to  the  Trojan  shore, 

His  spouse,  or  slave;  and  mount  the  skies 
no  more. 

For  me,  to  lawless  love  no  longer  led, 

I scorn  the  coward,  and  detest  his  bed; 

Else  should  I merit  everlasting  shame, 

And  keen  reproach  from  every  Phrygian 
dame:  510 

111  suits  it  now  the  joys  of  love  to  know, 
Too  deep  my  anguish,  and  too  wild  my  woe.’ 
Then  thus,  incens’d,  the  Paphian  Queen 
replies: 

‘ Obey  the  power  from  whom  thy  glories 
rise: 

Should  Venus  leave  thee,  ev’ry  charm  must 

Fade  from  thy  cheek,  and  languish  in  thy 
eye. 

Cease  to  provoke  me,  lest  I make  thee 
more 

The  world’s  aversion,  than  their  love  before; 
Now  the  bright  prize  for  which  mankind 
engage, 

Then,  the  sad  victim  of  the  public  rage.’  520 
At  this,  the  fairest  of  her  sex  obey’d, 

And  veil’d  her  blushes  in  a silken  shade; 
Unseen,  and  silent,  from  the  train  she 
moves, 

Led  by  the  Goddess  of  the  smiles  and  loves. 

Arrived,  and  enter’d  at  the  palace  gate, 
The  maids  officious  round  their  mistress 
wait: 

Then  all,  dispersing,  various  tasks  attend; 
The  Queen  and  Goddess  to  the  Prince  as- 
cend. 

Full  in  her  Paris’  sight  the  Queen  of  Love 
Had  placed  the  beauteous  progeny  of  Jove; 
Where,  as  he  view’d  her  charms,  she  turn’d 
away  53 1 

Her  glowing  eyes,  and  thus  began  to  say: 

‘ Is  this  the  Chief,  who,  lost  to  sense  of 
shame, 

Late  fled  the  field,  and  yet  survives  his 
fame  ? 


Oh  liadst  thou  died  beneath  the  righteous 
sword 

Of  that  brave  man  whom  once  I call’d  my 
lord! 

The  boaster  Paris  oft  desired  the  day 
With  Sparta’s  King  to  meet  in  single  fray: 
Go  now,  once  more  thy  rival’s  rage  excite, 
Provoke  Atrides,  and  renew  the  fight:  540 
Yet  Helen  bids  thee  stay,  lest  thou  un- 
skill’d 

Shouldst  fall  an  easy  conquest  on  the  field.’ 

The  Prince  replies:  ‘Ah  cease,  divinely 
fair, 

Nor  add  reproaches  to  the  wounds  I bear; 
This  day  the  foe  prevail’d  by  Pallas’ power; 
We  yet  may  vanquish  in  a happier  hour: 
There  want  not  Gods  to  favour  us  above; 
But  let  the  bus’ness  of  our  life  be  love: 
These  softer  moments  let  delights  employ, 
And  kind  embraces  snatch  the  hasty  joy.  550 
Not  thus  I lov’d  thee,  when  from  Sparta’s 
shore 

My  forced,  my  willing,  heav’nly  prize  I 
bore, 

When  first  entranc’d  in  Cranae’s  isle  I lay, 
Mix’d  with  thy  soul,  and  all  dissolv’d 
away!  ’ 

Thus  having  spoke,  th’  enamour’d  Phrygian 
boy 

Rush’d  to  the  bed,  impatient  for  the  joy.  , 
Him  Helen  follow’d  slow  with  bashful 
charms, 

And  clasp’d  the  blooming  hero  in  her  arms. 

While  these  to  love’s  delicious  rapture 
yield, 

The  stern  Atrides  rages  round  the  field:  560 
So  some  fell  lion  whom  the  woods  obey, 
Roars  thro’  the  desert,  and  demands  his 
prey. 

Paris  he  seeks,  impatient  to  destroy, 

But  seeks  in  vain  along  the  troops  of  Troy; 
Ev’11  those  had  yielded  to  a foe  so  brave 
The  recreant  warrior,  hateful  as  the  grave. 
Then  speaking  thus,  the  King  of  Kings 
arose : 

‘ Ye  Trojans,  Dardans,  all  our  gen’rous  foes! 
Hear  and  attest!  from  Heav’11  with  conquest 
crown’d, 

Our  brother’s  arms  the  just  success  have 
found.  57c 

Be  therefore  now  the  Spartan  wealth  re- 
stor’d, 

Let  Argive  Helen  own  her  lawful  lord; 

Th’  appointed  fine  let  II ion  justly  pay, 

I And  age  to  age  record  this  signal  day.’ 


THE  ILIAD 


He  ceas’d;  his  army’s  loud  applauses 
rise, 

And  the  long  shout  runs  echoing  thro’  the 
skies. 

BOOK  IV 

THE  BREACH  OF  THE  TRUCE,  AND  THE  FIRST 
BATTLE 

THE  ARGUMENT 

The  Gods  deliberate  in  council  concerning  the 
Trojan  war : they  agree  upon  the  continua- 
tion of  it,  and  Jupiter  sends  down  Minerva 
to  break  the  truce.  She  persuades  Pandarus 
to  aim  an  arrow  at  Menelaus,  who  is  wounded, 
but  cured  by  Machaon.  In  the  mean  time 
some  of  the  Trojan  troops  attack  the  Greeks. 
Agamemnon  is  distinguished  in  all  the  parts 
of  a good  general;  he  reviews  the  troops,  and 
exhorts  the  leaders,  some  by  praises,  and 
others  by  reproofs.  Nestor  is  particularly  cele- 
brated for  his  military  discipline.  The  bat- 
tle joins,  and  great  numbers  are  slain  on 
both  sides. 

The  same  day  continues  through  this,  as 
through  the  last  book ; as  it  does  also  through 
1 the  two  following,  and  almost  to  the  end  "of 
the  seventh  book.  The  scene  is  wholly  in  the 
i field  before  Troy. 

And  now  Olympus’ shining  gates  unfold; 
The  Gods,  with  Jove,  assume  their  thrones 
of  gold; 

i mmortal  Heb6,  fresh  with  bloom  divine, 
Che  golden  goblet  crowns  with  purple  wine : 
Vhile  the  full  bowls  flow  round,  the 
Powers  employ 

[’heir  careful  eyes  on  long-contended  Troy, 
i When  Jove,  disposed  to  tempt  Saturnia’s 
spleen, 

Thus  waked  the  fury  of  his  partial  Queen: 
.Two  Powers  divine  the  son  of  Atreus  aid, 
mperial  Juno,  and  the  Martial  Maid:  io 
Jut  high  in  Heav’n  they  sit,  and  gaze  from 
| far, 

’he  tame  spectators  of  his  deeds  of  war. 

Jot  thus  fair  Venus  helps  her  favour’d 
i knight, 

'he  Queen  of  Pleasures  shares  the  toils  of 
3 fight, 

lach  danger  wards,  and,  constant  in  her 
a care, 

aves  in  the  moment  of  the  last  despair. 

[er  act  has  rescued  Paris’  forfeit  life, 
ho’  great  Atrides  gain’d  the  glorious 
strife. 


295 


Then  say,  ye  Powers!  what  signal  issue 
waits 

To  crown  this  deed,  and  finish  all  the 
Fates  ? 20 

Shall  Heav’n  by  peace  the  bleeding  king- 
doms spare, 

Or  rouse  the  Furies,  and  awake  the  war? 
Yet,  would  the  Gods  for  human  good  pro- 
vide, 

Atrides  soon  might  gain  his  beauteous 
bride, 

Still  Priam’s  walls  in  peaceful  honours  grow, 
And  thro’  his  gates  the  crowding  nations 
flow.’ 

Thus  while  he  spoke,  the  Queen  of 
Heav’n,  enraged, 

And  Queen  of  War,  in  close  consult  en- 
gaged: 

Apart  they  sit,  their  deep  designs  employ, 
And  meditate  the  future  woes  of  Troy.  3o 
Tho’  secret  anger  swell’d  Minerva’s  breast, 
The  prudent  Goddess  yet  her  wrath  sup- 
press’d ; 

But  Juno,  impotent  of  passion,  broke 
Her  sullen  silence,  and  with  fury  spoke: 

‘ Shall  then,  O Tyrant  of  th’  ethereal 
reign ! 

My  schemes,  my  labours,  and  my  hopes,  be 
vain  ? 

Have  I,  for  this,  shook  Ilioji  with  alarms, 
Assembled  nations,  set  two  worlds  in  arms  ? 
To  spread  the  war,  I flew  from  shore  to 
shore; 

Th’  immortal  coursers  scarce  the  labour 
bore..  40 

At  length  ripe  vengeance  o’er  their  heads 
impends, 

But  Jove  himself  the  faithless  race  de- 
fends; 

Loth  as  thou  art  to  punish  lawless  lust, 

Not  all  the  Gods  are  partial  and  unjust.’ 

The  Sire  whose  thunder  shakes  the 
cloudy  skies, 

Sighs  from  his  inmost  soul,  and  thus  replies: 

‘ Gh  lasting  rancour!  oh  insatiate  hate 
To  Phrygia’s  monarch  and  the  Phrygian 
state! 

What  high  offence  has  fired  the  wife  of 
Jove  ? 

Can  wretched  mortals  harm  the  Powers 
above  ? so 

That  Troy  and  Troy’s  whole  race  thou 
wouldst  confound, 

And  yon  fair  structures  level  with  the 
ground  ? 


itisiipftjiv  ft 


296 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


U „ 


Haste,  leave  the  skies,  fulfil  thy  stern  desire, 
Burst  all  her  gates,  and  wrap  her  walls  in 
fire! 

Let  Priam  bleed!  if  yet  thou  thirst  for 
more, 

Bleed  all  his  sons,  and  Ilion  float  with  gore, 
To  boundless  vengeance  the  wide  realm  be 
giv’n 

Till  vast  destruction  glut  the  Queen  of 
Heav’n! 

So  let  it  be,  and  Jove  his  peace  enjoy, 
When  Heav’n  no  longer  hears  the  name  of 
Troy.  60 

But  should  this  arm  prepare  to  wreak  our 
hate 

O11  thy  lov’d  realms,  whose  guilt  demands 
their  fate, 

Presume  not  thou  the  lifted  bolt  to  stay, 
Remember  Troy,  and  give  the  vengeance 
way, 

For  know,  of  all  the  numerous  towns  that 
rise 

Beneath  the  rolling  sun,  and  starry  skies, 
Which  Gods  have  rais’d,  or  earth-born 
men  enjoy; 

None  stands  so  dear  to  Jove  as  sacred 
Tr°y. 

No  mortals  merit  more  distinguish’d  grace 
Than  godlike  Priam,  or  than  Priam’s 
race:  7° 

Still  to  our  name  their  hecatombs  expire, 
And  altars  blaze  with  unextinguish’d  fire.’ 

At  this  the  Goddess  roll’d  her  radiant 
eyes, 

Then  on  the  Thund’rer  fix’d  them,  and  re- 
plies: 

‘Three  towns  are  Juno’s  on  the  Grecian 
plains, 

More  dear  than  all  th’  extended  earth  con- 
tains, 

Mycenae,  Argos,  and  the  Spartan  wall; 
These  thou  may’st  raze,  nor  I forbid  their 
fall: 

’T  is  not  in  me  the  vengeance  to  remove; 
The  crime ’s  sufficient  that  they  share  my 
love.  80 

Of  power  superior,  why  should  I com- 
plain ? 

Resent  I may,  but  must  resent  in  vain. 

Yet  some  distinction  Juno  might  require, 
Sprung  with  thyself  from  one  celestial 
sire, 

A Goddess  born  to  share  the  realms  above, 
And  styled  the  consort  of  the  thund’ring 
Jove: 


Nor  thou  a wife  and  sister’s  right  deny; 

Let  both  consent,  and  both  by  turns 
comply; 

So  shall  the  Gods  our  joint  decrees  obey, 
And  Heav’n  shall  act  as  we  direct  the 
way.  go 

See  ready  Pallas  waits  thy  high  commands, 
To  raise  in  arms  the  Greek  and  Phrygian 
bands ; 

Their  sudden  friendship  by  her  arts  may 
cease, 

And  the  proud  Trojans  first  infringe  the 
peace.’ 

The  Sire  of  men,  and  Monarch  of  the 
sky, 

Th’  advice  approv’d,  and  bade  Minerva  fly, 
Dissolve  the  league,  and  all  her  arts  em- 

pi°y 

To  make  the  breach  the  faithless  act  of 
Troy. 

Fired  with  the  charge,  she  headlong 
urged  her  flight 

And  shot  like  lightning  from  Olympus’ 
height.  100 

As  the  red  comet,  from  Saturnius  sent 
To  fright  the  nations  with  a dire  portent 
(A  fatal  sign  to  armies  on  the  plain, 

Or  trembling  sailors  on  the  wintry  main), 
With  sweeping  glories  glides  along  in  air, 
And  shakes  the  sparkles  from  its  blazing 
hair; 

Between  both  armies  thus,  in  open  sight, 
Shot  the  bright  Goddess  in  a trail  of  light. 
With  eyes  erect,  the  gazing  hosts  admire 
The  Power  descending,  and  the  Heav’ns  on 
fire ! 1 10 

‘ The  Gods  ’ (they  cried),  ‘ the  Gods  this 
signal  sent, 

And  Fate  now  labours  with  some  vast 
event: 

Jove  seals  the  league,  or  bloodier  scenes 
prepares; 

Jove,  the  great  arbiter  of  peace  and  wars!  ’ 

They  said,  while  Pallas  thro’  the  Trojan 
throng 

(In  shape  a mortal)  pass’d  disguised  along. 
Like  bold  Laodocus,  her  course  she  bent, 
Who  from  Antetior  traced  his  high  descent. 
Amidst  the  ranks  Lycaon’s  son  she  found, 
The  warlike  Pandarus,  for  strength  re- 
nown’d;  i*0 

Whose  squadrons,  led  from  black  iEsepus’ 
flood, 

With  flaming  shields  in  martial  circl® 
stood. 


THE  ILIAD 


297 


To  him  the  Goddess:  ‘Phrygian!  canst 
thou  hear 

A well-timed  counsel  with  a willing  ear  ? 
What  praise  were  thine,  could’st  thou  di- 
rect thy  dart, 

Amidst  his  triumph,  to  the  Spartan’s 
heart  ? 

What  gifts  from  Troy,  from  Paris,  wouldst 
thou  gain, 

Thy  country’s  foe,  the  Grecian  glory,  slain  ? 
Then  seize  tli’  occasion,  dare  the  mighty 
deed, 

Aim  at  his  breast,  and  may  that  aim  suc- 
ceed! J0O 

But  first,  to  speed  the  shaft,  address  thy 
vow 

To  Lycian  Phoebus  with  the  silver  bow, 

And  swear  the  firstlings  of  tliy  flock  to 

pay 

On  Zelia’s  altars,  to  the  God  of  Day.’ 

He  heard,  and  madly  at  the  motion 
pleas’d, 

His  polish’d  bow  with  hasty  rashness 
seiz’d. 

’T  was  form’d  of  horn,  and  smooth’d  with 
artful  toil; 

A mountain  goat  resign’d  the  shining  spoil, 
Who  pierc’d  long  since  beneath  his  arrows ") 
bled; 

The  stately  quarry  on  the  cliffs  lay 
dead,  I4; 

And  sixteen  palms  his  brow’s  large  hon- 
ours spread: 

The  workman  join’d,  and  shaped  the 
bended  horns, 

And  beaten  gold  each  taper  point  adorns. 
This,  by  the  Greeks  unseen,  the  warrior 
bends, 

Screen’d  by  the  shields  of  his  surrounding 
friends. 

There  meditates  the  mark,  and,  crouching 
low, 

Tits  the  sharp  arrow  to  the  well-strung 
bow. 

pne,  from  a hundred  feather’d  deaths  he 
chose, 

Tated  to  wound,  and  cause  of  future 
1 woes. 

Then  offers  vows  with  hecatombs  to 

i crown  I50 

Apollo’s  altars  in  his  native  town. 

Now  with  full  force  the  yielding  horn  he 
s bends, 

)rawn  to  an  arch,  and  joins  the  doubling 

ends; 


Close  to  his  breast  he  strains  the  nerve 
below, 

Till  the  barb’d  point  approach  the  circling 
bow; 

Th’  impatient  weapon  whizzes  on  the 
wing; 

Sounds  the  tough  horn,  and  twangs  the 
quiv’ring  string. 

But  thee,  Atrides!  in  that  dangerous 
hour 

The  Gods  forget  not,  nor  thy  guardian 
Power.  IS9 

Pallas  assists,  and  (weaken’d  in  its  force) 
Diverts  the  weapon  from  its  destin’d 
course : 

So  from  her  babe,  when  slumber  seals  his 
eye, 

The  watchful  mother  wafts  th’  envenom’d 

Just  where  his  belt  with  golden  buckles 
join’d, 

Where  linen  folds  the  double  corslet  lin’d, 
She  turn’d  the  shaft,  which,  hissing  from 
above, 

Pass’d  the  broad  belt,  and  thro’  the  corslet 
drove ; 

The  folds  it  pierc’d,  the  plaited  linen  tore, 
And  razed  the  skin,  and  drew  the  purple 
gore. 

As  when  some  stately  trappings  are  de- 
creed 170 

To  grace  a monarch  on  his  bounding  steed, 
A nymph,  in  Caria  or  Mjeonia  bred, 

Stains  the  pure  iv’ry  with  a lively  red; 

With  equal  lustre  various  colours  vie, 

The  shining  whiteness,  and  the  Tyrian  dye: 
So,  great  Atrides!  shew’d  thy  sacred  blood, 
As  down  thy  snowy  thigh  distill’d  the 
streaming  flood. 

With  horror  seiz’d,  the  King  of  men  de- 
scried 

The  shaft  infix’d,  and  saw  the  gushing 
tide: 

Nor  less  the  Spartan  fear’d,  before  he 
found  l8o 

The  shining  barb  appear  above  the  wound. 
Then,  with  a sigh  that  heav’d  his  manly 
breast, 

The  royal  brother  thus  his  grief  express’d, 
And  grasp’d  his  hand;  while  all  the  Greeks 
around 

With  answering  sighs  return’d  the  plaintive 
sound: 

‘ Oh  dear  as  life!  did  I for  this  agree 
The  solemn  truce,  a fatal  truce  to  thee! 


298 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


& 


U 

C£ 


Wert  thou  exposed  to  all  the  hostile  train, 
To  fiffht  for  Greece,  and  conquer  to  he 
slain  ? 

The  race  of  Trojans  in  thy  ruin  join,  190 
And  faith  is  scorn’d  by  all  the  perjured  line. 
Not  thus  our  vows,  confirm’d  with  wine 
and  gore, 

Those  hands  we  plighted,  and  those  oaths 
we  swore, 

Shall  all  be  vain:  when  Heav’n’s  revenge 
is  slow, 

Jove  but  prepares  to  strike  the  fiercer 
blow. 

The  day  shall  come,  the  great  avenging  day, 
Which  Troy’s  proud  glories  in  the  dust 
shall  lay, 

When  Priam’s  powers  and  Priam’s  self 
shall  fall, 

And  one  prodigious  ruin  swallow  all. 

I see  the  God,  already,  from  the  pole,  200 
Bare  his  red  arm, and  bid  the  thunder  roll; 
I see  th’  Eternal  all  his  fury  shed, 

And  shake  his  segis  o’er  their  guilty  head. 
Such  mighty  woes  on  perjured  Princes 
wait; 

But  thou,  alas!  deserv’st  a happier  fate. 
Still  must  I mourn  the  period  of  thy  days, 
And  only  mourn,  without  my  share  of 
praise  ? 

Deprived  of  thee,  the  heartless  Greeks  no 
more 

Shall  dream  of  conquests  on  the  hostile 
shore ; 

Troy  seized  of  Helen,  and  our  glory 
lost,  210 

Thy  bones  shall  moulder  on  a foreign 
coast : 

While  some  proud  Trojan  thus  insulting 
cries 

(And  spurns  the  dust  where  Menelaus  lies): 
“ Such  are  the  trophies  Greece  from  Ilion 
brings, 

And  such  the  conquest  of  her  King  of 
Kings! 

Lo  his  proud  vessels  scatter’d  o’er  the 
main, 

And  unrevenged  his  mighty  brother  slain.” 
Oh,  ere  that  dire  disgrace  shall  blast  my 
fame, 

O’er  whelm  me,  earth!  and  hide  a mon- 
arch’s shame.’ 

He  said:  a leader’s  and  a brother’s 
fears  220 

Possess  his  soul,  which  thus  the  Spartan 
cheers: 


* Let  not  thy  words  the  warmth  of  Greece 
abate ; 

The  feeble  dart  is  guiltless  of  my  fate: 

Stiff  with  the  rich  embroider’d  work  around, 

My  varied  belt  repell’d  the  flying  wound.’  1 
To  whom  the  King:  ‘ My  brother  and 
my  friend, 

Thus,  always  thus,  may  Heav’n  thy  life  de- 
fend! 

Now  seek  some  skilful  hand,  whose  power- 
ful art 

May  stanch  th’  effusion,  and  extract  the 
dart. 

Herald,  be  swift,  and  bid  Machaon  bring  230 

His  speedy  succour  to  the  Spartan  King; 

Pierced  with  a winged  shaft  (the  deed  of 
Troy), 

The  Grecian’s  sorrow  and  the  Dardan’s  joy.’  1 
With  hasty  zeal  the  swift  Talthybius 
flies; 

Thro’  the  thick  files  he  darts  his  searching 
eyes, 

And  finds  Machaon,  where  sublime  he 
stands 

In  arms  encircled  with  his  native  bands. 

Then  thus:  ‘ Machaon,  to  the  King  repair, 

His  wounded  brother  claims  thy  timely 
care; 

Pierced  by  some  Lycian  or  Dardanian 
bow,  240 

A grief  to  us,  a triumph  to  the  foe.’ 

The  heavy  tidings  grieved  the  godlike 
man; 

Swift  to  his  succour  through  the  ranks  he 
ran: 

The  dauntless  King  yet  standing  firm  he 
found, 

And  all  the  Chiefs  in  deep  concern  around. 

Where  to  the  steely  point  the  reed  was 
join’d, 

The  shaft  he  drew,  but  left  the  head  be- 
hind. 

Straight  the  broad  belt,  with  gay  em- 
broid’ry  graced, 

He  loosed : the  corslet  from  his  breast  un- 
braced ; 

Then  suck’d  the  blood,  and  sov’reign  balm 
infused,  250 

Which  Chiron  gave,  and  JEsculapius  used. 
While  round  the  Prince  the  Greeks  em- 
ploy their  care, 

The  Trojans  rush  tumultuous  to  the  war; 

Once  more  they  glitter  in  refulgent  arms, 

Once  more  the  fields  are  fill’d  with  dire 
alarms. 


THE  ILIAD 


^or  had  you  seen  the  King  of  Men  appear 
Confused,  inactive,  or  surprised  with  fear; 
3ut  fond  of  glory,  with  severe  delight, 
dis  beating  bosom  claim’d  the  rising  fight* 
*o  longer  with  his  warlike  steeds  he  stay’d, 
)r  press’d  the  car  with  polish’d  brass  in- 
laid, 26i 

hit  left  Eurymedon  the  reins  to  guide; 

The  fiery  coursers  snorted  at  his  side. 

)n  foot  thro’  all  the  martial  ranks  he 
moves, 

Ind  these  encourages,  and  those  reproves. 
Brave  men!  ’ he  cries  (to  such  who  boldly 
dare 

Jrge  their  swift  steeds  to  face  the  coming 
war), 

Your  ancient  valour  on  the  foes  approve; 
ove  is  with  Greece,  and  let  us  trust  in 
Jove. 

r is  not  for  us,  but  guilty  Troy,  to 
dread,  2_0 

Hiose  crimes  sit  heavy  on  her  perjured 
head  : 

ier  sons  and  matrons  Greece  shall  lead  in 
chains, 

nd  her  dread  warriors  strew  the  mourn- 
ful plains.’ 

Thus  with  new  ardour  he  the  brave  in- 
( spires; 

r thus  the  fearful  with  reproaches  fires: 
ihame  to  your  country,  scandal  of  your 
3 kind ! 

orn  to  the  fate  ye  well  deserve  to  find ; 

/hy  stand  ye  gazing  round  the  dreadful 
plain, 

9?epared  for  flight,  but  doom’d  to  fly  in 
vain  ? 

infused  and  panting,  thus  the  hunted 
2 deer  2go 

ills  as  he  flies,  a victim  to  his  fear, 
ill  must  ye  wait  the  foes,  and  still  retire, 

11  yon  tall  vessels  blaze  with  Trojan  fire? 

• trust  ye,  Jove  a valiant  foe  shall  chase, 

[;>  save  a trembling,  heartless,  dastard 
race  ? ’ 

This  said,  he  stalk’d  with  ample  strides 
L along, 

> Crete’s  brave  monarch  and  his  martial 
throng; 

gh  at  their  head  he  saw  the  Chief  ap- 
pear, 

| id  bold  Meriones  excite  the  rear. 

| this  the  King  his  gen’rous  joy  express’d, 
j,,id  clasp’d  the  warrior  to  his  arm&d 
- breast:  2gi 

: 


299 

‘ Divine  Idomeneus!  what  thanks  we  owe 
To  worth  like  thine  ? what  praise  shall  we 
bestow  ? 

To  thee  the  foremost  honours  are  decreed, 
First  in  the  fight,  and  ev’ry  graceful  deed. 
For  this,  in  banquets,  when  the  gen’rous 
bowls 

Restore  our  blood,  and  raise  the  warriors’ 
souls, 

Tho’  all  the  rest  with  stated  rules  we 
bound, 

Unmix’d,  unmeasured  are  thy  goblets 
crown’d. 

Be  still  thyself ; in  arms  a mighty  name;  300 
Maintain  thy  honours,  and  enlarge  thy 
fame.’ 

To  whom  the  Cretan  thus  his  speech  ad- 
dress’d: 

‘ Secure  of  me,  O King!  exhort  the  rest: 
Fix’d  to  thy  side,  in  ev’ry  toil  I share, 

Thy  firm  associate  in  the  day  of  war. 

But  let  the  signal  be  this  moment  giv’n; 

To  mix  in  fight  is  all  I ask  of  Heav’n. 

The  field  shall  prove  how  perjuries  suc- 
ceed, 

And  chains  or  death  avenge  their  impious 
deed.’ 

Charm’d  with  this  heat,  the  King  his 
course  pursues,  3IO 

And  next  the  troops  of  either  Ajax  views: 

In  one  firm  orb  the  bands  were  ranged 
around, 

A cloud  of  heroes  blacken’d  all  the  ground. 
Thus  from  the  lofty  promontory’s  brow 
A swain  surveys  the  gath’ring  storm  below; 
Slow  from  the  main  the  heavy  vapours  rise, 
Spread  in  dim  streams,  and  sail  along  the 
skies, 

Till  black  as  night  the  swelling  tempest 
shews, 

The  cloud  condensing  as  the  west-wind 
blows : 

He  dreads  th’  impending  storm,  and  drives 
his  flock  320 

To  the  close  covert  of  an  arching  rock. 

Such,  and  so  thick,  th’  embattled  squad- 
rons stood, 

With  spears  erect,  a moving  iron  wood; 

A shady  light  was  shot  from  glimm’ring 
shields, 

And  their  brown  arms  obscured  the  dusky 
fields. 

‘O  Heroes!  worthy  such  a dauntless 
train, 

Whose  godlike  virtue  we  but  urge  in  vain’ 


3°° 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


(Exclaim’d  the  King),  ‘ who  raise  your 
eager  bands 

With  great  examples,  more  than  loud 
commands. 

Ah  would  the  Gods  but  breathe  in  all  the 
rest  330 

Such  souls  as  burn  in  your  exalted  breast! 
Soon  should  our  arms  with  just  success  be 
crown’d, 

And  Troy’s  proud  walls  lie  smoking  on  the 
ground.’ 

Then  to  the  next  the  gen’ral  bends  his 
course 

(His  heart  exults,  and  glories  in  his  force); 
There  rev’rend  Nestor  ranks  his  Pylian 
bauds, 

And  with  inspiring  eloquence  commands; 
With  strictest  order  sets  his  train  in  arms. 
The  Chiefs  advises,  and  the  soldiers  warms. 
Alastor,  Chromius,  Hsemon,  round  him 
wait,  340 

Bias  the  good,  and  Pelagon  the  great. 

The  horse  and  chariots  to  the  front  as- 
sign’d, 

The  foot  (the  strength  of  war)  he  ranged 
behind: 

The  middle  space  suspected  troops  supply, 
Enclosed  by  both,  nor  left  the  power  to  fly: 
He  gives  command  to  curb  the  fiery  steed, 
Nor  cause  confusion,  nor  the  ranks  exceed: 
‘Before  the  rest  let  none  too  rashly  ride; 
No  strength  nor  skill,  but  just  in  time,  be 
tried: 

The  charge  once  made,  no  warrior  turn  the 
rein,  35° 

But  fight,  or  fall;  a firm,  embodied  train. 
He  whom  the  fortune  of  the  field  shall  cast 
From  forth  his  chariot,  mount  the  next  in 
haste; 

Nor  seek  unpractis’d  to  direct  the  car, 
Content  with  jav’lins  to  provoke  the  war. 
Our  great  forefathers  held  this  prudent 
course, 

Thus  ruled  their  ardour,  thus  preserv’d 
their  force, 

By  laws  like  these  immortal  conquests 
made, 

And  earth’s  proud  tyrants  low  in  ashes  laid.’ 

So  spoke  the  master  of  the  martial  art, 
And  touch’d  with  transport  great  Atrides’ 
heart.  361 

‘Oh!  hadst  thou  strength  to  match  thy 
brave  desires, 

And  nerves  to  second  what  thy  soul  in- 
spires! 


But  wasting  years  that  wither  human  race, 
Exhaust  thy  spirits,  and  thy  arms  un- 
brace. 

What  once  thou  wert,  oh  ever  iniglit’sti 
thou  be! 

And  age  the  lot  of  any  Chief  but  thee.’ 

Thus  to  th’  experienc’d  Prince  Atrides 
cried ; 

He  shook  his  hoary  locks,  and  thus  replied: 

‘ Well  might  I wish,  could  mortal  wish  re- 
new 370 

That  strength  which  once  in  boiling  youth 
I knew; 

Such  as  I was,  when  Ereuthalion  slain 
Beneath  this  arm  fell  prostrate  on  the 
plain. 

But  Heav’n  its  gifts  not  all  at  once  bestows, 
These  years  with  wisdom  crowns,  with  ac- 
tion those: 

The  field  of  combat  fits  the  young  and 
bold, 

The  solemn  council  best  becomes  the  old:  ! 
To  you  the  glorious  conflict  I resign, 

Let  sage  advice,  the  palm  of  age,  be  mine.’ 

He  said.  With  joy  the  Monarch  march’d 
before  380 

And  found  Menestheus  on  the  dusty  shore, 
With  whom  the  firm  Athenian  phalanx 
stands; 

And  next  Ulysses,  with  his  subject  bands. 
Remote  their  forces  lay,  nor  knew  so  far 
The  peace  infringed,  nor  heard  the  sounds 
of  war; 

The  tumult  late  begun,  they  stood  intent 
To  watch  the  motion,  dubious  of  tli’  event. 
The  King,  who  saw  their  squadrons  yet  un- 
mov’d, 

With  hasty  ardour  thus  the  Chiefs  re- 
prov’d: 

‘ Can  Peteus’  son  forget  a warrior’s  part, 
And  fears  Ulysses,  skill’d  in  every  art?  39’ 
Why  stand  you  distant,  and  the  rest  expect 
To  mix  in  combat  which  yourselves  neg- 
lect ? 

From  you ’t  was  hoped  among  the  first  tc 
dare 

The  shock  of  armies,  and  commence  the 
war. 

For  this  your  names  are  call’d  before  the 
rest, 

To  share  the  pleasures  of  the  genial  feast: 
And  can  you,  Chiefs!  without  a blush  sur- 
vey 

Whole  troops  before  you  lab’ring  in  tlie 
fray  ? 39* 


THE  ILIAD 


3°  i 


Say,  is  it  thus  those  honours  you  requite  ? 
The  first  in  banquets,  but  the  last  in  fight.’ 

Ulysses  heard:  the  hero’s  warmth  o’er- 
spread 

His  cheek  with  blushes;  and,  severe,  he 
said: 

‘Take  back  th’  unjust  reproach!  Behold 
we  stand 

‘Sheathed  in  bright  arms,  and  but  expect 
command. 

If  glorious  deeds  afford  thy  soul  delight, 
Behold  me  plunging  in  the  thickest  fight. 
Then  give  thy  warrior-chief  a warrior’s 
due, 

Who  dares  to  act  whate’er  thou  darest  to 
view.’ 

Struck  with  his  gen’rous  wrath,  the  King 
replies:  4io 

Oh  great  in  action,  and  in  council  wise! 
With  ours,  thy  care  and  ardour  are  the 
same, 

Nor  need  I to  command,  nor  ought  to 
blame. 

sage  as  thou  art,  and  learn’d  in  human 
kind, 

forgive  the  transport  of  a martial  mind. 
Taste  to  the  fight,  secure  of  just  amends; 
The  Gods  that  make  shall  keep  the  wor- 
thy friends.’ 

He  said,  and  pass’d  where  great  Tydides 
lay, 

lis  steeds  and  chariots  wedg’d  in  firm 
array  4I9 

The  warlike  Sthenelus  attends  his  side) ; 

-o  whom  with  stern  reproach  the  Monarch 
cried : 

Oh  son  of  Tydeus  ’ (he  whose  strength 
could  tame 

.lie  bounding  steed,  in  arms  a mighty 
name), 

Canst  thou,  remote,  the  mingling  hosts 
decry, 

With  hands  inactive,  and  a careless  eye  ? 

Tot  thus  thy  sire  the  fierce  encounter 
^ fear’d ; 

•till  first  in  front  the  matchless  Prince  ap- 
f pear’d: 

That  glorious  toils,  what  wonders  they  re- 
I cite, 

Tho  view’d  him  lab’ring  thro’  the  ranks  of 
| fight! 

r saw  him  once,  when,  gath’ring  martial 
powers,  43o 

peaceful  guest  he  sought  Mycenae’s  tow- 
ers; 


Armies  he  ask’d,  and  armies  had  been 
giv’n, 

Not  we  denied,  but  Jove  forbade  front 

H'\av’n; 

While  dreadful  comets  glaring  from  afar 
Forewarn’d  the  horrors  of  the  Theban  war. 
Next,  sent  by  Greece  from  where  Asopus 
flows, 

A fearless  envoy,  he  approach’d  the  foes; 
Thebes’  hostile  walls,  unguarded  and  alone, 
Dauntless  he  enters  and  demands  the 
throne. 

The  tyrant,  feasting  with  his  Chiefs  he 
found,  44o 

And  dared  to  combat  all  those  Chiefs 
around ; 

Dared  and  subdued,  before  their  haughty 
lord; 

For  Pallas  strung  his  arm,  and  edg’d  his 
sword. 

Stung  with  the  shame,  within  the  winding 
way, 

To  bar  his  passage  fifty  warriors  lay; 

Two  heroes  led  the  secret  squadron  on, 
Mfeon  the  fierce,  and  hardy  Lycophon; 
Those  fifty  slaughter’d  in  the  gloomy  vale, 
He  spared  but  one  to  bear  the  dreadful 
tale. 

Such  Tydeus  was,  and  such  his  martial 
fire;  433 

Gods!  how  the  son  degen’rates  from  the 
sire!  ’ 

No  words  the  godlike  Diomed  return’d, 
But  heard  respectful,  and  in  secret  burn’d: 
Not  so  fierce  Capaneus’  undaunted  son; 
Stern  as  his  sire,  the  boaster  thus  begun: 

‘ What  needs,  O Monarch,  this  invidious 
praise, 

Ourselves  to  lessen,  while  our  sires  you 
raise  ? 

Dare  to  be  just,  Atrides!  and  confess 
Our  valour  equal,  tho’  our  fury  less. 

With  fewer  troops  we  storm’d  the  Theban 
wall,  46a 

And,  happier,  saw  the  sev’nfold  city  fall. 

In  impious  acts  the  guilty  fathers  died; 

The  sons  subdued,  for  Heav’n  was  on  their 
side. 

Far  more  than  heirs  of  all  our  parents’ 
fame, 

Our  glories  darken  their  diminish’d  name.’ 

To  him  Tydides  thus:  ‘My  friend,  for- 
bear, 

Suppress  thy  passion,  and  the  King  re- 
vere: 


302 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


His  high  concern  may  well  excuse  this 
rage, 

Whose  cause  we  follow,  and  whose  war  we 
wage ; 

His  the  first  praise,  were  Ilion’s  towers 
o’erthrown,  47° 

And,  if  we  fail,  the  chief  disgrace  his  own. 
Let  him  the  Greeks  to  hardy  toils  excite, 

’T  is  ours  to  labour  in  the  glorious  fight.’ 

He  spoke,  and  ardent  on  the  trembling 
ground 

Sprung  from  his  car;  his  ringing  arms  re- 
sound. 

Dire  was  the  clang,  and  dreadful  from  afar, 
Of  arm’d  Tydides  rushing  to  the  war. 

As  when  the  winds,  ascending  by  degrees, 
First  move  the  whitening  surface  of  the 
seas, 

The  billows  float  in  order  to  the  shore,  480 
The  wave  behind  rolls  on  the  wave  before ; 
Till,  with  the  growing  storm,  the  deeps 
arise, 

Foam  o’er  the  rocks,  and  thunder  to  the 
skies: 

So  to  the  fight  the  thick  battalions  throng, 
Shields  urged  on  shields,  and  men  drove 
men  along. 

Sedate  and  silent  move  the  numerous 
bands ; 

No  sound,  no  whisper,  but  their  Chief’s 
commands. 

Those  only  heard;  with  awe  the  rest  obey, 
As  if  some  God  had  snatch’d  their  voice 
away. 

Not  so  the  Trojans;  from  their  host  as- 
cends 49° 

A gen’ral  shout  that  all  the  region  rends. 
As  when  the  fleecy  flocks  unnumber’d 
stand 

In  wealthy  folds,  and  wait  the  milker’s 
hand, 

The  hollow  vales  incessant  bleating  fills, 
The  lambs  reply  from  all  the  neighb’ring 
hills: 

Such  clamours  rose  from  various  nations 
round, 

Mix’d  was  the  murmur,  and  confused  the 
sound. 

Each  host  now  joins,  and  each  a God  in- 
spires, 

These  Mars  incites,  and  those  Minerva  fires. 
Pale  Flight  around,  and  dreadful  Terror 
reign ; 5°° 

And  Discord  raging  bathes  the  purple 
plain: 


Discord!  dire  sister  of  the  slaught’ring 
Power, 

Small  at  her  birth,  but  rising  ev’ry  hour; 
While  scarce  the  skies  her  horrid  head  can 
bound, 

She  stalks  on  earth,  and  shakes  the  world 
around ; 

The  nations  bleed,  where’er  her  steps  she 
turns; 

The  groan  still  deepens,  and  the  coinbal 
burns. 

Now  shield  with  shield,  with  helmei 
helmet  closed, 

To  armour  armour,  lance  to  lance  opposed 
Host  against  host  with  shadowy  squadron; 

drew,  511 

The  sounding  darts  in  iron  tempests  flew. 
Victors  and  vanquish’d  join  promiscuou; 
cries, 

And  shrilling  shouts  and  dying  groan 
arise; 

With  streaming  blood  the  slipp’ry  fields  an 
dyed, 

And  slaughter’d  heroes  swell  the  dreadfu 
tide. 

As  torrents  roll,  increas’d  by  numerou 
rills, 

With  rage  impetuous  down  their  echoin 
hills; 

Rush  to  the  vales,  and,  pour’d  along  th 
plain, 

Roar  thro’  a thousand  channels  to  th 
main; 

The  distant  shepherd  trembling  hears  th 
sound:  _ 5: 

So  mix  both  hosts,  and  so  their  cries  r< 
bound. 

The  bold  Antilochus  the  slaughter  led, 
The  first  who  struck  a valiant  Trojan  deat 
At  great  Echepolus  the  lance  arrives, 
Razed  his  high  crest  and  thro’  his  helim 
drives; 

Warm’d  in  the  brain  the  brazen  weape 
lies, 

And  shades  eternal  settle  o’er  his  eyes. 

So  sinks  a tower  that  long  assaults  ha 
stood 

Of  force  and  fire,  its  walls  besmear’d  wil 
blood. 

Him,  the  bold  leader  of  th’  Abantian  throii 
Seized  to  despoil,  and  dragg’d  the  corp; 

along:  . 5 

But,  while  he  strove  to  tug  th’  insert* 
dart, 

Agenor’s  jav’lin  reach’d  the  hero’s  heart. 


THE  ILIAD 


303 


His  flank,  unguarded  by  his  ample  shield, 
Admits  the  lance:  he  falls,  and  spurns  the 
field; 

The  nerves  unbraced  support  his  limbs  no 
more: 

The  soul  comes  floating  in  a tide  of  gore. 
Trojans  and  Greeks  now  gather  round  the 
slain;  538 

The  war  renews,  the  warriors  bleed  again; 
As  o’er  their  prey  rapacious  wolves  engage, 
Man  dies  on  man,  and  all  is  blood  and  rage. 

In  blooming  youth  fair  Simoi'sius  fell, 
Sent  by  great  Ajax  to  the  shades  of  Hell: 
Fair  Simoi'sius,  whom  his  mother  bore 
Atnid  the  flocks,  on  silver  Simois’  shore: 
The  nymph,  descending  from  the  hills  of 
Ide, 

To  seek  her  parents  on  his  flowery  side, 
Brought  forth  the  babe,  their  common  care 
1 and  joy, 

And  thence  from  Simois  named  the  lovely 
boy. 

Short  was  his  date!  by  dreadful  Ajax  slain 
He  falls,  and  renders  all  their  cares  in 
vain!  55I 

t So  falls  a poplar,  that  in  wat’ry  ground 
Rais’d  high  the  head,  with  stately  branches 
crown’d 

(Fell’d  by  some  artist  with  his  shining  steel, 
To  shape  the  circle  of  the  bending  wheel); 
Cut  down  it  lies,  tall,  smooth,  and  largely 
spread, 

With  all  its  beauteous  honours  on  its  head; 
There,  left  a subject  to  the  wind  and  rain, 
And  scorch’d  by  suns,  it  withers  on  the 
plain. 

Thus,  pierc’d  by  Ajax,  Simoi'sius  lies  560 
Stretch’d  on  the  shore,  and  thus  neglected 
dies. 

At  Ajax,  Antiphus  his  jav’lin  threw:  ) 
The  pointed  lance  with  erring  fury  flew,  }- 
And  Leucus,  loved  by  wise  Ulysses,  slew.  J 
(He  drops  the  corpse  of  Simoi'sius  slain, 

And  sinks  a breathless  carcass  on  the  plain. 
This  saw  Ulysses,  and,  with  grief  enraged, 
.Strode  where  the  foremost  of  the  foes  en- 
gaged; 

i Arm’d  with  his  spear,  he  meditates  the 
wound, 

In  act  to  throw;  but,  cautious,  look’d 
around.  57o 

Struck  at  his  sight  the  Trojans  backward 
f drew, 

And  trembling  heard  the  jav’lin  as  it 
flew. 


A Chief  stood  nigh,  who  from  Abydos 
came, 

Old  Priam’s  son,  Democoon  was  his  name; 
The  weapon  enter’d  close  above  his  ear, 
Cold  thro’  his  temples  glides  the  whizzing 
spear; 

With  piercing  shrieks  the  youth  resigns  his 
breath, 

His  eye-balls  darken  with  the  shades  of 
death ; 

Pond’rous  he  falls;  his  clanging  arms  re- 
sound; 

And  his  broad  buckler  rings  against  the 
ground.  58o 

Seiz’d  with  affright  the  boldest  foes  ap- 
pear; 

Ev’n  godlike  Hector  seems  himself  to  fear; 
Slow  he  gave  way,  the  rest  tumultuous  fled ; 
The  Greeks  with  shouts  press  on,  and  spoil 
the  dead. 

But  Phoebus  now  from  Ilion’s  tow’ring 
height 

Shines  forth  reveal’d,  and  animates  the 
fight. 

‘ Trojans,  be  bold,  and  force  with  force 
oppose; 

Your  foaming  steeds  urge  headlong  on  the 
foes! 

Nor  are  their  bodies  rocks,  nor  ribb’d  with 
steel; 

Your  weapons  enter,  and  your  strokes  they 
feel.  3g0 

Have  you  forgot  what  seem’d  your  dread 
before  ? 

The  great,  the  fierce  Achilles  fights  no 
more.’ 

Apollo  thus  from  Ilion’s  lofty  towers, 
Array’d  in  terrors,  rous’d  the  Trojan  pow- 
ers: 

While  war’s  fierce  Goddess  fires  the  Grecian 
foe, 

And  shouts  and  thunders  in  the  fields  below. 

Then  great  Diores  fell,  by  doom  divine; 
In  vain  his  valour  and  illustrious  line. 

A broken  rock  the  force  of  Pirns  threw 
(Who  from  cold  ASnus  led  the  Thracian 
crew);  6oo 

Full  on  his  ankle  dropp’d  the  pond’rous 
stone, 

Burst  the  strong  nerves,  and  crash’d  the 
solid  bone: 

Supine  he  tumbles  on  the  crimson  sands, ) 
Before  his  helpless  friends,  and  native  I 
bands,  j 

And  spreads  for  aid  his  unavailing  hands.  J 


304 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


The  foe  rush’d  furious  as  he  pants  for 
breath, 

And  thro’  his  navel  drove  the  pointed 
death : 

His  gushing  entrails  smoked  upon  the 
ground, 

And  the  warm  life  came  issuing  from  the 
wound. 

His  lance  bold  Thoas  at  the  conqu’ror 
sent,  610 

Deep  in  his  breast  above  the  pap  it  went, 
Amid  the  lungs  was  fix’d  the  winged 
wood, 

And  quivTing  in  his  heaving  bosom  stood: 
Till  from  the  dying  Chief,  approaching 
near, 

Th’  iEtolian  warrior  tugg’d  his  weighty 
spear: 

Then  sudden  waved  his  flaming  falchion 
round, 

And  gash’d  his  belly  with  a ghastly  wound. 
The  corpse  now  breathless  on  the  bloody 
plain, 

To  spoil  his  arms  the  victor  strove  in 
vain ; 

The  Thracian  bands  against  the  victor 
press’d;  . 620 

A grove  of  lances  glitter’d  at  his  breast. 
Stern  Thoas,  glaring  with  revengeful  eyes, 
In  sullen  fury  slowly  quits  the  prize. 

Thus  fell  two  heroes,  one  the  pride  of 
Thrace, 

And  one  the  leader  of  th’  Epeian  race; 
Death’s  sable  shade  at  once  o’ercast  their 
eyes,  ' 

In  dust  the  vanquish’d  and  the  victor 
lies. 

With  copious  slaughter  all  the  fields  are 
red, 

And  heap’d  with  growing  mountains  of  the 
dead. 

Had  some  brave  Chief  this  martial  scene 
beheld,  630 

By  Pallas  guarded  thro’  the  dreadful  field, 
Might  darts  be  bid  to  turn  their  points 
away, 

And  swords  around  him  innocently  play, 
The  war’s  whole  art  with  wonder  had  he 
seen, 

And  counted  heroes  where  he  counted 
men. 

So  fought  each  host,  with  thirst  of  glory 
fired, 

And  crowds  on  crowds  triumphantly  ex- 
pired. 


OBSERVATIONS  ON  HOMER’S  BATTLES 

It  may  be  necessary,  at  the  opening  of  Ho. 
mer’s  battles,  to  give  some  explanatory  observa  - 
tions upon  them.  When  we  reflect  that  no 
less  than  the  compass  of  twelve  books  is  taken 
up  in  these,  we  shall  have  reason  to  wonder  by 
what  method  the  author  could  prevent  descrip- 
tions of  such  a length  from  being  tedious.  It 
is  not  enough  to  say,  that  though  the  subject 
itself  be  the  same,  the  actions  are  always  dif- 
ferent ; that  we  have  now  distinct  combats, 
now  promiscuous  fights,  now  single  duels,  now 
general  engagements  ; or  that  the  scenes  are 
perpetually  varied  ; we  are  now  in  the  fields, 
now  at  the  fortification  of  the  Greeks,  now  at 
the  ships,  now  at  the  gates  of  Troy,  now  at  the 
river  fccamander : but  we  must  look  farther 
into  the  art  of  the  poet  to  find  the  reasons  of 
this  astonishing  variety. 

We  first  observe  that  diversity  in  the  deaths 
of  his  warriors,  which  he  has  supplied  by  the  ; 
vastest  fertility  of  invention.  These  he  dis- 
tinguishes several  ways : sometimes  by  the 
Characters  of  the  men,  their  age,  office , profes- 
sion, nation , family , etc.  One  is  a blooming 
Youth,  whose  father  dissuaded  him  from  the 
war  ; one  is  a Priest,  whose  piety  could  not  save 
him  : one  is  a Sportsman,  whom  Diana  taught 
in  vain  ; one  is  the  native  of  a far  distant  coun- 
try, who  is  never  to  return  ; one  is  descended 
from  a Noble  Line,  which  ends  in  his  death  ; 
one  is  made  remarkable  by  his  Boasting; 
another  by  his  Beseeching  ; and  another,  who 
is  distinguished  no  way  else,  is  marked  by  his 
Habit,  and  the  singularity  of  his  armour.  ( 

Sometimes  he  varies  these  by  the  several 
Postures  in  which  his  heroes  are  represented 
either  fighting  or  falling.  Some  of  these  are 
so  exceedingly  exact,  that  one  may  guess,  from 
the  very  position  of  the  combatant,  where- 
abouts the  wound  will  light:  others  so  very; 
peculiar  and  uncommon,  that  they  could  only 
be  the  effect  of  an  imagination  which  had 
searched  through  all  the.  ideas  of  nature.  Such 
is  that  picture  of  Mydon  in  the  fifth  book, 
whose  arm  being  numbed  by  a blow  on  the 
elbow,  drops  the  reins,  that  trail  on  the 
ground  ; and  then  being  suddenly  struck  on 
the  temples,  falls  headlong  from  the  chariot, 
in  a soft  and  deep  place,  where  he  sinks  up  to 
the  shoulders  in  the  sands,  and  continues  a 
while  fixed  by  the  weight  of  his  armour,  with 
his  legs  quivering  in  the  air,  till  he  is  trampled 
down  by  his  horses. 

Another  cause  of  this  variety  is  the  difference 
of  the  Wounds  that  are  given  in  the  Iliad  : they 
are  by  no  means  like  the  wounds  described  b} 
most  other  poets,  which  are  commonly  made 
I in  the  self-same  obvious  places ; the  heart  and 


THE  ILIAD 


3°S 


lead  serve  for  all  those  in  general  who  under- 
tand  no  anatomy,  and  sometimes,  for  variety, 
hey  kill  men  by  wounds  that  are  nowhere 
inortal  but  in  their  poems.  As  the  whole  hu- 
nan  body  is  the  subject  of  these,  so  nothing  is 
nore  necessary  to  him  who  would  describe 
hem  well,  than  a thorough  knowledge  of  its 
tructure,  even  though  the  poet  is  not  profes- 
edly  to  write  of  them  as  an  anatomist;  in  the 
a me  manner  as  an  exact  skill  in  anatomy  is 
;ecessary  to  those  painters  that  would  excel  in 
•rawing  the  naked  body,  thoug’h  they  are  not 

0 make  every  muscle  as  visible  as  in  a book 
f chirurgery.  It  appears  from  so  many  pas- 
ages  in  Homer,  that  he  was  perfectly  master 
f this  science,  that  it  would  be  needless  to 
ite  any  in  particular. 

It  may  be  necessary  to  take  notice  of  some 
ustoms  of  antiquity  relating  to  the  Arms  and 
Lrt  Military  of  those  times,  which  are  proper 
> be  known,  in  order  to  form  a right  notion  of 
ur  author’s  descriptions  of  war. 

That  Homer  copied  the  manners  and  customs 
f the  age  he  wrote  of,  rather  than  of  that  he 
ved  in,  has  been  observed  in  some  instances. 
-S  that  he  nowhere  represents  Cavalry  or 
rumpets  to  have  been  used  in  the  Trojan  wars, 
lough  they  apparently  were  in  his  own  time, 
j!'  is  not  therefore  impossible  but  there  may  be 
>und  in  his  works  some  deficiencies  in  the*  art 
[■  war,  which  are  not  to  be  imputed  to  his  igno- 
re, but  to  his  judgment. 

Horses  had  not  been  brought  into  Greece 
ng  before  the  siege  of  Troy.  They  were 
iginallv  eastern  animals,  and  if  we  find  at 
at  very  period  so  great  a number  of  them 
ckoned  up  in  the  wars  of  the  Israelites,  it  is 
[ e less  a wonder,  considering  they  came  from 
jfia.  The  practice  of  riding  them  was  so 

1 tie  known  in  Greece  a few  years  before,  that 
ey  looked  upon  the  Centaurs  who  first  used 
as  monsters  compounded  of  men  and  horses. 

f Bstor,  in  the  first  Iliad , says  he  had  seen  these 
jintaurs  in  his  youth,  and  Polypcetes  in  the 
j3ond  is  said  to  have  been  born  on  the  day 
at  his  father  expelled  them  from  Pelion  to 
3 deserts  of  HSthica.  They  had  no  other  use 
horses  than  to  draw  their  chariots  in  battle, 
i that  whenever  Homer  speaks  of  fighting 
a horse,  taming  a horse , or  the  like,  it  is 
distantly  to  be  understood  of  fighting  from  a 
, ariot,  or  taming  horses  to  that  service.  This 
- s a piece  of  decorum  in  the  poet ; for  in  his 
n time  they  were  arrived  to  such  a perfection 
horsemanship,  that  in  the  fifteenth  Iliad , 

\ 822,  we  have  a simile  taken  from  an  extra- 
binary  feat  of  activity,  where  one  man  man- 
es four  horses  at  once,  and  leaps  from  the 
;k  of  one  to  another  at  full  speed, 
f we  consider  in  what  high  esteem  among 


warriors  these  noble  animals  must  have  been 
at  their  first  coming  into  Greece,  we  shall  the 
less  wonder  at  the  frequent  occasions  Homer 
has  taken  to  describe  and  celebrate  them. 
It  is  not  so  strange  to  find  them  set  almost 
upon  a level  with  men,  at  the  time  when  a 
horse  in  the  prizes  was  of  equal  value  with  a 
captive. 

The  Chariots  were  in  all  probability  very 
low.  For  we  frequently  find  in  the  Iliad , that 
a person  who  stands  erect  on  a chariot  is  killed 
(and  sometimes  by  a stroke  on  the  head),  by  a 
foot  soldier  with  a sword.  This  may  farther 
appear  from  the  ease  and  readiness  with  which 
they  alight  or  mount  on  every  occasion,  to 
facilitate  which,  the  chariots  were  made  open 
behind.  That  the  wheels  were  but  small,  may 
be  guessed  from  a custom  they  had  of  taking 
them  off  and  setting  them  on,  as  they  were 
laid  by,  or  made  use  of.  Hebe  in  the  fifth 
book  puts  on  the  wheels  of  Juno’s  chariot  when 
she  calls  for  it  in  haste  : and  it  seems  to  be 
with  allusion  to  the  same  practice  that  it  is 
said  in  Exodus , ch.  xiv.,  The  Lord  took  of  their 
chariot-wheels , so  that  they  drove  them  heavily. 
The  sides  were  also  low  ; for  whoever  is  killed 
in  his  chariot  throughout  the  poem,  constantly 
falls  to  the  ground,  as  having  nothing  to  sup- 
port him.  Phat  the  whole  machine  was  very 
small  and  light,  is  evident  from  a passage  in 
the  tenth  Iliad,  where  Diomed  debates  whether 
he  shall  draw  the  chariot  of  Rhesus  out  of  the 
way,  or  carry  it  on  his  shoulders  to  a place  of 
safety.  All  the  particulars  agree  with  the 
representations  of  the  chariots  on  the  most 
ancient  Greek  coins ; where  the  tops  of  them 
reached  not  so  high  as  the  backs  of  the  horses  ; 
the  wheels  are  yet  lower,  and  the  heroes  who 
stand  in  them  are  seen  from  the  knee  upwards. 

There  were  generally  two  persons  in  each 
chariot,  one  of  whom  was  wholly  employed  in 
guiding  the  horses.  They  used,  indifferently, 
two,  three,  or  four  horses  : from  whence  it 
happens,  that  sometimes  when  a horse  is  killed, 
the  hero  continues  the  fight  with  the  two  or 
more  that  remain  ; and  at  other  times  a war- 
rior retreats  upon  the  loss  of  one  ; not  that  he 
had  less  courage  than  the  other,  but  that  he 
has  fewer  horses. 

Their  Swords  were  all  broad  cutting  swords, 
for  we  find  they  never  stab  but  with  their 
spears.  The  Spears  were  used  two  ways,  either 
to_  push  with,  or  to  cast  from  them,  like  the 
missive  javelins.  It  seems  surprising,  that  a 
man  should  throw  a dart  or  spear  with  such 
force,  as  to  pierce  through  both  sides  of  the 
armour  and  the  body  (as  is  often  described  in 
Homer)  : for  if  the  strength  of  the  men  was 
gigantic,  the  armour  must  have  been  strong  in 
proportion.  Some  solution  might  be  given  for 


3°6 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


this,  if  we  imagined  the  armour  was  generally 
brass,  and  the  weapons  pointed  with  iron  ; and 
if  we  could  fancy  that  Homer  called  the  spears 
and  swords  brazen , in  the  same  manner  that  lie 
calls  the  reins  of  a bridle  ivory , only  from  the 
ornaments  about  them.  But  there  are  pas- 
sages where  the  point  of  the  spear  is  expressly 
said  to  be  of  brass,  as  in  the  description  of  that 
of  Hector  in  Iliad  vi.  Pausanias  (Laconicis) 
takes  it  for  granted,  that  the  arms,  as  well 
offensive  as  defensive,  were  brass.  He  says 
the  spear  of  Achilles  was  kept  in  his  time  in 
the  temple  of  Minerva,  the  top  and  point  of 
which  were  of  brass ; and  the  sword  of  Meri- 
ones,  in  that  of  ^Esculapius  among  the  Nico- 
medians,  was  entirely  of  the  same  metal.  But 
be  it  as  it  will,  there  are  examples  even  at  this 
day  of  such  a prodigious  force  in  casting  darts, 
as  almost  exceeds  credibility.  The  Turks  and 
Arabs  will  pierce  through  thick  planks  with 
darts  of  hardened  wood;  which  can  only  be 
attributed  to  their  being  bred  (as  the  ancients 
were)  to  that  exercise,  and  to  the  strength  and 
agility  acquired  by  a constant  practice  of  it.  . 

We  may  ascribe  to  the  same  cause  their 
power  of  casting  stones  of  a vast  weight,  which 
appears  a common  practice  in  these  battles. 
It  is  an  error  to  imagine  this  to  be  only  a ficti- 
tious embellishment  of  the  poet,  which  was  one 
of  the  exercises  of  war  among  the  ancient 
Greeks  and  Orientals.  St.  Jerome  tells  us,  it 
was  an  old  custom  in  Palestine,  and  in  use  in 
his  own  time,  to  have  round  stones  of  a great 
weight  kept  in  the  castles  and  villages,  for  the 
youth  to  try  their  strength  with. 


BOOK  V 

THE  ACTS  OF  DIOMED 
THE  ARGUMENT 

Diomed,  assisted  by  Pallas,  performs  wonders 
in  this  day’s  battle.  Pandarus  wounds  him 
with  an  arrow,  but  the  Goddess  cures  him, 
enables  him  to  discern  Gods  from  mortals, 
and  prohibits  him  from  contending  with  any 
of  the  former,  excepting  Venus.  JEneas  joins 
Pandarus  to  oppose  him.  Pandarus  is  killed, 
and  iEneas  in  great  danger  but  for  the  as- 
sistance of  Venus;  who.  as  she  is  removing 
her  son  from  the  fight,  is  wounded  on  the 
hand  by  Diomed.  Apollo  seconds  her  in  his 
rescue,  and,  at  length,  carries  off  ^Eneas  to 
Troy,  where  he  is  healed  in  the  temple  of 
Pergamus.  Mars  rallies  the  Trojans,  and 
assists  Hector  to  make  a stand.  In  the  mean 
time  vEneas  is  restored  to  the  field,  and  they 
overthrow  several  of  the  Greeks  ; among  the 


rest  Tlepolemus  is  slain  by  Sarpedon.  Juno 
and  Minerva  descend  to  resist  Mars  ; the 
latter  incites  Diomed  to  go  against  that  God  ; 
he  wounds  him,  and  sends  him  groaning  to 
Heaven. 

The  first  battle  continues  through  this  book. 
The  scene  is  the  same  as  in  the  former. 

But  Pallas  now  Tydides’  soul  inspires, 
Fills  with  her  force,  and  warms  with  all 
her  fires, 

Above  the  Greeks  his  deathless  fame  to 
raise, 

And  crown  her  hero  with  distinguish’d 
praise. 

High  on  his  helm  celestial  lightnings  play, 
His  beamy  shield  emits  a living  ray; 

Tli’  unwearied  blaze  incessant  streams  sup- 
plies, 

Like  the  red  star  that  fires  th’  autumnal 
skies, 

When  fresh  he  rears  his  radiant  orb  to 
sight, 

And  bathed  in  Ocean  shoots  a keener  light. 
Such  glories  Pallas  on  the  Chief  bestow’d,  u 
Such,  from  his  arms,  the  fierce  effulgence 
flow’d: 

Onward  she  drives  him,  furious  to  engage, 
Where  the  fight  burns,  and  where  the 
thickest  rage. 

The  sons  of  Dares  first  the  combat 
sought, 

A wealthy  priest,  but  rich  without  a fault; 
In  Vulcan’s  fane  the  father’s  days  were 
led; 

The  sons  to  toils  of  glorious  battle  bred; 
These,  singled  from  their  troops,  the  fight 
maintain; 

These  from  their  steeds,  Tydides  on  the 
plain.  2a 

Fierce  for  renown  the  brother  Chiefs  draw 
near, 

And  first  bold  Phegeus  casts  his  sounding 
spear, 

Which  o’er  the  warrior’s  shoulder  took  its 
course, 

And  spent  in  empty  air  its  erring  force. 
Not  so,  Tydides,  flew  thy  lance  in  vain, 
But  pierced  his  breast,  and  stretch’d  him 
on  the  plain. 

Seiz’d  with  unusual  fear,  Xdaeus  fled, 

Left  the  rich  chariot,  and  his  brother  dead 
And  had  not  Vulcan  lent  celestial  aid, 

He  too  had  sunk  to  death’s  eternal  shade ; 3< 
But  in  a smoky  cloud  the  God  of  Fire 
Preserv’d  the  son,  in  pity  to  the  sire. 


THE  ILIAD 


3°7 


The  steeds  and  chariot,  to  the  navy  led, 

I Increas’d  the  spoils  of  gallant  Diomed. 
Struck  with  amaze  and  shame,  the  Troian 
crew  J 

Or  slain,  or  fled,  the  sons  of  Dares  view; 
When  by  the  blood-stain’d  hand  Minerva 
press’d 

The  God  of  Battles,  and  this  speech  ad- 
dress’d: 

‘Stern  Power  of  War!  by  whom  the 
mighty  fall, 

Who  bathe  in  blood,  and  shake  the  lofty 
wall!  4o 

Let  the  brave  Chiefs  their  glorious  toils 
divide; 

And  whose  the  conquest  mighty  Jove  de- 
cide: 

While  we  from  interdicted  fields  retire, 

Nor  tempt  the  wrath  of  Heav’n’s  avenging 
Sire.’ 

Her  words  allay  th’  impetuous  warrior’s 
heat, 

The  God  of  Arms  and  Martial  Maid  re- 
treat; 

Remov’d  from  fight,  on  Xanthus’  flowery 
bounds 

They  sat,  and  listen’d  to  the  dying  sounds. 
Meantime,  the  Greeks  the  Trojan  race 
pursue, 

And  some  bold  chieftain  every  leader  slew: 
?irst  Odius  falls  and  bites  the  bloody 
sand,  5I 

lis  death  ennobled  by  Atrides’  hand; 

^s  he  to  flight  his  wheeling  car  address’d, 
?he  speedy  jav’lin  drove  from  back  to 
| breast. 

n dust  the  mighty  Halizonian  lay, 

lis  arms  resound,  the  spirit  wings  its  way. 

Thy  fate  was  next,  O Phsestus!  doom’d 
r ^ to  feel 

’he  great  Idomeneus’  protended  steel; 

Vhom  Borns  sent  (his  son  and  only  joy) 
rom  fruitful  Tarne  to  the  fields  of  Troy.  60 
’he  Cretan  jav’lin  reach’d  him  from  afar, 
nd  pierc  d his  shoulder  as  he  mounts  his 
‘ car; 

ack  from  the  car  he  tumbles  to  the 
- ground, 

nd  everlasting  shades  his  eyes  surround. 
Then  died  Scamandrius,  expert  in  the 
i chase, 

1 woods  and  wilds  to  wound  the  savage 
race ; 

iana  taught  him  all  her  sylvan  arts, 
o bend  the  bow,  and  aim  unerring  darts; 


But  vainly  here  Diana’s  arts  he  tries, 

The  fatal  lance  arrests  him  as  he  flies;  70 
From  Menelaus’  arm  the  weapon  sent, 
Thro’  his  broad  back  and  heaving  bosom 
went: 

Down  sinks  the  warrior  with  a thund’rin<* 
sound, 

His  brazen  armour  rings  against  the 
ground. 

Next  artful  Phereclus  untimely  fell; 

Bold  Merion  sent  him  to  the  realms  of 
Hell. 

Thy  father’s  skill,  O Phereclus,  was  thine, 
The  graceful  fabric  and  the  fair  design; 
For,  lov’d  by  Pallas,  Pallas  did  impart 
To  him  the  shipwright’s  and  the  builder’s 
art.  8c 

Beneath  his  hand  the  fleet  of  Paris  rose, 

The  fatal  cause  of  all  his  country’s  woes; 
But  he,  the  mystic  will  of  Heav’n  un- 
known, 

Nor  saw  his  country’s  peril,  nor  his  own. 
The  hapless  artist,  while  confused  he  fled, 
The  spear  of  Merion  mingled  with  the 
dead. 

Thro  his  right  hip,  with  forceful  fury  cast, 
Between  the  bladder  and  the  bone  it  pass’d; 
Prone  on  his  knees  he  falls  with  fruitless 
cries, 

And  death  in  lasting  slumber  seals  his 
eyes.  9o 

From  Meges’  force  the  swift  Pedseus  fled, 
Antenor  s offspring  from  a foreign  bed; 
Whose  gen’rous  spouse,  Theano,  heav’nly 
fair, 

Nurs’d  the  young  stranger  with  a mother’s 
care. 

How  vain  those  cares!  when  Meges  in  the 
rear 

Full  in  his  nape  infix’d  the  fatal  spear; 

Swift  thro’  his  crackling  jaws  the 
weapon  glides, 

And  the  cold  tongue  and  grinning  teeth 
divides. 

Then  died  Hypsenor,  gen’rous  and  divine, 
Sprung  from  the  brave  Dolopion’s  mighty 
line,  100 

Who  near  ador’d  Scamander  made  abode, 
Priest  of  the  stream,  and  honour’d  as  a God. 
On  him,  amidst  the  flying  numbers  found, 
Eurypylus  inflicts  a deadly  wound; 

On  his  broad  shoulder  fell  the  forceful 
brand, 

Thence  glancing  downward  lopp’d  his  holy 
hand, 


3°8 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


Which  stain’d  with  sacred  blood  the  blush- 
ing sand. 

Down  sunk  the  priest:  the  purple  baud  of 
death 

Closed  his  dim  eye,  and  Fate  suppress’d  his 
breath. 

Thus  toil’d  the  Chiefs,  in  diff’rent  parts 
engaged,  no 

In  ev’ry  quarter  fierce  Tydides  raged, 

Amid  the  Greek,  amid  the  Trojan  train, 
Rapt  thro’  the  ranks  he  thunders  o’er  the 
plain ; 

Now  here,  now  there,  he  darts  from  place 
to  place, 

Pours  on  the  rear,  or  lightens  in  their  face. 
Thus  from  high  hills  the  torrents  swift  and 
strong 

Deluge  whole  fields,  and  sweep  the  trees 
along; 

Thro’  min’d  moles  the  rushing  wave  re- 
sounds, 

O’erwhelms  the  bridge,  and  bursts  the 
lofty  bounds; 

The  yellow  harvests  of  the  ripen’d  year,  120 
And  flatted  vineyards,  one  sad  waste  ap- 
pear! 

While  Jove  descends  in  sluicy  sheets  of 
rain, 

And  all  the  labours  of  mankind  are  vain. 

So  raged  Tydides,  boundless  in  his  ire, 
Drove  armies  back,  and  made  all  Troy  re- 
tire. 

With  grief  the  leader  of  the  Lycian  band 
Saw  the  wide  waste  of  his  destructive 
hand: 

His  bended  bow  against  the  Chief  he  drew; 
Swift  to  the  mark  the  thirsty  arrow  flew, 
Whose  forky  point  the  hollow  breastplate 
tore,  130 

Deep  in  his  shoulder  pierc’d,  and  drank  the 
gore ; 

The  rushing  stream  his  brazen  armour  dyed, 
While  the  proud  archer  thus  exulting  cried: 

‘ Hither,  ye  Trojans,  hither  drive  your 
steeds! 

Lo!  by  our  hand  the  bravest  Grecian  bleeds. 
Not  long  the  deathful  dart  he  can  sustain; 
Or  Phoebus  urged  me  to  these  fields  in 
vain.’ 

So  spoke  he,  boastful;  but  the  winged 
dart 

Stopp’d  short  of  life,  and  mock’d  the  shoot- 
er’s art.  139 

The  wounded  Chief,  behind  his  car  retired, 
The  helping  hand  of  Sthenelus  required; 


Swift  from  his  seat  he  leap’d  upon  the 
ground, 

And  tugg’d  the  weapon  from  the  gushing 
wound ; 

When  thus  the  King  his  guardian  Power 
address’d, 

The  purple  current  wand’ring  o’er  his 
vest: 

‘ O progeny  of  Jove!  unconquer’d  maid! 
If  e'er  my  godlike  sire  deserv’d  thy  aid, 

If  e’er  I felt  thee  in  the  fighting  field; 

Now,  Goddess,  now,  thy  sacred  succour 
yield. 

Oh  give  my  lance  to  reach  the  Trojan 
knight,  150 

Whose  arrow  wounds  the  Chief  thou 
guard’st  in  fight; 

And  lay  the  boaster  grov’ling  on  the  shore, 
That  vaunts  these  eyes  shall  view  the  light 
no  more.’ 

Thus  pray’d  Tydides,  and  Minerva 
heard, 

His  nerves  confirm’d,  his  languid  spirits 
cheer’d; 

He  feels  each  limb  with  wonted  vigour 
light; 

His  beating  bosom  claims  the  promis’d 
fight. 

‘ Be  bold  ’ (she  cried),  ‘ in  every  combat 
shine, 

War  be  thy  province,  thy  protection  mine; 
Rush  to  the  fight,  and  every  foe  control;  160 
Wake  each  paternal  virtue  in  thy  soul: 
Strength  swells  thy  boiling  breast  infused 
by  me, 

And  all  thy  godlike  father  breathes  in 
thee! 

Yet  more,  from  mortal  mists  I purge  thy 
eyes, 

And  set  to  view  the  warring  deities. 

These  see  thou  shun,  thro’  all  th’  em-j 
battled  plain, 

Nor  rashly  strive  where  human  force  is 
vain. 

If  Venus  mingle  in  the  martial  band, 

Her  sbalt  thou  wound:  so  Pallas  gives 
command.’ 

With  that,  the  Blue-eyed  Virgin  wing’d 
her  flight;  *70 

The  hero  rush’d  impetuous  to  the  fight; 
With  tenfold  ardour  now  invades  the  plain, 
Wild  with  delay,  and  more  enraged  by 
pain. 

As  on  the  fleecy  flocks,  when  hunger  calls, 
Amidst  the  field  a brindled  lion  falls; 


THE  ILIAD 


309 


If  chance  some  shepherd  with  a distant 
dart 

The  savage  wound,  he  rouses  at  the  smart, 
He  foams,  he  roars;  the  shepherd  dares  not 
stay. 

But  trembling  leaves  the  scatt’ring  flocks  a 
1 prey. 

Heaps  fall  on  heaps;  he  bathes  with  blood 
the  ground,  180 

Then  leaps  victorious  o’er  the  lofty  mound. 
Not  with  less  fury  stern  Tydides  flew, 

And  two  brave  leaders  at  an  instant  slew; 
Astynous  breathless  fell,  and  by  his  side 
His  people’s  pastor,  good  Hypenor,  died; 
Astynous’  breast  the  deadly  lance  receives, 
Hypenor’s  shoulder  his  broad  falchion 
cleaves. 

t Those  slain  he  left;  and  sprung  with  noble 
rage 

Abas  and  Polyi'dus  to  engage; 

‘ Sons  of  Eurydamas,  who,  wise  and  old,  190 
Could  fates  foresee,  and  mystic  dreams  un- 
fold; 

The  youths  return’d  not  from  the  doubtful 
plain, 

And  the  sad  father  tried  his  arts  in  vain; 

! No  mystic  dream  could  make  their  fates 
appear, 

1 Tho’  now  determin’d  by  Tydides’  spear. 

Young  Xanthus  next,  and  Thoon  felt  his 
rage, 

The  joy  and  hope  of  Phaenops’  feeble  age; 
Vast  was  his  wealth,  and  these  the  only 
heirs 

Of  all  his  labours,  and  a life  of  cares. 

Cold  death  o’ertakes  them  in  their  bloom- 
ing years,  200 

And  leaves  the  father  unavailing  tears: 

To  strangers  now  descends  his  heapy  store, 
The  race  forgotten,  and  the  name  no  more. 

Two  sons  of  Priam  in  one  chariot  ride, 
Glitt’ring  in  arms,  and  combat  side  by 
side. 

As  when  the  lordly  lion  seeks  his  food 
Where  grazing  heifers  range  the  lonely 
wood, 

He  leaps  amidst  them  with  a furious  bound, 
Bends  their  strong  necks,  and  tears  them 
to  the  ground: 

So  from  their  seats  the  brother  Chiefs  are 
torn,  210 

Their  steeds  and  chariots  to  the  navy 
borne. 

With  deep  concern  divine  iEneas  view’d 
The  foe  prevailing  and  his  friends  pursued; 


Thro’  the  thick  storm  of  singing  spears  ne 
flies, 

Exploring  Pandarus  with  careful  eyes. 

At  length  he  found  Lycaon’s  mighty  son; 

To  whom  the  Chief  of  Venus’  race  begun: 

‘ Where,  Pandarus,  are  all  thy  honours 
now, 

Thy  winged  arrows  and  unerring  bow, 

Thy  matchless  skill,  thy  yet  unrivaH’d 
fame,  220 

And  boasted  glory  of  the  Lycian  name  ? 

Oh  pierce  that  mortal!  if  we  mortal  call 

That  wondrous  force  by  which  whole  armies 
fall; 

Or  God  incens’d,  who  quits  the  distant 
skies 

To  punish  Troy  for  slighted  sacrifice; 

(Which  0I1  avert  from  our  unhappy  state! 

For  what  so  dreadful  as  celestial  hate)  ? 

Whoe’er  he  be,  propitiate  Jove  with  prayer; 

If  man,  destroy;  if  God,  entreat  to  spare.’ 

To  him  the  Lycian:  ‘ Whom  your  eyes 
behold,  230 

If  right  I judge,  is  Diomed  the  bold. 

Such  coursers  whirl  him  o’er  the  dusty 
field. 

So  towers  his  helmet,  and  so  flames  his 
shield. 

If ’t  is  a God,  he  wears  that  Chief’s  dis- 
guise ; 

Or  if  that  Chief,  some  guardian  of  the 
skies, 

Involv’d  in  clouds,  protects  him  in  the 
fray, 

And  turns  unseen  the  frustrate  dart  away. 

I wing’d  an  arrow,  which  not  idly  fell; 

The  stroke  had  fix’d  him  to  the  gates  of 
Hell; 

And,  but  some  God,  some  angry  God  with- 
stands, 240 

His  fate  was  due  to  these  unerring  hands. 

Skill’d  in  the  bow,  on  foot  I sought  the 
war, 

Nor  join’d  swift  horses  to  the  rapid  car. 

Ten  polish’d  chariots  I possess’d  at  home. 

And  still  they  grace  Lycaon’s  princely 
dome: 

There  veil’d  in  spacious  coverlets  they 
stand ; 

And  twice  ten  coursers  wait  their  lord’s 
command. 

The  good  old  warrior  bade  me  trust  to 
these, 

When  first  for  Troy  I sail’d  the  sacred 
seas; 


3i° 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


In  fields,  aloft,  the  whirling  car  to  guide,  250 
And  thro’  the  ranks  of  death  triumphant 
ride. 

But  vain  with  youth,  and  yet  to  thrift  in- 
clin’d, 

I heard  his  counsels  with  unheedful  mind, 
And  thought  the  steeds  (your  large  sup- 
plies unknown)  • 

Might  fail  of  forage  in  the  straiten’d  town; 
So  took  my  bow  and  pointed  darts  in  hand, 
And  left  the  chariots  in  my  native  land. 
‘Too  late,  O friend!  my  rashness  I de- 
plore ; 

These  shafts,  once  fatal,  carry  death  no 
more. 

Tydeus’  and  Atreus’  sons  their  points  have 
found,  260 

And  undissembled  gore  pursued  the  wound. 
I11  vain  they  bled:  this  unavailing  bow 
Serves  not  to  slaughter,  but  provoke  the 
foe. 

In  evil  hour  these  bended  horns  I strung, 
And  seiz’d  the  quiver  where  it  idly  hung. 
Curs’d  be  the  fate  that  sent  me  to  the  field, 
Without  a warrior’s  arms,  the  spear  and 
shield! 

If  e’er  with  life  I quit  the  Trojan  plain, 

If  e’er  I see  my  spouse  and  sire  again, 

This  bow,  unfaithful  to  my  glorious  aims, 
Broke  by  my  hand,  shall  feed  the  blazing 
flames.’  271 

To  whom  the  leader  of  the  Dardan  race: 
‘ Be  calm,  nor  Phcebus’  honour’d  gift  dis- 
grace. 

The  distant  dart  be  prais’d,  tho’  here  we 
need 

The  rushing  chariot,  and  the  bounding 
steed. 

Against  yon  hero  let  us  bend  our  course, 
And,  hand  to  hand,  encounter  force  with 
force. 

Now  mount  my  seat,  and  from  the  chariot’s 
height 

Observe  my  father’s  steeds,  renown’d  in 

fight;  279 

Practis’d  alike  to  turn,  to  stop,  to  chase, 
To  dare  the  shock,  or  urge  the  rapid  race: 
Secure  with  these,  thro’  fighting  fields  we  go, 
Or  safe  to  Troy,  if  Jove  assist  the  foe. 
Haste,  seize  the  whip,  and  snatch  the  guid- 
ing rein; 

The  warrior’s  fury  let  this  arm  sustain: 

Or  if  to  combat  thy  bold  heart  incline, 
Take  thou  the  speas  the  chariot’s  care  be 
mine.’ 


‘ O Prince  ’ (Lycaon’s  valiant  son  re- 
plied), 

‘ As  thine  the  steeds,  be  thine  the  task  to 
guide. 

The  horses,  practis’d  to  their  lord’s  com- 
mand, 290 

Shall  hear  the  rein  and  answer  to  thy  hand. 
But  if,  unhappy,  we  desert  the  fight, 

Thy  voice  alone  can  animate  their  flight: 
Else  shall  our  fates  be  number’d  with  the 
dead, 

And  these,  the  victor’s  prize,  in  triumph 
led. 

Thine  be  the  guidance  then:  with  spear  and 
shield 

Myself  will  charge  this  terror  of  the  field.’ 

And  now  both  heroes  mount  the  glit- 
t’ring  car; 

The  bounding  coursers  rush  amidst  the  war. 
Their  fierce  approach  bold  Stlienelus  es- 
pied, 300 

Who  thus,  alarm’d,  to  great  Tydides  cried: 

‘ O friend  ! two  Chiefs  of  force  immense 
I see, 

Dreadful  they  come,  and  bend  their  rage 
on  thee: 

Lo  the  brave  heir  of  old  Lycaon’s  line, 

And  great  jEneas,  sprung  from  race  di- 
vine! 

Enough  is  giv’n  to  Fame.  Ascend  thy  car; 
And  save  a life,  the  bulwark  of  our  war.’ 

At  this  the  hero  cast  a gloomy  look, 
Fix’d  on  the  Chief  with  scorn,  and  thus  he 
spoke : 

‘ Me  dost  thou  bid  to  shun  the  coming 
fight?  310 

Me  wouldst  thou  move  to  base,  inglorious 
flight? 

Know,  ’t  is  not  honest  in  my  soul  to  fear, 
Nor  was  Tydides  born  to  tremble  here 
I hate  the  cumbrous  chariot’s  slow  ad- 
vance, 

And  the  long  distance  of  the  flying  lance: 
But  while  my  nerves  are  strong,  my  force 
entire, 

Thus  front  the  foe,  and  emulate  my  sire. 
Nor  shall  yon  steeds,  that  fierce  to  fight 
convey 

Those  threat’ning  heroes,  bear  them  both 
away; 

One  Chief  at  least  beneath  this  arm  shall 
die;  320 

So  Pallas  tells  me,  and  forbids  to  fly. 

But  if  she  dooms,  and  if  no  God  withstand, 
That  both  shall  fall  by  one  victorious  hand; 


THE  ILIAD 


311 


Then  heed  my  words:  my  horses  here  de- 
tain, 

Fix’d  to  the  chariot  by  the  straiten’d  rein; 
Swift  to  Aeneas’  empty  seat  proceed, 

And  seize  the  coursers  of  ethereal  breed, 
The  race  of  those,  which  once  the  Tliun- 
d’ring  God 

For  ravish’d  Ganymede  on  Tros  bestow’d, 
The  best  that  e’er  on  earth’s  broad  surface 
run  330 

Beneath  the  rising  or  the  setting  sun. 
Hence  great  Anchises  stole  a breed,  un- 
known 

By  mortal  mares,  from  fierce  Laomedon: 
Four  of  this  race  his  ample  stalls  contain, 
And  two  transport  ^Eneas  o’er  the  plain. 
These,  were  the  rich  immortal  prize  our 
own, 

Thro’  the  wide  world  should  make  our  glory 
known.’ 

Thus  while  they  spoke,  the  foe  came 
furious  on, 

And  stern  Lycaon’s  warlike  race  begun: 
‘Prince,  thou  art  met.  Tho’  late  in  vain 
assail’d,  34o 

The  spear  may  enter  where  the  arrow 
fail’d.’ 

He  said,  then  shook  the  pond’rous ' 
lance,  and  flung; 

On  his  broad  shield  the  sounding  weapon  I 
rung,  f 

Pierc’d  the  tough  orb,  and  in  his  cuirass 
hung. 

‘He  bleeds!  the  pride  of  Greece*  (the 
boaster  cries), 

* Our  triumph  now  the  mighty  warrior 
lies!  ’ 

‘ Mistaken  vaunter  ! ’ Diomed  replied; 

‘ Thy  dart  has  err’d,  and  now  my  spear  be 
tried: 

Ye  ’scape  not  both;  one  headlong  from  his 
car, 

With  hostile  blood  shall  glut  the  God  of 
War.’  3SO 

He  spoke,  and,  rising,  hurl’d  his  forceful 
dart, 

Which,  driv’n  by  Pallas,  pierc’d  a vital 
part; 

Full  in  his  face  it  enter’d,  and  betwixt 
The  noseband  eyeball  the  proud  Lycian 

Crash’d  all  his  jaws,  and  cleft  the  tongue 
within, 

Till  the  bright  point  look’d  out  beneath  the 
chin. 


Headlong  he  falls,  his  helmet  knocks  the 
ground ; 

Earth  groans  beneath  him,  and  his  arms 
resound; 

The  starting  coursers  tremble  with  af- 
fright; 

The  soul  indignant^  seeks  the  realms  of 
night.  360 

To  guard  his  slaughter’d  friend,  iEneas 
flies, 

His  spear  extending  where  the  carcass  lies, 
Watchful  he  wheels,  protects  it  every  way, 
As  the  grim  lion  stalks  around  his  prey. 
O’er  the  fall’11  trunk  his  ample  shield  dis- 
play’d, 

He  hides  the  hero  with  his  mighty  shade, 
And  threats  aloud:  the  Greeks  with  long- 
ing eyes 

Behold  at  distance,  but  forbear  the  prize. 
Then  fierce  Tydides  stoops;  and,  from  the 
fields 

Heav’d  with  vast  force,  a rocky  fragment 
wields.  37o 

Not  two  strong  men  th’  enormous  weight 
could  raise, 

Such  men  as  live  in  these  degen’rate  days. 
He  swung  it  round;  and,  gath’ring strength 
to  throw, 

Discharged  the  pond’rous  ruin  at  the  foe. 
Where  to  the  hip  th’  inserted  thigh  unites, 
Full  on  the  bone  the  pointed  marble  lights; 
Thro’  both  the  tendons  broke  the  rugged 
stone. 

And  stripp’d  the  skin,  and  crack’d  the  solid 
bone. 

Sunk  on  his  knees,  and  stagg’ring  with  his 
pains, 

His  falling  bulk  his  bended  arms  sustains; 
Lost  in  a dizzy  mist  the  warrior  lies;  381 
A sudden  cloud  comes  swimming  o’er  his 
eyes. 

There  the  brave  Chief,  who  mighty  numbers 
sway’d, 

Oppress’d  had  sunk  to  death’s  eternal 
shade: 

But  heav’nly  Venus,  mindful  of  the  love 
She  bore  Anchises  in  th’  Idsean  grove, 

His  danger  views  with  anguish  aud  de- 
spair, 

And  guards  her  offspring  with  a mother’s 
care. 

About  her  much-lov’d  son  her  arms  she 
throws, 

Her  arms  whose  whiteness  match  the  fall- 
ing snows.  39a 


312 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


Screen’d  from  the  foe  behind  her  shining 
veil, 

The  swords  wave  harmless,  and  the  jav’lins 
fail: 

Safe  thro’  the  rushing  horse,  and  feather’d 
flight 

Of  sounding  shafts,  she  bears  him  from  the 
light. 

Nor  Sthenelus,  with  unassisting  hands, 
Remain’d  unheedful  of  his  lord’s  com- 
mands: 

His  panting  steeds,  remov’d  from  out  the 
war, 

He  fix’d  with  straiten’d  traces  to  the  car. 
Next,  rushing  to  the  Dardan  spoil,  detains 
The  heav’nly  coursers  with  the  flowing 
manes:  400 

These,  in  proud  triumph  to  the  fleet  con- 
vey’d, 

No  longer  now  a Trojan  lord  obey’d. 

That  charge  to  bold  Deipylus  he  gave 
(Whom  most  he  lov’d,  as  brave  men  love 
the  brave), 

Then,  mounting  on  his  car,  resumed  the 
rein, 

And  follow’d  where  Tydides  swept  the 
plain. 

Meanwhile  (his  conquest  ravish’d  from 
his  eyes) 

The  raging  Chief  in  chase  of  Venus  flies: 
No  Goddess  she  commission’d  to  the  field, 
Like  Pallas  dreadful  with  her  sable  shield, 
Or  fierce  Bellona  thund’ring  at  the  wall,  41 1 
While  flames  ascend,  and  mighty  ruins  fall; 
He  knew  soft  combats  suit  the  tender 
dame, 

New  to  the  field,  and  still  a foe  to  fame. 
Thro’  breaking  ranks  his  furious  course  he 
bends, 

And  at  the  Goddess  his  broad  lance  ex- 
tends; 

Thro’  her  bright  veil  the  daring  weapon 
drove, 

Th’  ambrosial  veil,  which  all  the  Graces 
wove: 

Her  snowy  hand  the  razing  steel  profaned, 
And  the  transparent  skin  with  crimson 
stain’d.  420 

From  the  clear  vein  a stream  immortal 
flow’d, 

Such  stream  as  issues  from  a wounded 
God; 

Pure  emanation!  uncorrupted  flood; 

Unlike  our  gross,  diseas’d,  terrestrial 
blood ; 


(For  not  the  bread  of  man  their  life  sus- 
tains, 

Nor  wine’s  inflaming  juice  supplies  their 
veins). 

With  tender  shrieks  the  Goddess  fill’d  the 
place; 

And  dropp’d  her  offspring  from  her  weak 
embrace. 

Him  Phcebus  took:  he  casts  a cloud  around 

The  fainting  Chief,  and  wards  the  mortal 
wound.  430 

Then  with  a voice  that  shook  the  vaulted 
skies, 

The  King  insults  the  Goddess  as  she  flies: 

‘ 111  with  Jove’s  daughter  bloody  fights 
agree, 

The  field  of  combat  is  no  scene  for  thee: 

Go,  let  thy  own  soft  sex  employ  thy  care, 

Go,  lull  the  coward,  or  delude  the  fair. 

Taught  by  this  stroke,  renounce  the  war’s 
alarms, 

And  learn  to  tremble  at  the  name  of  arms.* 
Tydides  thus.  The  Goddess,  seiz’d  with 
dread, 

Confused,  distracted,  from  the  conflict  fled. 

To  aid  her,  swift  the  winged  Iris  flew,  441 

Wrapt  in  a mist  above  the  warring  crew. 

The  Queen  of  Love  with  faded  charms  she 
found, 

Pale  was  her  cheek,  and  livid  look’d  the 
wound. 

To  Mars,  who  sat  remote,  they  bent  their 
way; 

Far  on  the  left,  with  clouds  involv’d  he 

Hy; 

Beside  him  stood  his  lance,  distain’d  with 
gore, 

And,  rein’d  with  gold,  his  foaming  steeds 
before: 

Low  at  his  knee,  she  begg’d,  with  stream- 
ing eyes, 

Her  brother’s  car,  to  mount  the  distant 
skies,  450 

And  sbew’d  the  wound  by  fierce  Tydides 
giv’11, 

A mortal  man,  who  dares  encounter  Heav’n. 

Stern  Mars  attentive  hears  the  Queen  com- 
plain, 

And  to  her  hand  commits  the  golden 
rein: 

She  mounts  the  seat,  oppress’d  with  silent 
woe, 

Driv’n  by  the  Goddess  of  the  Painted  Bow, 

The  lash  resounds,  the  rapid  chariot  flies, 

And  in  a moment  scales  the  lofty  skies. 


THE  ILIAD 


3^ 


There  stopp’d  the  car,  and  there  the 
coursers  stood, 

Fed  by  fair  Iris  with  ambrosial  food.  460 

Before  her  mother,  Love’s  bright  Queen 
appears, 

O’erwhelm’d  with  anguish  and  dissolv’d  in 
tears ; 

She  rais’d  her  in  her  arms,  beheld  her 
bleed, 

And  ask’d  what  God  had  wrought  this 
guilty  deed  ? 

Then  she:  ‘This  insult  from  no  God  I 
found, 

An  impious  mortal  gave  the  daring  wound! 

Behold  the  deed  of  haughty  Diomed! 

’T  was  in  the  son’s  defence  the  mother 
bled. 

The  war  with  Troy  no  more  the  Grecians 
wage; 

But  with  the  Gods  (th’  immortal  Gods)  en- 
gage.’ < 470 

Dione  then:  ‘ Thy  wrongs  with  patience 
bear, 

And  share  those  griefs  inferior  Powers  must 
share; 

Unnumber’d  woes  mankind  from  us  sustain, 

And  men  with  woes  afflict  the  Gods  again. 

The  mighty  Mars,  in  mortal  fetters  bound, 

And  lodg’d  in  brazen  dungeons  under 
ground, 

Full  thirteen  moons  imprison’d  roar’d  in 
vain; 

Otus  and  Ephialtes  held  the  chain; 

Perhaps  had  perish’d,  had  not  Hermes’ 
care 

Restored  the  groaning  God  to  upper  air.  480 

Great  Juno’s  self  has  borne  her  weight  of 
pain, 

Th’  imperial  partner  of  the  heav’nly  reign; 

Amphitryon’s  son  infix’d  the  deadly  dart, 

And  fill’d  with  anguish  her  immortal  heart. 

Ev’11  Hell’s  grim  King  Alcides’  power  con- 
fess’d, 

The  shaft  found  entrance  in  his  iron  breast; 

To  Jove’s  high  palace  for  a cure  he 
fled, 

Pierc’d  in  his  own  dominions  of  the  dead; 

Where  Pfeon,  sprinkling  heav’nly  balm 
around, 

Assuaged  the  glowing  pangs  and  closed  the 
wound.  4go 

Rash,  impious  man!  to  stain  the  bless’d 
abodes, 

And  drench  his  arrows  in  the  blood  of 
Gods! 


But  thou  (tho’  Pallas  urged  thy  frantic 
deed), 

Whose  spear  ill-fated  makes  a Goddess 
bleed, 

Know  thou,  whoe’er  with  heav’nly  power 
contends, 

Short  is  his  date,  and  soon  his  glory 
ends; 

From  fields  of  death  when  late  he  shall  re- 
tire, 

No  infant  on  his  knees  shall  call  him  sire. 
Strong  as  thou  art,  some  God  may  yet  be 
found, 

To  stretch  thee  pale  and  gasping  on  the 
ground;  500 

Thy  distant  wife,  iEgiale  the  fair, 

Starting  from  sleep  with  a distracted  air, 
Shall  rouse  thy  slaves,  and  her  lost  lord  de- 
plore, 

The  brave,  the  great,  the  glorious,  now  no 
more ! ’ 

This  said,  she  wiped  from  Venus’ 
wounded  palm 

The  sacred  ichor,  and  infused  the  balm. 
Juno  and  Pallas  with  a smile  survey’d, 

And  thus  to  Jove  began  the  Blue-eyed 
Maid: 

‘ Permit  thy  daughter,  gracious  Jove!  to 
tell 

How  this  mischance  the  Cyprian  Queen 
befel.  510 

As  late  she  tried  with  passion  to  inflame 
The  tender  bosom  of  a Grecian  dame, 
Allured  the  Fair  with  moving  thoughts  of 

j°y> 

To  quit  her  country  for  some  youth  of 
Troy; 

The  clasping  zone,  with  golden  buckles 
bound, 

Razed  her  soft  hand  with  this  lamented 
wound.’ 

The  Sire  of  Gods  and  men  superior 
smiled, 

And,  calling  Venus,  thus  address’d  his 
child: 

‘Not  these,  O daughter,  are  thy  proper 
cares, 

Thee  milder  arts  befit,  and  softer  wars;  520 
Sweet  smiles  are  thine,  and  kind  endearing 
charms; 

To  Mars  and  Pallas  leave  the  deeds  of 
arms.’ 

Thus  they  in  Heav’n.  While  on  the 
plain  below 

The  fierce  Tydides  charged  his  Dardan  foe, 


3*4 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


Flush’d  with  celestial  blood  pursued  his  way, 
And  fearless  dared  the  threat’ning  God  of 
Day; 

Already  in  his  hopes  he  saw  him  kill’d, 
Tho’  screen’d  behind  Apollo’s  mighty 
shield. 

Thrice,  rushing  furious,  at  the  Chief  he 
struck; 

His  blazing  buckler  thrice  Apollo  shook:  530 
He  tried  the  fourth:  when,  breaking  from 
the  cloud, 

A more  than  mortal  voice  was  heard  aloud: 

‘O  son  of  Tydeus,  cease!  be  wise,  and 
see 

How  vast  the  diff’rence  of  the  Gods  and 
thee; 

Distance  immense!  between  the  Powers 
that  shine 

Above,  eternal,  deathless,  and  divine, 

And  mortal  man!  a wretch  of  humble  birth, 
A short-lived  reptile  in  the  dust  of  earth.’ 

So  spoke  the  God  who  darts  celestial 
fires; 

He  dreads  his  fury,  and  some  steps  retires. 
Then  Plicebus  bore  the  chief  of  Venus’ 
race  541 

To  Troy’s  high  fane,  and  to  his  holy  place; 
Latona  there  and  Phoebe  heal’d  the  wound; 
With  vigour  arm’d  him,  and  with  glory 
crown’d. 

This  done,  the  patron  of  the  silver  bow 
A phantom  rais’d,  the  same  in  shape  and 
show 

With  great  iEneas;  such  the  form  he  bore, 
And  such  in  fight  the  radiant  arms  he  wore. 
Around  the  spectre  bloody  wars  are  waged, 
And  Greece  and  Troy  with  clashing  shields 
engaged.  550 

Meantime  on  Ilion’s  tower  Apollo  stood, 
And,  calling  Mars,  thus  urged  the  raging 
God: 

‘ Stern  Power  of  Arms,  by  whom  the 
mighty  fall, 

Who  bathe  in  blood,  and  shake  th’  em- 
battled wall! 

Rise  in  thy  wrath!  to  Hell’s  abhorr’d 
abodes 

Despatch  yon  Greek,  and  vindicate  the 
Gods. 

First  rosy  Venus  felt  his  brutal  rage; 

Me  next  he  charged,  and  dares  all  Heav’n 
engage : 

The  wretch  would  brave  high  Heav’n’s  im- 
mortal Sire, 

His  triple  thunder,  and  his  bolts  of  fire.’  560 


The  God  of  Battles  issues  on  the  plain, 
Stirs  all  the  ranks,  and  fires  the  Trojan 
train: 

I11  form  like  Acamas,  the  Thracian  guide, 
Enraged,  to  Troy’s  retiring  Chiefs  he  cried: 

* ‘ How  long,  ye  sons  of  Priam ! will  ye  fly, 
And  unrevenged  see  Priam’s  people  die  ? 
Still  unresisted  shall  the  foe  destroy, 

And  stretch  the  slaughter  to  the  gates  of 
Troy? 

Lo,  brave  iEneas  sinks  beneath  his  wound, 
Not  godlike  Hector  more  in  arms  re- 
nown’d:  570 

Haste  all,  and  take  the  gen’rous  warrior’s 
part.’ 

He  said;  new  courage  swell’d  each  hero’s 
heart. 

Sarpedon  first  his  ardent  soul  express’d, 
And,  turn’d  to  Hector,  these  bold  words 
address’d: 

‘ Say,  Chief,  is  all  thy  ancient  valour  lost  ? 
Where  are  thy  threats,  and  where  thy 
glorious  boast, 

That,  propp’d  alone  by  Priam’s  race  should 
stand 

Troy’s  sacred  walls,  nor  need  a foreign 
hand  ? 

Now,  now  thy  country  calls  her  wanted 
friends, 

And  the  proud  vaunt  in  just  derision  ends. 
Remote  they  stand,  while  alien  troops  en- 
gage, _ 5S* 

Like  trembling  hounds  before  the  lion’s 
rage. 

Far  distant  hence  I held  my  wide  com- 
mand, 

Where  foaming  Xantlius  laves  the  Lycian 
land, 

With  ample  wealth  (the  wish  of  mortals) 
bless’d, 

A beauteous  wife,  and  infant  at  her  breast; 
With  those  I left  whatever  dear  could 
be; 

Greece,  if  she  conquers,  nothing  wins  from 
me. 

Yet  first  in  fight  my  Lycian  bands  I cheer, 
And  long  to  meet  this  mighty  man  ye 
fear; 

While  Heetor  idle  stands,  nor  bids  the 
brave  591 

Their  wives,  their  infants,  and  their  altars, 
save. 

Haste,  Warrior,  haste!  preserve  thy  threat* 
en’d  state; 

Or  one  vast  burst  of  all-involving  Fate 


THE  ILIAD 


3i5 


Full  o’er  your  towers  shall  fall,  and  sweep 
away 

Sons,  sires,  and  wives,  an  undistinguish’d 
prey. 

Rouse  all  thy  Trojans,  urge  thy  aids  to 
fight; 

These  claim  thy  thoughts  by  day,  thy  watch 
by  night: 

With  force  incessant  the  brave  Greece  op- 
pose; 

Such  care  thy  friends  deserve,  and  such 
thy  foes.’  600 

Stung  to  the  heart  the  gen’rous  Hector 
hears, 

But  just  reproof  with  decent  silence  bears. 

From  his  proud  car  the  Prince  impetuous 
springs; 

On  earth  he  leaps;  his  brazen  armour  rings. 

Two  shining  spears  are  brandish’d  in  his 
hands; 

Thus  arm’d,  he  animates  his  drooping 
bands, 

Revives  their  ardour,  turns  their  steps 
from  flight, 

And  wakes  anew  the  dying  flames  of  fight. 

They  turn,  they  stand:  the  Greeks  their 
fury  dare, 

Condense  their  powers,  and  wait  the  grow- 
ing war.  610 

As  when,  on  Ceres’  sacred  floor,  the 
swain 

Spreads  the  wide  fan  to  clear  the  golden 
grain, 

And  the  light  chaff,  before  the  breezes 
borne, 

Ascends  in  clouds  from  off  the  heapy  corn; 

The  grey  dust,  rising  with  collected  winds, 

Drives  o’er  the  barn,  and  whitens  all  the 
hinds: 

So,  white  with  dust,  the  Grecian  host  ap- 
pears, 

From  trampling  steeds,  and  thund’ring 
charioteers 

The  dusky  clouds  from  labour’d  earth  arise, 

And  roll  in  smoking  volumes  to  the  skies. 

Mars  hovers  o’er  them  with  his  sable 
shield,  62i 

And  adds  new  horrors  to  the  darken’d  field ; 

Pleas’d  with  this  charge,  and  ardent  to  ful- 
fil, 

In  Troy’s  defence,  Apollo’s  heav’nly  will: 

Soon  as  from  fight  the  Blue-eyed  Maid  re- 
y tires, 

Each  Trojan  bosom  with  new  warmth  he 
fires. 


And  now  the  God,  from  forth  his  sacred 
fane, 

Produced  iEneas  to  the  shouting  train ; 
Alive,  unharm’d,  with  all  his  peers  around, 
Erect  he  stood,  and  vig’rous  from  his 
wound:  630 

Inquiries  none  they  made;  the  dreadful 
day 

No  pause  of  words  admits,  no  dull  delay; 
Fierce  Discord  storms,  Apollo  loud  ex- 
claims, 

Fame  calls,  Mars  thunders,  and  the  field ’s 
in  flames. 

Stern  Diomed  with  either  Ajax  stood, 
And  great  Ulysses,  bathed  in  hostile  blood. 
Embodied  close,  the  lab’ring  Grecian  train 
The  fiercest  shock  of  charging  hosts  sus- 
tain ; 

Unmov’d  and  silent,  the  whole  war  they 
wait, 

Serenely  dreadful,  and  as  fix’d  as  Fate.  640 
So,  when  th’  embattled  clouds  in  dark 
array 

Along  the  skies  their  gloomy  lines  display, 
When  now  the  North  his  boist’rous  rage 
has  spent, 

And  peaceful  sleeps  the  liquid  element, 

The  low-hung  vapours,  motionless  and  still, 
Rest  on  the  summits  of  the  shaded  hill; 

Till  the  mass  scatters  as  the  winds  arise. 
Dispers’d  and  broken  thro’  the  ruffled 
skies. 

Nor  was  the  Gen’ral  wanting  to  his  train; 
From  troop  to  troop  he  toils  thro’  all  the 
plain:  6so 

‘Ye  Greeks,  be  men!  the  charge  of  battle 
bear; 

Your  brave  associates  and  yourselves  re- 
vere ! 

Let  glorious  acts  more  glorious  acts  in- 
spire, 

And  catch  from  breast  to  breast  the  noble 
fire  ! 

On  valour’s  side  the  odds  of  combat  lie, 

The  brave  live  glorious,  or  lamented  die: 
The  wretch  who  trembles  in  the  field  of 
fame, 

Meets  death,  and  worse  than  death,  eternal 
shame.’ 

These  words  he  seconds  with  his  flying 
lance, 

To  meet  whose  point  was  strong  Deicoon’s 
chance : 66o 

^Eneas’  friend,  and  in  his  native  place 
Honour’d  and  lov’d  like  Priam’s  royal  race; 


3i6  TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


Long  had  he  fought,  the  foremost  in  the 
field; 

But  now  the  monarch’s  lance  transpierc’d 
his  shield: 

His  shield  too  weak  the  f uric  us  dart  to  stay, 
Thro’  his  broad  belt  the  weapon  forced  its 
way ; 

The  grisly  wound  dismiss’d  his  soul  to  Hell, 
His  arms  around  him  rattled  as  he  fell. 

Then  fierce  iEneas,  brandishing  his  blade, 
In  dust  Orsilochus  and  Crethon  laid,  670 
Whose  sire  Diocleus,  wealthy,  brave,  and 
great, 

In  well-built  Pherse  held  his  lofty  seat: 
Sprung  from  Alpheus,  plenteous  stream! 
that  yields 

Increase  of  harvests  to  the  Pylian  fields: 
He  got  Orsilochus,  Diocleus  he, 

And  these  descended  in  the  third  degree. 
Too  early  expert  in  the  martial  toil, 

In  sable  ships  they  left  their  native  soil, 

T’  avenge  Atrides;  now,  untimely  slain, 
They  fell  with  glory  on  the  Phrygian  plain. 
So  two  young  mountain  lions,  nurs’d  with 
blood  68 1 

In  deep  recesses  of  the  gloomy  wood, 

Rush  fearless  to  the  plains,  and  nncontroll’d 
Depopulate  the  stalls  and  waste  the  fold; 
Till,  pierc’d  at  distance  from  their  native 
den, 

O’erpower’d  they  fall  beneath  the  force  of 
men. 

Prostrate  on  earth  their  beauteous  bodies 


lay, 

Like  mountain  firs,  as  tall  and  straight  as 
they. 

Great  Menelaus  views  with  pitying  eyes, 

Lifts  his  bright  lance,  and  at  the  victor 
flies;  690 

Mars  urged  him  on;  yet,  ruthless  in  his 
hate, 

The  God  but  urged  him  to  provoke  his  fate. 

He  thus  advancing,  Nestor’s  valiant  son 

Shakes  for  his  danger,  and  neglects  his  own ; 

Struck  with  the  thought,  should  Helen’s 
lord  be  slain, 

And  all  his  country’s  glorious  labours  vain. 

Already  met,  the  threat’ning  heroes  stand; 

The  spears  already  tremble  in  their  hand; 

In  rush’d  Antilochus,  his  aid  to  bring, 

And  fall  or  conquer  by  the  Spartan  King.  700 

These  seen,  the  Dardan  backward  turn’d 
his  course, 

Brave  as  he  was,  and  shunn’d  unequal 
force, 


The  breathless  bodies  to  the  Greeks  they 
drew; 

Then  mix  in  combat,  and  their  toils  renew. 

First  Pylsemenes,  great  in  battle,  bled, 

Who,  sheathed  in  brass,  the  Paphlagonians 
led. 

Atrides  mark’d  him  where  sublime  he  stood; 

Fix’d  in  his  throat,  the  jav’lin  drank  his 
blood. 

The  faithful  Mydon,  as  he  turn’d  from 

fight  709 

His  flying  coursers,  sunk  to  endless  night: 

A broken  rock  by  Nestor’s  son  was  thrown; 

His  bended  arm  receiv’d  the  falling  stone; 

From  his  numb’d  hand  the  ivory-studded 
reins, 

Dropp’d  in  the  dust,  are  trail’d  along  the 
plains  : 

Meanwhile  his  temples  feel  a deadly 
wound ; 

He  groans  in  death,  and  pond’rous  sinks  to 
ground : 

Deep  drove  his  helmet  in  the  sands,  and 
there 

The  head  stood  fix’d,  the  quiv’ring  legs  in 
air, 

Till  trampled  flat  beneath  the  coursers’  I 
feet: 

The  youthful  victor  mounts  hisempty  seat,  > 

And  bears  the  prize  in  triumph  to  the 
fleet.  721 J 

Great  Hector  saw,  and,  raging  at  the 
view, 

Pours  on  the  Greeks;  the  Trojan  troops 
pursue 

He  fires  his  host  with  animating  cries, 

And  brings  along  the  furies  of  the  skies. 

Mars,  stern  destroyer!  and  Bellona  dread, 

Flame  in  the  front,  and  thunder  at  their 
head : 

This  swells  the  tumult  and  the  rage  of 
fight; 

That  shakes  a spear  that  casts  a dreadful 
light ; 

Where  Hector  march’d,  the  God  of  Battles 

shined,  73° 

Now  storm’d  before  him,  and  now  raged 
behind. 

Tydides  paus’d  amidst  his  full  career; 

Then  first  the  hero’s  manly  breast  knew 
fear. 

As  when  some  simple  swain  his  cot  for- 
sakes, 

And  wide  thro’  fens  an  unknown  journey 

takes; 


THE  ILIAD 


3i7 


If  chance  a swelling  brook  his  passage  stay, 
And  foam  impervious  cross  the  wand’rer’s 
way, 

Confused  he  stops,  a length  of  country  past, 
Eyes  the  rough  waves,  and,  tired,  returns 
at  last: 

Amazed  no  less  the  great  Tydides  stands; 
He  stay’d,  and,  turning,  thus  address’d  his 
bands:  741 

* No  wonder,  Greeks,  that  all  to  Hector 
yield: 

Secure  of  fav’ring  Gods,  he  takes  the  field; 
His  strokes  they  second,  and  avert  our 
spears: 

Behold  where  Mars  in  mortal  arms  ap- 
pears ! 

Retire  then,  warriors,  but  sedate  and  slow; 
Retire,  but  with  your  faces  to  the  foe. 

Trust  not  too  much  your  unavailing  might; 
’T  is  not  with  Troy,  but  with  the  Gods,  ye 
fight.’ 

Now  near  the  Greeks  the  black  battalions 
drew;  75° 

And  first,  two  leaders  valiant  Hector  slew: 
His  force  Anchialus  and  Mnesthes  found, 

In  ev’ry  art  of  glorious  war  renown’d: 

In  the  same  car  the  Chiefs  to  combat 
ride, 

And  fought  united,  and  united  died. 

Struck  at  the  sight,  the  mighty  Ajax  glows 
With  thirst  of  vengeance,  and  assaults  the 
foes. 

His  massy  spear,  with  matchless  fury  sent, 
Thro’  Amphius’  belt  and  heaving  belly 
went: 

Amphius  Apsesus’  happy  soil  possess’d,  760 
With  herds  abounding,  and  with  treasure 
bless’d; 

But  fate  resistless  from  his  country  led 
The  Chief,  to  perish  at  his  people’s  head. 
Shook  with  his  fall,  his  brazen  armour 
rung, 

And  fierce,  to  seize  it,  conqu’ring  Ajax 
sprung; 

Around  his  head  an  iron  tempest  rain’d; 

A wood  of  spears  his  ample  shield  sus- 
tain’d; 

Beneath  one  foot  the  yet  warm  corpse  he 
press’d, 

And  drew  his  jav’lin  from  the  bleeding 
breast: 

He  could  no  more;  the  show’ring  darts  de- 
nied 770 

i To  spoil  his  glitt’ring  arms,  and  plumy 
pride. 


Now  foes  on  foes  came  pouring  on  the 
fields, 

With  bristling  lances,  and  compacted 
shields; 

Till,  in  the  steely  circle  straiten’d  round, 

Forc’d  he  gives  way,  and  sternly  quits  the 
ground. 

While  thus  they  strive,  Tlepolemus  the 
great, 

Urged  by  the  force  of  unresisted  Fate, 

Burns  with  desire  Sarpedon’s  strength  to 
prove; 

Alcides’  offspring  meets  the  son  of  Jove. 

Sheathed  in  bright  arms  each  adverse  Chief 
came  on,  780 

Jove’s  great  descendant,  and  his  greater 
son. 

Prepared  for  combat,  ere  the  lance  he 
toss’d, 

The  daring  Rhodian  vents  his  haughty 
boast : 

‘ What  brings  this  Lyeian  counsellor  so 
far, 

To  tremble  at  our  arms,  not  mix  in  war  ? 

Know  thy  vain  self;  nor  let  their  flatt’ry 
move, 

Who  style  thee  son  of  cloud-compelling 
Jove. 

How  far  unlike  those  Chiefs  of  race  divine! 

How  vast  the  difference  of  their  deeds  and 
thine  ! 

Jove  got  such  heroes  as  my  sire,  whose 
soul  790 

No  fear  could  daunt,  nor  Earth  nor  Hell 
control. 

Troy  felt  his  arm,  and  yon  proud  ramparts 
stand. 

Rais’d  on  the  ruins  of  his  vengeful  hand: 

With  six  small  ships,  and  but  a slender 
train. 

He  left  the  town  a wide  deserted  plain. 

But  what  art  thou,  who  deedless  look’st 
around, 

While  unrevenged  thy  Lycians  bite  the 
ground  ? 

Small  aid  to  Troy  thy  feeble  force  can 
be; 

But  wert  thou  greater,  thou  must  yield  to 
me, 

Pierc’d  by  my  spear,  to  endless  darkness 
go  ! 800 

I make  this  present  to  the  shades  below.’ 

The  son  of  Hercules,  the  Rhodian  guide, 

Thus  haughty  spoke.  The  Lyeian  King 
replied: 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


mi 

w, 

es, 


4b  R 

w 


3l8 


‘ Thy  sire,  O Prince!  o’erturn’d  the 
Trojan  state, 

Whose  perjured  monarch  well  deserv’d  his 
fate; 

Those  heav’nly  steeds  the  hero  sought  so 
far, 

False  he  detain’d,  the  just  reward  of  war: 
Nor  so  content,  the  gen’rous  Chief  defied, 
With  base  reproaches  and  unmanly  pride. 
But  you,  unworthy  the  high  race  you  boast, 
Shall  raise  my  glory  when  thy  own  is  lost: 
Now  meet  thy  fate,  and,  by  Sarpedon  slain, 
Add  one  more  ghost  to  Pluto’s  gloomy 
reign.’  8l3 

He  said:  both  jav’lins  at  an  instant 
flew: 

Both  struck,  both  wounded,  but  Sarpedon’s 
slew: 

Full  in  the  boaster’s  neck  the  wreapon 
stood, 

Transfix’d  his  throat,  and  drank  the  vital 
blood ; 

The  soul  disdainful  seeks  the  caves  of 
night, 

And  his  seal’d  eyes  for  ever  lose  the  light. 

Yet  not  in  vain,  Tlepolemus,  was  thrown 
Thy  angry  lance;  which,  piercing  to  the 
bone  g2I 

Sarpedon’s  thigh,  had  robb’d  the  Chief  of 
breath, 

But  Jove  was  present,  and  forbade  the 
death. 

Borne  from  the  conflict  by  his  Lycian 
throng, 

The  wounded  hero  dragged  the  lance  along 
(His  friends,  each  busied  in  his  sev’ral 
part, 

Thro’  haste,  or  danger,  had  not  drawn  the 
dart). 

The  Greeks  with  slain  Tlepolemus  retired; 
Whose  fall  Ulysses  view’d,  with  fury  fired; 
Doubtful  if  Jove’s  great  son  he  should  pur- 
sue, 830 

Or  pour  his  vengeance  on  the  Lycian 
crew. 

But  Heav’n  and  Fate  the  first  design  with- 
stand, 

Nor  this  great  death  must  grace  Ulysses’ 
hand. 

Minerva  drives  him  on  the  Lycian  train; 
Alastor,  Cromius,  Halius,  strew’d  the 
plain, 

A1  bander,  Prytanis,  Noemon  fell; 

And  numbers  more  his  sword  had  sent  to 
Hell, 


But  Hector  saw;  and,  furious  at  the  sight, 
Bush’d  terrible  amidst  the  ranks  of  fight. 
With  joy  Sarpedon  view’d  the  wish’d  re- 
lief, g40 

And  faint,  lamenting,  thus  implored  the 
Chief: 

‘ Oh,  suffer  not  the  foe  to  bear  away 
My  helpless  corpse,  an  unassisted  prey! 

If  I,  unbless’d,  must  see  my  son  no  more, 
My  much-lov’d  consort,  and  my  native 
shore, 

Yet  let  me  die  in  Ilion’s  sacred  wall; 

Troy,  in  whose  cause  I fell,  shall  mourn 
my  fall.’ 

He  said,  nor  Hector  to  the  Chief  replies, 
But  shakes  his  plume,  and  fierce  to  combat 
flies, 

Swift  as  a whirlwind  drives  the  scatt’ring 
foes,  85o 

And  dyes  the  ground  with  purple  as  he 

goes. 

Beneath  a beech,  Jove’s  consecrated 
shade, 

His  mournful  friends  divine  Sarpedon 
laid: 

Brave  Pelagon,  his  fav’rite  Chief,  was 
nigh, 

Who  wrench’d  the  jav’lin  from  his  sinewy 
thigh. 

The  fainting  soul  stood  ready  wing’d  for 
flight, 

And  o’er  his  eyeballs  swam  the  shades  of 
night; 

But  Boreas  rising  fresh,  with  gentle  breath, 
Becall’d  his  spirit  from  the  gates  of  death. 

The  gen’rous  Greeks  recede  with  tardy 
pace,  860 

Tho’  Mars  and  Hector  thunder  in  their 
face; 

None  turn  their  backs  to  mean  ignoble 
flight, 

Slow  they  retreat,  and,  ev’n  retreating, 
fight. 

Who  first,  who  last,  by  Mars’  and  Hector’s 
hand, 

Stretch’d  in  their  blood,  lay  gasping  on  the 
sand  ? 

Teuthras  the  great,  Orestes  the  renown’d 
For  managed  steeds,  and  Trechus,  press’d 
the  ground; 

Next  CEnomaug,  and  CEnops’  offspring 
died ; 

Oresbius  last  fell  groaning  at  their  side: 
Oresbius,  in  his  painted  mitre  gay,  879 
Iu  fat  Bceotia  held  his  wealthy  sway; 


THE  ILIAD 


Where  lakes  surround  low  Hyle’s  wat’ry 
plain ; 

A Priuce  and  people  studious  of  their  gain. 

The  carnage  Juno  from  the  skies  sur- 
vey’d, 

And  touch’d  with  grief,  bespoke  the  Blue- 
eyed Maid: 

‘ Oh  sight  accurs’d  ! shall  faithless  Troy 
prevail, 

And  shall  our  promise  to  our  people  fail  ? 
How  vain  the  word  to  Menelaus  giv’n 
By  Jove’s  great  daughter  and  the  Queen 
of  Heav’n, 

Beneath  his  arms  that  Priam’s  towers 
should  fall,  880 

If  warring  Gods  for  ever  guard  the  wall  ! 
Mars,  red  with  slaughter,  aids  our  hated 
foes: 

Haste,  let  us  arm,  and  force  with  force  op- 
pose ! ’ 

She  spoke;  Minerva  burns  to  meet  the 
war: 

And  now  Heav’n’s  Empress  calls  her  blaz- 
ing car. 

At  her  command  rush  forth  the  steeds 
divine; 

Rich  with  immortal  gold  their  trappings 
shine. 

Bright  Hebe  waits;  by  Hebe,  ever  young, 
The  whirling  wheels  are  to  the  chariot 
hung.  889 

On  the  bright  axle  turns  the  bidden  wheel 
Of  sounding  brass;  the  polish’d  axle  steel. 
Eight  brazen  spokes  in  radiant  order  flame; 
The  circles  gold,  of  uncorrupted  frame, 

Such  as  the  Heav’ns  produce:  and  round 
the  gold 

Two  brazen  rings  of  work  divine  were 
roll’d. 

The  bossy  naves  of  solid  silver  shone; 

Braces  of  gold  suspend  the  moving  throne: 
The  car  behind  an  arching  figure  bore; 

The  bending  concave  form’d  an  arch  before. 
Silver  the  beam,  th’  extended  yoke  was 
gold,  . B 9oo 

And  golden  reins  th’  immortal  coursers 
hold. 

Herself,  impatient,  to  the  ready  car 
The  coursers  joins,  and  breathes  revenge 
and  war. 

Pallas  disrobes;  her  radiant  veil  untied, 
With  flowers  adorn’d,  with  art  diversified 
(The  labour’d  veil  her  heav’nly  fingers 
wove), 

Flows  on  the  pavement  of  the  court  of  Jove. 


319 


Now  Heav’n’s  dread  arms  her  mighty  limbs 
invest, 

Jove’s  cuirass  blazes  on  her  ample  breast; 
Deck’d  in  sad  triumph  for  the  mournful 
field,  9IO 

O’er  her  broad  shoulders  hangs  his  horrid 
shield, 

Dire,  black,  tremendous!  round  the  margin 
roll’d, 

A fringe  of  serpents  hissing  guards  the 
gold: 

Here  all  the  terrors  of  grim  war  appear, 
Here  rages  Force,  here  tremble  Flight  and 
Fear, 

Here  storm’d  Contention,  and  here  Fury 
frown’d, 

And  the  dire  orb  portentous  Gorgon 
crown’d. 

The  massy  golden  helm  she  next  assumes, 
That  dreadful  nods  with  four  o’ershading 
plumes: 

So  vast,  the  broad  circumference  contains 
A hundred  armies  on  a hundred  plains.  921 
The  Goddess  thus  th’  imperial  car  ascends; 
Shook  by  her  arm  the  mighty  jav’lin  bends, 
Pond’rous  and  huge;  that,  when  her  fury 
burns, 

Proud  tyrants  humbles,  and  whole  hosts 
o’erturns. 

Swift  at  the  scourge  th’  ethereal  coursers 
%’ 

While  the  smooth  chariot  cuts  the  liquid  sky: 
Heav’n’s  gates  spontaneous  open  to  the 
Powers, 

Heav’n’s  golden  gates,  kept  by  the  winged 
Hours; 

Commission’d  in  alternate  watch  they 
stand,  930 

The  sun’s  bright  portals  and  the  skies  com- 
mand, 

Involve  in  clouds  th’  eternal  gates  of  day, 
Or  the  dark  barrier  roll  with  ease  away. 

The  sounding  hinges  ring:  on  either  side 
The  gloomy  volumes,  pierc’d  with  light, 
divide. 

The  chariot  mounts,  where  deep  in  ambient 
skies 

Confused,  Olympus’  hundred  heads  arise; 
Where  far  apart  the  Thund’rer  fills  his 
throne, 

O’er  all  the  Gods,  superior  and  alone. 

There  with  her  snowy  hand  the  Queen  re- 
strains 94<} 

The  fiery  steeds,  and  thus  to  Jove  com' 
plains: 


32° 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


‘ O Sire  ! can  no  resentment  touch  thy 
soul  ? 

Can  Mars  rebel,  and  does  no  thunder  roll  ? 
What  lawless  rage  on  yon  forbidden  plain  ! 
What  rash  destruction!  and  what  heroes 
slain! 

Venus,  and  Phoebus  with  the  dreadful  bow, 
Smile  on  the  slaughter,  and  enjoy  my  woe. 
Mad,  furious  Power!  whose  unrelenting 
mind 

No  God  can  govern,  and  no  justice  bind. 
Say,  mighty  Father!  shall  we  scourge  his 
pride,  95° 

And  drive  from  fight  th’  impetuous  homi- 
cide ? ’ 

To  whom  assenting,  thus  the  Thund’rer 
said: 

‘Go!  and  the  great  Minerva  be  thy  aid. 

To  tame  the  monster-God  Minerva  knows, 
And  oft  afflicts  his  brutal  breast  with 
woes.’ 

He  said:  Saturnia,  ardent  to  obey, 

Lash’d  her  white  steeds  along  th’  aerial 
way. 

Swift  down  the  steep  of  Heav’n  the  chariot 
rolls, 

Between  tli’  expanded  earth  and  starry 
poles. 

Far  as  a shepherd  from  some  point  on  high, 
O’er  the  wide  main  extends  his  boundless 
eye;  961 

Thro’  such  a space  of  air,  with  thund’ring 
sound, 

At  ev’ry  leap  th’  immortal  coursers  bound. 
Troy  now  they  reach’d,  and  touch’d  those 
banks  divine 

Where  silver  Simoxs  and  Scamander  join. 
There  Juno  stopp’d,  and  (her  fair  steeds 
unloos’d) 

Of  air  condensed  a vapour  circumfused: 

For  these,  impregnate  with  celestial  dew, 
On  Simo'is’  brink  ambrosial  herbage  grew. 
Thence  to  relieve  the  fainting  Argive 
throng,  970 

Smooth  as  the  sailing  doves,  they  glide  along. 

The  best  and  bravest  of  the  Grecian 
band 

(A  warlike  circle)  round  Tydides  stand: 
Such  was  their  look  as  lions  bathed  in 
blood, 

Or  foaming  boars,  the  terror  of  the  wood. 
Heav’n’s  Empress  mingles  with  the  mortal 
crowd, 

And  shouts,  in  Stentor’s  sounding  voice, 
aloud: 


Stentor  the  strong,  endued  with  brazen 
lungs, 

Whose  throat  surpass’d  the  force  of  fifty 
tongues: 

‘Inglorious  Argives!  to  your  race  a 
shame,  980 

And  only  men  in  figure  and  in  name! 

Once  from  the  walls  your  tim’rous  foes  en- 
gaged, 

While  fierce  in  war  divine  Achilles  raged; 

Now,  issuing  fearless,  they  possess  the 
plain, 

Now  win  the  shores,  and  scarce  the  seas 
remain.’ 

Her  speech  new  fury  to  their  hearts  con- 
vey’d; 

While  near  Tydides  stood  th’  Athenian 
Maid: 

The  King  beside  his  panting  steeds  she 
found, 

O’erspent  with  toil,  reposing  on  the  ground: 

To  cool  his  glowing  wound  he  sat  apart  990 

(The  wound  inflicted  by  the  Lycian  dart); 

Large  drops  of  sweat  from  all  his  limbs 
descend, 

Beneath  his  pond’rous  shield  his  sinews 
bend, 

Whose  ample  belt,  that  o’er  his  shoulder 
Hy, 

He  eased;  and  wash’d  the  clotted  gore 
away. 

The  Goddess,  leaning  o’er  the  bending  yoke 

Beside  his  coursers,  thus  her  silence  broke: 

‘Degen’rate  Prince!  and  not  of  Tydeus’ 
kind: 

Whose  little  body  lodg’d  a mighty  mind; 

Foremost  he  press’d  in  glorious  toils  to 
share,  1000 

And  scarce  refrain’d  when  I forbade  the 
war. 

Alone,  unguarded,  once  he  dared  to  go, 

Ard  feast  encircled  by  the  Theban  foe; 

There  braved  and  vanquish’d  many  a 
hardy  knight; 

Such  nerves  I gave  him,  and  such  force  in 
fight. 

Thou  too  no  less  hast  been  my  constant 
care; 

Thy  hands  I arm’d,  and  sent  thee  forth  to 
war: 

But  thee  or  fear  deters  or  sloth  detains; 

No  drop  of  all  thy  father  warms  thy  veins.’ 

The  Chief  thus  answer’d  mild:  ‘Im- 
mortal Maid  ! ioiq 

I own  thy  presence,  and  confess  thy  aid. 


THE  ILIAD 


321 


Not  fear,  thou  know’st,  withholds  me  from 
the  plains, 

Nor  sloth  hath  seiz’d  me,  but  thy  word  re- 
strains: 

From  warring  Gods  thou  bad’st  me  turn 
my  spear, 

And  Venus  only  found  resistance  here. 
Hence,  Goddess  1 heedful  of  thy  high  com- 
mands, 

Loth  I gave  way,  and  warn’d  our  Argive 
bands : 

For  Mars,  the  homicide,  these  eyes  beheld, 
With  slaughter  red,  and  raging  round  the 
field.’ 

Then  thus  Minerva:  ‘Brave  Tydides, 
hear!  1020 

Not  Mars  himself,  nor  aught  immortal, 
fear. 

Full  on  the  God  impel  thy  foaming  horse: 
Pallas  commands,  and  Pallas  lends  thee 
force. 

Rash,  furious,  blind,  from  these  to  those  he 
flies, 

And  ev’ry  side  of  wavering  combat  tries: 
Large  promise  makes,  and  breaks  the 
promise  made; 

Now  gives  the  Grecians,  now  the  Trojans 
aid.’ 

She  said,  and  to  the  steeds  approaching 
near, 

Drew  from  his  seat  the  martial  charioteer. 
The  vig’rous  Power  the  trembling  car 
ascends,  1030 

Fierce  for  revenge;  and  Diomed  attends. 
The  groaning  axle  bent  beneath  the  load; 

So  great  a Hero,  and  so  great  a God. 

She  snatch’d  the  reins,  she  lash’d  with  all 
her  force, 

And  full  on  Mars  impell’d  the  foaming 
horse : 

But  first  to  hide  her  heav’nly  visage  spread 
Black  Oreus’  helmet  o’er  her  radiant  head. 

Just  then  gigantic  Periphas  lay  slain, 

The  strongest  warrior  of  th’  iEtolian  train ; 
The  God  who  slew  him  leaves  his  prostrate 
prize  ,040 

Stretch’d  where  he  fell,  and  at  Tydides  flies. 
Now  rushing  fierce,  in  equal  arms,  appear 
The  daring  Greek,  the  dreadful  God  of 
War! 

Full  at  the  Chief,  above  his  courser’s  head, 
From  Mars’s  arm  th’  enormous  weapon  fled : 
Pallas  opposed  her  hand,  and  caus’d  to 
glance 

Far  from  the  car  the  strong  immortal  lance. 


Then  threw  the  force  of  Tydeus’  warlike 
son; 

The  jav’lin  hiss’d;  the  Goddess  urged  it  on: 
Where  the  broad  cincture  girt  his  armour 
round,  1050 

It  pierc’d  the  God:  his  groin  receiv’d  the 
wound. 

From  the  rent  skin  the  warrior  tugs  again 
The  smoking  steel.  Mars  bellows  with  the 
pain: 

Loud,  as  the  roar  eucount’ring  armies 
yield, 

When  shouting  millions  shake  the  thun- 
d’ring  field. 

Both  armies  start,  and  trembling  gaze 
around ; 

And  Earth  and  Heaven  rebellow  to  the 
sound. 

As  vapours  blown  by  Auster’s  sultry 
breath, 

Pregnant  with  plagues  and  shedding  seeds 
of  death, 

Beneath  the  rage  of  burning  Sirius  rise, 
Choke  the  parch’d  earth,  and  blacken  all 
the  skies;  1061 

In  such  a cloud  the  God,  from  combat 
driv’n, 

High  o’er  the  dusty  whirlwind  scales  the 
Heav’n. 

Wild  with  his  pain,  he  sought  the  bright 
abodes, 

There  sullen  sat  beneath  the  Sire  of  Gods, 
Shew’d  the  celestial  blood,  and  with  a 
groan 

Thus  pour’d  his  plaints  before  th’  immortal 
throne: 

‘Can  Jove,  supine,  flagitious  facts  sur- 
vey, 

And  brook  the  furies  of  this  daring  day  ? 

I or  mortal  men  celestial  Powers  engage, 
And  Gods  on  Gods  exert  eternal  rage.  1071 
From  thee,  O Father!  all  these  ills  we 
bear, 

And  thy  fell  daughter  with  the  shield  and 
spear: 

Thou  gavest  that  fury  to  the  realms  of 
light, 

Pernicious,  wild,  regardless  of  the  right. 

All  Heav’n  beside  reveres  thy  sov’reign 
sway, 

Thy  voice  we  hear,  and  thy  behests  obey: 

’T  is  hers  t’  offend,  and  ev’n  offending, 
share 

Thy  breast,  thy  counsels,  thy  distinguish’d 
care: 


322 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


So  boundless  she,  and  thou  so  partial  grown, 
Well  may  we  deem  the  wondrous  birth  thy 
own.  1081 

Now  frantic  Diomed,  at  her  command, 
Against  th’  immortals  lifts  his  raging  hand: 
The  heav’nly  Venus  first  his  fury  found, 

Me  next  encount’ring,  me  he  dared  to 
wound ; 

Vanquish’d  I fled:  ev’n  I,  the  God  of  Fight, 
From  mortal  madness  scarce  was  saved  by 
flight. 

Else  hadst  thou  seen  me  sink  on  yonder 
plain, 

Heap’d  round,  and  heaving  under  loads  of 
slain ; 1089 

Or,  pierc’d  with  Grecian  darts,  for  ages  lie, 
Condemn’d  to  pain,  tho’  fated  not  to  die.’ 

Him  thus  upbraiding,  with  a wrathful 
look 

The  Lord  of  Thunders  view’d,  and  stern 
bespoke : 

( To  me,  perfidious!  this  lamenting  strain  ? 
Of  lawless  force  shall  lawless  Mars  com- 
plain ? 

Of  all  the  Gods  who  tread  the  spangled 
skies, 

Thou  most  unjust,  most  odious  in  our  eyes! 
Inhuman  discord  is  thy  dire  delight, 

The  waste  of  slaughter,  and  the  rage  of 
fight: 

No  bound,  no  law,  thy  fiery  temper  quells, 
And  all  thy  mother  in  thy  soul  rebels,  hoi 
In  vain  our  threats,  in  vain  our  power,  we 
use: 

She  gives  th’  example,  and  her  son  pur- 
sues. 

Yet  long  th’  inflicted  pangs  thou  shalt  not 
mourn, 

Sprung  since  thou  art  from  Jove,  and 
heav’nly  born. 

Else,  singed  with  lightning,  hadst  thou 
hence  been  thrown, 

Where  chain’d  on  burning  rocks  the  Titans 
groan.’ 

Thus  he  who  shakes  Olympus  with  his 
nod; 

Then  gave  to  Pseon’s  care  the  bleeding 
God. 

With  gentle  hand  the  balm  he  pour’d 
around,  mo 

And  heal’d  th’  immortal  flesh,  and  closed 
the  wound. 

As  when  the  fig’s  press’d  juice,  infused  in 
cream, 

To  curds  coagulates  the  liquid  stream, 


Sudden  the  fluids  fix,  the  parts  combin’d; 
Such  and  so  soon  th’  ethereal  texture  join’d. 
Cleans’d  from  the  dust  and  gore,  fair  Hebe 
dress’d 

His  mighty  limbs  in  an  immortal  vest. 
Glorious  he  sat,  in  majesty  restor’d, 

Fast  by  the  throne  of  Heav’n’s  superior 
Lord. 

Juno  and  Pallas  mount  the  blest  abodes, 
Their  task  perform’d,  and  mix  among  the 
Gods.  1121 


BOOK  VI 

THE  EPISODES  OF  GLAUCUS  AND  DIOMED, 
AND  OF  HECTOR  AND  ANDROMACHE 

THE  ARGUMENT 

The  Gods  having  left  the  field,  the  Grecians 
prevail.  Helenus,  the  chief  augur  of  Troy, 
commands  Hector  to  return  to  the  city,  in 
order  to  appoint  a solemn  procession  of  the 
Queen  and  the  Trojan  matrons  to  the  temple 
of  Minerva,  to  entreat  her  to  remove  Diomed 
from  the  fight.  The  battle  relaxing  during 
the  absence  of  Hector,  Glaucus  and  Diomed 
have  an  interview  between  the  two  armies  ; 
where,  coming  to  the  knowledge  of  the 
friendship  and  hospitality  past  between  their 
ancestors,  they  make  exchange  of  their  arms. 
Hector,  having  performed  the  orders  of 
Helenus,  prevailed  upon  Paris  to  return  to 
the  battle,  and  taken  a tender  leave  of  his 
wife  Andromache,  hastens  again  to  the 
field. 

The  scene  is  first  in  the  field  of  battle,  between 
the  river  Simois  and  Scamander,  and  then 
changes  to  Troy. 

Now  Heav’n  forsakes  the  fight;  th’  im- 
mortals yield 

To  human  force  and  human  skill  the  field : 

Dark  showers  of  jav’lins  fly  from  foes  to 
foes; 

Now  here,  now  there,  the  tide  of  combat 
flows; 

While  Troy’s  famed  streams,  that  bound 
the  deathful  plain, 

On  either  side  run  purple  to  the  main. 
Great  Ajax  first  to  conquest  led  the  way, 

Broke  the  thick  ranks,  and  turn’d  the 
doubtful  day. 

The  Thracian  Acamas  his  falchion  found, 

And  hew’d  th’  enormous  giant  to  the 
ground;  i« 


THE  ILIAD 


323 


His  thund’ring  arm  a deadly  stroke  im- 
press’d 

Where  the  black  horse-hair  nodded  o’er  his 
crest: 

Fix’d  in  his  front  the  brazen  weapon  lies, 
And  seals  in  endless  shades  his  swimming 
eyes. 

Next  Teuthras’  son  distain’d  the  sands 
with  blood, 

Axylus,  hospitable,  rich,  and  good: 

In  fair  Arisba’s  walls  (his  native  place) 

He  held  his  seat;  a friend  to  human  race. 
Fast  by  the  road,  his  ever-open  door 
Obliged  the  wealthy,  and  reliev’d  the 
poor.  20 

To  stern  Tydides  now  he  falls  a prey, 

No  friend  to  guard  him  in  the  dreadful 
day! 

Breathless  the  good  man  fell,  and  by  his 
side 

His  faithful  servant,  Old  Calesius,  died. 

By  great  Euryalus  was  Dresus  slain, 

And  next  he  laid  Opheltius  on  the  plain. 
Two  twins  were  near,  bold,  beautiful,  and 
young, 

From  a fair  Naiad  and  Bucolion  sprung 
[Laomedon’s  white  flocks  Bucolion  fed, 

That  monarch’s  first-born  by  a foreign 
bed;  30 

[n  secret  woods  he  won  the  Naiad’s  grace, 
ind  two  fair  infants  crown’d  his  strong 
embrace) : 

3ere  dead  they  lay  in  all  their  youthful 
charms; 

The  ruthless  victor  stripp’d  their  shining 
arms. 

Astyalus  by  Polypcetes  fell; 

Jlysses’  spear  Pidytes  sent  to  Hell; 
iy  Teucer’s  shaft  brave  Aretaon  bled, 

^nd  Nestor’s  son  laid  stern  Ablerus  dead; 
xreat  Agamemnon,  leader  of  the  brave, 

Che  mortal  wound  of  rich  Elatus  gave,  40 
Yho  held  in  Pedasus  his  proud  abode, 

Ind  till’d  the  banks  where  silver  Satnio 
flow’d. 

lelanthius  by  Eurypylus  was  slain; 

Lnd  Phylacus  from  Leitus  flies  in  vain. 

Unbless’d  Adrastus  next  at  mercy  lies 
leneath  the  Spartan  spear,  a living  prize, 
cared  with  the  din  and  tumult  of  the  fight, 
lis  headlong  steeds,  precipitate  in  flight, 
lush’d  on  a tamarisk’s  strong  trunk,  and 
broke 

’he  shatter’d  chariot  from  the  crooked 
yoke:  5o 


Wide  o’er  the  field,  resistless  as  the  wind, 
For  Troy  they  fly,  and  leave  their  lord  be- 
hind. 

Prone  on  his  face  he  sinks  beside  the  wheel: 
Atrides  o’er  him  shakes  his  vengeful  steel; 
The  fallen  Chief  in  suppliant  posture  press’d 
The  victor’s  knees,  and  thus  his  prayer 
address’d: 

‘ Oh  spare  my  youth,  and  for  the  life  I 
owe 

Large  gifts  of  price  my  father  shall  be- 
stow: 

When  Fame  shall  tell,  that  not  in  battle 
slain 

Thy  hollow  ships  his  captive  son  detain,  60 
Rich  heaps  of  brass  shall  in  thy  tent  be 
told, 

And  steel  well-temper’d,  and  persuasive 
gold.’ 

He  said:  compassion  touch’d  the  hero’s 
heart; 

He  stood  suspended  with  the  lifted  dart: 

As  pity  pleaded  for  his  vanquish’d  prize, 
Stern  Agamemnon  swift  to  vengeance  flies, 
And  furious  thus:  ‘ Oh  impotent  of  mind! 
Shall  these,  shall  these,  Atrides’  mercy 
find  ? 

Well  hast  thou  known  proud  Troy’s  per- 
fidious land, 

And  well  her  natives  merit  at  thy  hand!  70 
Not  one  of  all  the  race,  nor  sex,  nor  age, 
Shall  save  a Trojan  from  our  boundless 
rage: 

Ilion  shall  perish  whole,  and  bury  all; 

Her  babes,  her  infants  at  the  breast,  shall 
fall. 

A dreadful  lesson  of  exampled  fate, 

To  warn  the  nations,  and  to  curb  the  great.’ 

The  Monarch  spoke;  the  words,  with 
warmth  address’d, 

To  rigid  justice  steel’d  his  brother’s  breast. 
Fierce  from  his  knees  the  hapless  Chief  he 
thrust; 

The  Monarch’s  jav’lin  stretch’d  him  in  the 
dust.  80 

Then,  pressing  with  his  foot  his  panting 
heart, 

Forth  from  the  slain  he  tugg’d  the  reeking 
dart. 

Old  Nestor  saw,  and  rous’d  the  warriors’ 

rage; 

‘Thus,  heroes!  thus  the  vig’rous  combat 

wage  ! 

No  son  of  Mars  descend,  for  servile  gains, 

To  touch  the  booty,  while  a foe  remains. 


324 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


Behold  yon  glitt’ring  host,  your  future 
spoil! 

First  gain  the  conquest,  then  reward  the 
toil.’ 

And  now  had  Greece  eternal  Fame 
acquired, 

And  frighted  Troy  within  her  walls  re- 
tired ; 9° 

Had  not  sage  Helenas  her  state  redress’d, 

Taught  by  the  Gods  that  mov’d  his  sacred 
breast: 

Where  Hector  stood,  with  great  iEneas 
join’d, 

The  seer  reveal’d  the  counsels  of  his  mind: 

‘Ye  gen’rons  Chief!  on  whom  th’  im- 
mortals lay 

The  cares  and  glories  of  this  doubtful  day, 

On  whom  your  aids,  your  country’s  hopes 
depend, 

Wise  to  consult,  and  active  to  defend  ! 

Here,  at  our  gates,  your  brave  efforts 
unite, 

Turn  back  the  routed,  and  forbid  the 
flight ; ioo 

Ere  yet  their  wives’  soft  arms  the  cowards 
gain, 

The  sport  and  insult  of  the  hostile  train. 

When  your  commands  have  hearten’d 
ev’ry  band, 

Ourselves,  here  fix’d,  will  make  the  dan- 
gerous stand; 

Press’d  as  we  are,  and  sore  of  former 
fight, 

These  straits  demand  our  last  remains  of 
might. 

Meanwhile,  thou,  Hector,  to  the  town 
retire 

And  teach  our  mother  what  the  Gods  re- 
quire: 

Direct  the  Queen  to  lead  th’  assembled 
train 

Of  Troy’s  chief  matrons  to  Minerva’s 
fane ; i io 

Unbar  the  sacred  gates,  and  seek  the 
Power 

With  offer’d  vows,  in  Ilion’s  topmost 
tower. 

The  largest  mantle  her  rich  wardrobes 
hold, 

Most  prized  for  art,  and  labour’d  o’er  with 
gold, 

Before  the  Goddess’  honour’d  knees  be 
spread ; 

And  twelve  young  heifers  to  her  altars 
led. 


If  so  the  Power  atoned  by  fervent  prayer, 
Our  wives,  our  infants,  and  our  city  spare, 
And  far  avert  Tydides’  wasteful  ire, 

That  mows  whole  troops,  and  makes  all  ! 

Troy  retire.  120 

Not  thus  Achilles  taught  our  hosts  to 
dread, 

Sprung  tho’  he  was  from  more  than  mortal 
bed; 

Not  thus  resistless  ruled  the  stream  of 
fight, 

In  rage  unbounded,  and  un match’d  in 
might.’ 

Hector  obedient  heard;  and,  with  a 
bound, 

Leap’d  from  his  trembling  chariot  to  the 
ground; 

Thro’  all  his  host,  inspiring  force,  he  flies,  * 
And  bids  the  thunder  of  the  battle  rise. 
With  rage  recruited  the  bold  Trojans  glow, 
And  turn  the  tide  of  conflict  on  the  foe:  130 
Fierce  in  the  front  he  shakes  two  dazzling 
spears ; 

All  Greece  recedes,  and  ’midst  her  triumph 
fears: 

Some  God,  they  thought,  who  ruled  the 
fate  of  wars, 

Shot  down  avenging  from  the  vault  of 
stars. 

Then  thus,  aloud:  ‘Ye  dauntless  Dar- 
dans,  hear! 

And  you  whom  distant  nations  send  to  war; 
Be  mindful  of  the  strength  your  fathers 
bore; 

Be  still  yourselves,  and  Hector  asks  no 
more. 

One  hour  demands  me  in  the  Trojan  wall, 
To  bid  our  altars  flame,  and  victims 
fall:  14a 

Nor  shall,  I trust,  the  matrons’  holy  train, 
And  rev’rend  elders,  seek  the  Gods  in  vain.’ 

This  said,  with  ample  strides  the  hero 
pass’d; 

The  shield’s  large  orb  behind  his  shoulder 
cast, 

His  neck  o’ershading,  to  his  ankle  hung; 
And  as  he  march’d  the  brazen  buckler 
rung. 

Now  paus’d  the  battle  (godlike  Hector 
gone), 

When  daring  Glaucus  and  great  Tydeus’  son 
Between  both  armies  met;  the  Chiefs  from 
far 

Observ’d  each  other,  and  had  mark’d  foi 
war.  *5* 


THE  ILIAD 


325 


Near  as  they  drew,  Tydides  thus  began: 

‘ What  art  thou,  boldest  of  the  race  of 
man  ? 

Our  eyes,  till  now,  that  aspect  ne’er  beheld, 
Where  fame  is  reap’d  amid  th’  embattled 
field; 

Yet  far  before  the  troops  thou  darest  ap- 
pear, 

And  meet  a lance  the  fiercest  heroes  fear, 
i Unhappy  they,  and  born  of  luckless  sires, 
Who  tempt  our  fury  when  Minerva  fires! 

1 But  if  from  Heav’n,  celestial,  thou  de- 
scend, 

Know,  with  immortals  we  no  more  con- 
tend. 160 

Not  long  Lycurgus  view’d  the  golden 
light, 

That  daring  man  who  mix’d  with  Gods  in 
fight ; 

Bacchus,  and  Bacchus’  votaries,  he  drove 
' With  brandish’d  steel  from  Nyssa’s  sacred 
grove ; 

Their  consecrated  spears  lay  scatter’d 
round, 

With  curling  vines  and  twisted  ivy  bound; 

1 While  Bacchus  headlong  sought  the  briny 
flood, 

And  Thetis’  arms  received  the  trembling 
God. 

Nor  fail’d  the  crime  th’  immortals’  wrath 
to  move 

(Th’  immortals  bless’d  with  endless  ease 
above) ; 170 

Deprived  of  sight,  by  their  avenging  doom, 

1 Cheerless  he  breathed,  and  wander’d  in  the 
gloom: 

Then  sunk  unpitied  to  the  dire  abodes, 

A wretch  aceurs’d,  and  hated  by  the 
► Gods! 

I brave  not  Heav’n;  but  if  the  fruits  of 
earth 

Sustain  thy  life,  and  human  be  thy  birth, 
Bold  as  thou  art,  too  prodigal  of  breath, 
Approach,  and  enter  the  dark  ffates  of 
, death.’ 

‘ What,  or  from  whence  I am,  or  who  my 
sire  1 

(Replied  the  Chief),  ‘can  Tydeus’  son  in- 
} quire  ? 180 

Like  leaves  on  trees  the  race  of  man  is 
\ found, 

1 Now  green  in  youth,  now  with’ring  on  the 
ground: 

Another  race  the  foil’ wing  spring  supplies, 
They  fall  successive,  and  successive  rise; 


So  generations  in  their  course  decay, 

So  flourish  these,  when  those  are  past 
away. 

But  if  thou  still  persist  to  search  my  birth, 
Then  hear  a tale  that  fills  the  spacious 
earth : 

‘ A city  stands  on  Argos’  utmost  bound 
(Argos  the  fair,  for  warlike  steeds  re- 
nown’d);  I90 

iEolian  Sisyphus,  with  wisdom  bless’d, 

In  ancient  time  the  happy  walls  possess’d. 
Then  call’d  Ephyre:  Glaucus  was  his 
son ; 

Great  Glaucus,  father  of  Bellerophon, 

Who  o’er  the  sons  of  men  in  beauty  shined, 
Loved  for  that  valour  which  preserves 
mankind. 

Then  mighty  Prcetus  Argos’  sceptre 
sway’d, 

Whose  hard  commands  Bellerophon  obey’d. 
With  direful  jealousy  the  monarch  raged, 
And  the  brave  Prince  in  numerous  toils  en- 
gaged, . 200 

For  him,  Antea  burn’d  with  lawless  flame, 
And  strove  to  tempt  him  from  the  paths  of 
fame : 

In  vain  she  tempted  the  relentless  youth, 
Endued  with  wisdom,  sacred  fear,  and 
truth. 

Fired  at  his  scorn,  the  Queen  to  Prcetus 
fled, 

And  begg’d  revenge  for  her  insulted  bed: 
Incens’d  he  heard,  resolving  on  his  fate; 
But  hospitable  laws  restrain’d  his  hate: 

To  Lycia  the  devoted  youth  he  sent, 

With  tablets  seal’d,  that  told  his  dire  in- 
tent. 210 

Now,  bless’d  by  ev’ry  Power  who  guards 
the  good, 

The  Chief  arrived  at  Xanthus’  silver  flood: 
There  Lycia’s  Monarch  paid  him  honours 
due; 

Nine  days  he  feasted,  and  nine  bulls  he 
slew. 

But  when  the  tenth  bright  morning  orient 
glow’d 

The  faithful  youth  his  Monarch’s  mandate 
shew’d: 

The  fatal  tablets,  till  that  instant  seal’d, 
The  deathful  secret  to  the  King  reveal’d. 
First,  dire  Chimeera’s  conquest  was  en- 
join’d; 

A mingled  monster,  of  no  mortal  kind;  22c 
Behind,  a dragon’s  fiery  tail  was  spread; 

A goat’s  rough  body  bore  a lion’s  head; 


3^6 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


Her  pitchy  nostrils  flaky  flames  expire; 

Her  gaping  throat  emits  infernal  tire. 

‘ This  pest  he  slaughter’d  (for  he  read 
the  skies, 

And  trusted  Heav’n’s  informing  pro- 
digies); 

Then  met  in  arms  the  Solymsean  crew 
(Fiercest  of  men),  and  those  the  warrior 
slew. 

Next  the  bold  Amazons’  whole  force  de- 
fied; 

And  conquer’d  still,  for  Heav’n  was  on  his 
side.  230 

‘Nor  ended  here  his  toils:  his  Lycian 
foes, 

At  his  return,  a treach’rous  ambush  rose, 
With  levell’d  spears  along  the  winding 
shore : 

There  fell  they  breathless,  and  return’d  no 
more. 

‘At  length  the  Monarch  with  repentant 
grief 

Confess’d  the  Gods,  and  god-descended 
Chief; 

His  daughter  gave,  the  stranger  to  detain, 
With  half  the  honours  of  his  ample  reign. 
The  Lycians  grant  a chosen  space  of 
ground, 

With  woods,  with  vineyards,  and  with  har- 
vests crown’d.  240 

There  long  the  Chief  his  happy  lot  possess’d, 
With  two  brave  sons  and  one  fair  daughter 
bless’d: 

(Fair  ev’n  in  heav’nly  eyes;  her  fruitful 
love 

Crown’d  with  Sarpedon’s  birth  th’  embrace 
of  Jove). 

But  when  at  last,  distracted  in  his  mind, 
Forsook  by  Heav’n,  forsaking  human  kind, 
Wide  o’er  th’  Aleian  field  he  chose  to 
stray, 

A long,  forlorn,  uncomfortable  way  ! 

Woes  heap’d  on  woes  consumed  his  wasted 
heart; 

His  beauteous  daughter  fell  by  Phoebe’s 
dart;  250 

His  eldest-born  by  raging  Mars  was  slain, 
In  combat  on  the  Solymsean  plain. 
Hippolochus  survived;  from  him  I came, 
The  honour’d  author  of  my  birth  and 
name; 

By  his  decree  I sought  the  Trojan  town, 
By  his  instructions  learn  to  win  renown; 

To  stand  the  first  in  worth  as  in  command, 
To  add  new  honours  to  my  native  land; 


Before  my  eyes  my  mighty  sires  to  place, 

And  emulate  the  glories  of  our  race.’  260 
He  spoke,  and  transport  fill’d  Tydides’ 
heart ; 

In  earth  the  gen’rous  warrior  fix’d  his 
dart, 

Then  friendly,  thus,  the  Lycian  prince  ad- 
dress’d: 

‘ Welcome,  my  brave  hereditary  guest! 

Thus  ever  let  us  meet  with  kind  embrace, 

Nor  stain  the  sacred  friendship  of  our 
race. 

Know,  Chief,  our  grandsires  have  been 
guests  of  old, 

(Eneus  the  strong,  Bellerophon  the  bold; 

Our  ancient  seat  his  honour’d  presence 
graced, 

Where  twenty  days  in  genial  rites  he 
pass’d.  270 

The  parting  heroes  mutual  presents  left; 

A golden  goblet  was  thy  grandsire’s  gift; 

(Eneus  a belt  of  matchless  work  bestow’d, 

That  rich  with  Tyrian  dye  refulgent 
glow’d 

(This  from  his  pledge  I learn’d,  which, 
safely  stored 

Among  my  treasures,  still  adorns  my 
board : 

For  Tydeus  left  me  young,  when  Thebes’ 
wall 

Beheld  the  sons  of  Greece  untimely  fall). 

Mindful  of  this,  in  friendship  let  us' 
join; 

If  Heav’n  our  steps  to  foreign  lands  in- 
cline, 280  1 

My  guest  in  Argos  thou,  and  I in  Lycia 
thine. 

Enough  of  Trojans  to  this  lance  shall 
yield, 

In  the  full  harvest  of  yon  ample  field; 

Enough  of  Greeks  shall  dye  tliy  spear  with 
gore ; 

But  thou  and  Diomed  be  foes  no  more. 

Now  change  we  arms,  and  prove  to  either 
host 

We  guard  the  friendship  of  the  line  we 
boast.’ 

Thus  having  said,  the  gallant  Chiefs 
alight, 

Their  hands  they  join,  their  mutual  faith 
they  plight; 

Brave  Glaucus  then  each  narrow  thought 
resign’d  200 

(Jove  warm’d  his  bosom  and  enlarged  his 
mind); 


THE  ILIAD 


327 


For  Diomed’s  brass  arms,  of  mean  device, 
For  which  nine  oxen  paid  (a  vulgar 
price), 

He  gave  his  own,  of  gold  divinely  wrought; 
A hundred  beeves  the  shining  purchase 
bought. 

Meantime  the  guardian  of  the  Trojan 
state, 

Great  Hector,  enter’d  at  the  Scaean  gate. 
Beneath  the  beech-trees’  consecrated 
shades, 

The  Trojan  matrons  and  the  Trojan  maids 
Around  him  flock’d,  all  press’d  with  pious 
care  300 

For  husbands,  brothers,  sons,  engaged  in 
war. 

He  bids  the  train  in  long  procession  go, 

A.nd  seek  the  Gods,  t’  avert  th’  impending 
woe. 

A.nd  now  to  Priam’s  stately  courts  he 
came, 

Rais’d  on  arch’d  columns  of  stupendous 
frame ; 

3’er  these  a range  of  marble  structure 
runs; 

The  rich  pavilions  of  his  fifty  sons, 

[n  fifty  chambers  lodg’d:  and  rooms  of 
state 

Opposed  to  those,  where  Priam’s  daughters 
sate: 

Twelve  domes  for  them  and  their  lov’d 
spouses  shone,  3lo 

)f  equal  beauty,  and  of  polish’d  stone, 
dither  great  Hector  pass’d,  nor  pass’d 
unseen 

If  royal  Hecuba,  his  mother  Queen 
With  her  Laddie^,  whose  beauteous  face 
surpass’d  the  nymphs  of  Troy’s  illustrious 
race). 

jong  in  a strict  embrace  she  held  her 
son, 

Lnd  press’d  his  hand,  and  tender  thus 
begun: 

* 0 Hector  ! say,  what  great  occasion 
calls 

ly  son  from  fight,  when  Greece  surrounds 
our  walls  ? 

’om’st  thou  to  supplicate  th’  almighty 
I Power,  320 

v ith  lifted  hands  from  Ilion’s  lofty  tower  ? 
tay,  till  I bring  the  cup  with  Bacchus 
crown’d, 

Q Jove’s  high  name,  to  sprinkle  on  the 
| ground, 

^nd  pay  due  vows  to  all  the  Gods  around. 


Then  with  a plenteous  draught  refresh  thy 
soul, 

And  draw  new  spirits  from  the  gen’rous 
bowl; 

Spent  as  thou  art  with  long  laborious  fight, 
The  brave  defender  of  thy  country’s  right.* 
‘ Far  hence  be  Bacchus’  gifts  ’ (the 
Chief  rejoin’d); 

‘Inflaming  wine,  pernicious  to  mankind,  330 
Unnerves  the  limbs,  and  dulls  the  noble 
mind. 

Let  Chiefs  abstain,  and  spare  the  sacred 
juice, 

To  sprinkle  to  the  Gods,  its  better  use. 

By  me  that  holy  office  were  profaned; 

111  fits  it  me,  with  human  gore  distain’d, 

To  the  pure  skies  these  horrid  hands  to 
raise, 

Or  offer  Heav’n’s  great  Sire  polluted 
praise. 

You  with  your  matrons,  go,  a spotless 
train  ! 

And  burn  rich  odours  in  Minerva’s  fane. 
The  largest  mantle  your  full  wardrobes 
hold,  340 

Most  prized  for  art,  and  labour’d  o’er  with 
gold, 

Before  the  Goddess’  honour’d  knees  be 
spread, 

And  twelve  young  heifers  to  her  altar 
led. 

So  may  the  Power,  atoned  by  fervent 
prayer, 

Our  wives,  our  infants,  and  our  city  spare, 
And  far  avert  Tydides’  wasteful  ire, 

Who  mows  whole  troops,  and  makes  all 
Troy  retire. 

Be  this,  O mother,  your  religious  care; 

I go  to  rouse  soft  Paris  to  the  war; 

If  yet,  not  lost  to  all  the  sense  of  shame,  350 
The  recreant  warrior  hear  the  voice  of 
Fame. 

Oh  would  kind  earth  the  hateful  wretch 
embrace, 

That  pest  of  Troy,  that  ruin  of  our  race  ! 
Deep  to  the  dark  abyss  might  he  descend, 
Troy  yet  should  flourish,  and  my  sorrows 
end.’ 

This  heard,  she  gave  command;  and 
summon’d  came 

Each  noble  matron,  and  illustrious  dame. 
The  Phrygian  Queen  to  her  rich  wardrobe 
went, 

Where  treasured  odours  breathed  a costly 
scent. 


328 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


There  lay  the  vestures  of  no  vulgar  art,  360 
Sidouian  maids  embroider’d  ev’ry  part, 
Whom  from  soft  Sidon  youthful  Paris  bore, 
With  Helen  touching  on  the  Tyrian  shore. 
Here  as  the  Queen  revolv’d  with  careful 
eyes 

The  various  textures  and  the  various  dyes. 
She  chose  a veil  that  shone  superior  far, 
And  glowed  refulgent  as  the  morning  star, 
Herself  with  this  the  long  procession 
leads; 

The  train  majestically  slow  proceeds. 

Soon  as  to  Ilion’s  topmost  tower  they 
come,  37° 

And  awful  reach  the  high  Palladian  dome, 
Antenor’s  consort,  fair  Theano,  waits 
As  Pallas’  priestess,  and  unbars  the  gates. 
With  hands  uplifted,  and  imploring  eyes, 
They  fill  the  dome  with  supplicating  cries. 
The  priestess  then  the  shining  veil  dis- 
plays, 

Placed  on  Minerva’s  knees,  and  thus  she 
prays: 

‘ Oh  awful  Goddess!  ever-dreadful  Maid, 
Troy’s  strong  defence,  unconquer’d  Pallas, 
aid! 

Break  thou  Tydides’  spear,  and  let  him 
fall  380 

Prone  on  the  dust  before  the  Trojan  wall. 
So  twelve  young  heifers,  guiltless  of  the 
yoke, 

Shall  fill  thy  temple  with  a grateful 
smoke. 

But  thou,  atoned  by  penitence  and  prayer, 
Ourselves,  our  infants,  and  our  city  spare!  ’ 
So  pray’d  the  priestess  in  her  holy  fane; 

So  vow’d  the  matrons,  but  they  vow’d  in 
vain. 

While  these  appear  before  the  Power 
with  prayers, 

Hector  to  Paris’  lofty  dome  repairs. 
Himself  the  mansion  rais’d,  from  every 
part  39° 

Assembling  architects  of  matchless  art. 
Near  Priam’s  court  and  Hector’s  palace 
stands 

The  pompous  structure,  and  the  town  com- 
mands. 

A spear  the  hero  bore  of  wondrous 
strength, 

Of  full  ten  cubits  was  the  lance’s  length; 
The  steely  point  with  golden  ringlets 
join’d, 

Before  him  brandish’d,  at  each  motion 
shined. 


Thus  ent’ring,  in  the  glitt’ring  rooms  he 
found 

His  brother-Chief,  whose  useless  arms  lay 
round. 

His  eyes  delighting  with  their  splendid 
show,  40c 

Bright’ning  the  shield,  and  polishing  the 
bow. 

Beside  him  Helen  with  her  virgins  stands, 
Guides  their  rich  labours,  and  instruct: 
their  hands. 

Him  thus  inactive,  with  an  ardent  look 
The  Prince  beheld,  and  high  resenting 
spoke: 

‘ Thy  hate  to  Troy  is  this  the  time  tc 
shew  ? 

(Oh  wretch  ill-fated,  and  thy  country’: 
foe!) 

Paris  and  Greece  against  us  both  conspire, 
Thy  close  resentment,  and  their  vengefu 
ire. 

For  thee  great  Ilion’s  guardian  heroe 
fall,  41 

Till  heaps  of  dead  alone  defend  her  wall;  ! 
For  thee  the  soldier  bleeds,  the  matroi 
mourns, 

And  wasteful  war  in  all  its  fury  burns. 
Ungrateful  man!  deserves  not  this  th; 
care, 

Our  troops  to  hearten,  and  our  toils  t 
share  ? 

Rise,  or  behold  the  conqu’ring  flames  as 
cend, 

And  all  the  Phrygian  glories  at  an  end.’ 

‘ Brother,  ’t  is  just  ’ (replied  the  beauteou 
youth), 

‘ Thy  free  remonstrance  proves  thy  wort 
and  truth: 

Yet  charge  my  absence  less,  oh  gen’rou 
Chief ! _ 4= 

On  hate  to  Troy,  than  conscious  sham 
and  grief. 

Here,  hid  from  human  eyes,  thy  brothe 
sate,  ; 

And  mourn’d  in  secret  his  and  Ilion’s  fat< 
’Tis  now  enough:  now  glory  spreads  he 
charms, 

And  beauteous  Helen  calls  her  Chief  t 
arms. 

Conquest  to-day  my  happier  sword  ma 
bless, 

’Tis  man’s  to  fight,  but  Heav’n’s  to  gn 
success. 

But  while  I arm,  contain  thy  ardent  mini 
I Or  go,  and  Paris  shall  not  lag  behind.’ 


THE  ILIAD 


329 


He  said,  nor  answer’d  Priam’s  warlike 
son ; 43  o 

When  Helen  thus  with  lowly  grace  begun: 

‘ Oh  gen’rous  brother!  if  the  guilty 
dame 

That  caus’d  these  woes  deserves  a sister’s 
name  ! 

Would  Heav’n,  ere  all  these  dreadful  deeds 
were  done, 

Hie  day  that  shew’d  me  to  the  golden  sun 
dad  seen  my  death!  Why  did  not  whirl- 
winds bear 

Hie  fatal  infant  to  the  fowls  of  air  ? 

Why  sunk  I not  beneath  the  whelming 
tide, 

Hid  midst  the  roarings  of  the  waters 
died  ? 

ieav’n  fill’d  up  all  my  ills,  and  I ac- 
curst 440 

We  all,  and  Paris  of  those  ills  the 
worst. 

lelen  at  least  a braver  spouse  might  claim, 
Warm’d  with  some  Virtue,  some  regard  of 
Fame  ! 

dow,  tired  with  toils,  thy  fainting  limbs 
recline, 

Vith  toils  sustain’d  for  Paris’  sake  and 
mine: 

die  Gods  have  link’d  our  miserable  doom, 
)nr  present  woe  and  infamy  to  come: 

Vide  shall  it  spread,  and  last  thro’  ages 
long, 

Cxample  sad!  and  theme  of  future  song.’ 

The  Chief  replied:  ‘This  Time  forbids 
to  rest:  450 

die  Trojan  bands,  by  hostile  fury  press’d, 
Demand  their  Hector,  and  his  arm  re- 
quire ; 

die  combat  urges,  and  my  soul ’s  on  fire. 
Irge  thou  thy  knight  to  march  where 
glory  calls, 

aid  timely  join  me,  ere  I leave  the  walls. 
Ira  yet  I mingle  in  the  direful  fray, 
ly  wife,  my  infant,  claim  a moment’s 

..  . stay; 

'his  day  (perhaps  the  last  that  sees  me 
here) 

demands  a parting  word,  a tender  tear: 
his  day  some  God,  who  hates  our  Trojan 
| land,  460 

lay  vanquish  Hector  by  a Grecian  hand.’ 

He  said,  and  pass’d  with  sad  presaging 
heart 

'0  seek  his  spouse,  his  soul’s  far  dearer 
part; 


At  home  he  sought  her,  but  he  sought  in 
vain : 

She,  with  one  maid  of  all  her  menial  train, 
Had  thence  retired;  and,  with  her  second 

m ^°y’ 

The  young  Astyanax,  the  hope  of  Troy, 
Pensive  she  stood  011  Ilion’s  tow’ry  height, 
Beheld  the  war,  and  sicken’d  at  the  sight; 
There  her  sad  eyes  in  vain  her  lord  ex- 
plore, 47o 

Or  weep  the  wounds  her  bleeding  country 
bore. 

But  he  who  found  not  whom  his  soul 
desired, 

Whose  virtue  charm’d  him  as  her  beauty 
fired, 

Stood  in  the  gates,  and  asked  what  way  she 
bent 

Her  parting  steps  ? If  to  the  fane  she 
went, 

Where  late  the  mourning  matrons  made 
resort; 

Or  sought  her  sisters  in  the  Trojan  court  ? 

‘ Not  to  the  court  ’ (replied  th’  attendant 
train), 

‘Nor,  mixed  with  matrons,  to  Minerva’s 
fane : 

To  Ilion’s  steepy  tower  she  bent  her 
way,  48o 

To  mark  the  fortunes  of  the  doubtful 
day. 

Troy  fled,  she  heard,  before  the  Grecian 
sword : 

She  heard,  and  trembled  for  her  distant 
lord; 

Distracted  with  surprise,  she  seemed  to 

_ fly> 

Fear  on  her  cheek,  and  sorrow  in  her  eye. 
The  nurse  attended  with  her  infant  boy, 
The  young  Astyanax,  the  hope  of  Troy.’ 

Hector,  this  heard,  return’d  without 
delay; 

Swift  thro’  the  town  he  trod  his  former 
way, 

Thro’  streets  of  palaces  and  walks  of 
state ; 4^0 

And  met  the  mourner  at  the  Scsean  gate. 
With  haste  to  meet  him  sprung  the  joyful 
fair, 

His  blameless  wife,  Eetion’s  wealthy  heir 
(Cicilian  Theb^  great  Eetion  sway’d, 

And  Hippoplacus’  wide-extended  shade) : 
The  nurse  stood  near,  in  whose  embraces 
press’d, 

His  only  hope  hung  smiling  at  her  breast, 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


33° 


Whom  each  soft  charm  and  early  grace 
adorn, 

Fair  as  the  new-born  star  that  gilds  the 
morn. 

To  this  lov’d  infant  Hector  gave  the 
name  500 

Scamandrius,  from  Scamander’s  honour’d 
stream : 

Astyanax  the  Trojans  call’d  the  boy, 

From  his  great  father,  the  defence  of 
Troy. 

Silent  the  warrior  smil’d,  and,  pleas’d,  re- 
sign’d 

To  tender  passions  all  his  mighty  mind: 

His  beauteous  Princess  cast  a mournful 
look, 

Hung  on  his  hand,  and  then  dejected 
spoke; 

Her  bosom  labour’d  with  a boding  sigh, 
And  the  big  tear  stood  trembling  in  her  eye. 

‘Too  daring  Prince!  ah,  whither  dost 
thou  run  ? 510 

Ah  too  forgetful  of  thy  wife  and  son! 

And  think’st  thou  not  how  wretched  we 
shall  be, 

A widow  I,  a helpless  orphan  he  ! 

For  sure  such  courage  length  of  life  de- 
nies, 

And  thou  must  fall,  thy  virtue’s  sacrifice. 
Greece  in  her  single  heroes  strove  in  vain; 
Now  hosts  oppose  thee,  and  thou  must  be 
slain  ! 

Oh  grant  me,  Gods!  ere  Hector  meets  his 
doom, 

All  I can  ask  of  Heav’n,  an  early  tomb  ! 

So  shall  my  days  in  one  sad  tenor  run,  520 
And  end  with  sorrows  as  they  first  begun. 
No  parent  now  remains,  my  griefs  to 
share, 

No  father’s  aid,  no  mother’s  tender  care. 
The  fierce  Achilles  wrapt  our  walls  in  fire, 
Laid  Thebd  waste,  and  slew  my  warlike 
sire  ! 

His  fate  compassion  in  the  victor  bred; 
Stern  as  he  was,  he  yet  revered  the  dead, 
His  radiant  arms  preserv’d  from  hostile 
spoil, 

And  laid  him  decent  on  the  funeral  pile; 
Then  raised  a mountain  where  his  bones 
were  burn’d;  530 

The  mountain  nymphs  the  rural  tomb 
adorn’d; 

Jove’s  sylvan  daughters  bade  their  elms 
bestow 

A barren  shade,  and  in  his  honour  grow. 


‘ By  the  same  arm  my  sev’n  brave  bro' 
thers  fell; 

In  one  sad  day  beheld  the  gates  of  Hell; 
While  the  fat  herds  and  snowy  flocks  they 
fed, 

Amid  their  fields  the  hapless  heroes  bled! 
My  mother  lived  to  bear  the  victor’s  bands, 
The  Queen  of  Hippoplacia’s  sylvan  lands: 
Redeem’d  too  late,  she  scarce  beheld 
again  • 540 

Her  pleasing  empire  and  her  native  plain, 
When,  ah!  oppress’d  by  life-consumingj 
woe, 

She  fell  a victim  to  Diana’s  bow. 

‘ Yet  while  my  Hector  still  survives,  I see 
My  father,  mother,  brethren,  all,  in  thee. 
Alas!  my  parents,  brothers,  kindred,  all, 
Once  more  will  perish  if  my  Hector  fall. 
Thy  wife,  thy  infant,  in  thy  danger  share; 
Oh  prove  a husband’s  and  a father’s  care!  | 
That  quarter  most  the  skilful  Greeks 
annoy,  55c 

Where  yon  wild  fig-trees  join  the  wall  ol 
Troy: 

Thou,  from  this  tower  defend  th’  importanl 
post; 

There  Agamemnon  points  his  dreadful 
host, 

That  pass  Tydides,  Ajax,  strive  to  gain, 
And  there  the  vengeful  Spartan  fires  his 
train. 

Thrice  our  bold  foes  the  fierce  attack  have 
giv’11, 

Or  led  by  hopes,  or  dictated  from  Heav’n. 
Let  others  in  the  field  their  arms  employ, 
But  stay  my  Hector  here,  and  guard  hi; 
Troy.’ 

The  Chief  replied:  ‘That  post  shall  b< 
my  care,  56. 

Nor  that  alone,  but  all  the  works  of  war. 
How  would  the  sons  of  Troy,  in  arms  re 
nown’d, 

And  Troy’s  proud  dames,  whose  garment 
sweep  the  ground, 

Attaint  the  lustre  of  my  former  name, 
Should  Hector  basely  quit  the  field  o 
fame  ? 

My  early  youth  was  bred  to  martial  pains, 
My  soul  impels  me  to  th’  embattled  plains 
Let  me  be  foremost  to  defend  the  throne, 
And  guard  my  father’s  glories,  and  my  own 
Yet  come  it  will,  the  day  decreed  b; 

Fates  57 

(How  my  heart  trembles  while  my  tongu 
relates) ! 


THE  ILIAD 


33i 


The  day  when  thou,  imperial  Troyl  must 
bend, 

And  see  thy  warriors  fall,  thy  glories  end. 
And  yet  no  dire  presage  so  wounds  my 
mind, 

My  mother’s  death,  the  ruin  of  my  kind, 
Not  Priam’s  hoary  hairs  defiled  with  gore, 
Not  all  my  brothers  gasping  on  the  shore; 
As  thine,  Andromache!  thy  griefs  I dread; 
I see  thee  trembling,  weeping,  captive  led! 
In  Argive  looms  our  battles  to  design,  580 
And  woes  of  which  so  large  a part  was 
thine! 

To  bear  the  victor’s  hard  commands,  or 
bring 

The  weight  of  waters  from  Hyperia’s 
spring. 

There,  while  you  groan  beneath  the  load  of 
life, 

They  cry,  Behold  the  mighty  Hector’s 
wife! 

Some  haughty  Greek,  who  lives  thy  tears 
to  see, 

Embitters  all  thy  woes  by  naming  me. 

The  thoughts  of  glory  past,  and  present 
shame, 

A thousand  griefs,  shall  waken  at  the 
name! 

May  I lie  cold  before  that  dreadful  day,  590 
Press’d  with  a load  cf  monumental  clay! 

Thy  Hector,  wrapp’d  in  everlasting  sleep, 
Shall  neither  hear  thee  sigh,  nor  see  thee 
weep.’ 

Thus  having  spoke,  th’  illustrious  Chief 
of  Troy 

Stretch’d  his  fond  arms  to  clasp  the  lovely 
boy. 

The  babe  clung  crying  to  his  nurse’s  breast, 
Scared  at  the  dazzling  helm,  and  nodding 
crest. 

With  secret  pleasure  each  fond  parent 
smil’d, 

And  Hector  hasted  to  relieve  his  child; 

The  glitt’ring  terrors  from  his  brows’  un- 
bound, 6oo 

And  placed  the  beaming  helmet  on  the 
ground. 

Then  kiss’d  the  child,  and,  lifting  high  in 
air, 

Thus  to  the  Gods  preferr’d  a father’s 
prayer: 

f thou-f  whose  glory  fills  th’  ethereal 
throne, 

tnd  all  ye  deathless  Powers!  protect  my 
son! 


Grant  him,  like  me,  to  purchase  just  re- 
nown, 

To  guard  the  Trojans,  to  defend  the  crown, 
Against  his  country’s  foes  the  war  to 
wage, 

And  rise  the  Hector  of  the  future  age  ! 609 
So  when,  triumphant  from  successful  toils 
Of  heroes  slain  he  bears  the  reeking  spoils, 
Whole  hosts  may  hail  him  with  deserv’d 
acclaim, 

And  say,  This  Chief  transcends  his  father’s 
fame : 

While  pleas  d,  amidst  the  gen’ral  shouts  of 

XT-  TTOy’ 

His  mother’s  conscious  heart  o’erflows  with 

j°y-’ 

He  spoke,  and  fondly  gazing  on  her 
charms, 

Restor’d  the  pleasing  burden  to  her  arms; 
boft  on  her  fragrant  breast  the  babe  she 
laid, 

Hush  d to  repose,  and  with  a smile  sur- 
vey’d. 

The  troubled  pleasure  soon  chastised  by 
fear,  62<J 

She  mingled  with  the  smile  a tender  tear. 
The  soften  d Chief  with  kind  compassion 
view’d, 

And  dried  the  falling  drops,  and  thus  pur- 
sued: 

‘Andromache!  my  soul’s  far  better  part, 
Why  with  untimely  sorrows  heaves  thv 
heart  ? J 

No  hostile  hand  can  antedate  my  doom, 

Till  Fate  condemns  me  to  the  silent  tomb. 
Fix’d  is  the  term  to  all  the  race  of  earth, 

And  such  the  hard  condition  of  our  birth. 

No  force  can  then  resist,  110  flight  can  save; 
All  sink  alike,  the  fearful  and  the  brave. 

No  more— but  hasten  to  thy  tasks  at 
home,  6j2 

There  guide  the  spindle,  and  direct  the 
loom: 

Me  glory  summons  to  the  martial  scene, 

The  field  of  combat  is  the  sphere  for 
men. 

Where  heroes  war,  the  foremost  place  I 
claim, 

The  first  in  danger  as  the  first  in  fame.’ 

Thus  having  said,  the  glorious  Chief  re- 
sumes 

His  tow’ry  helmet,  black  with  shading 
plumes. 

His  Princess  parts  with  a prophetic  sigh,  64« 
Unwilling  parts,  and  oft  reverts  her  eye, 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


332 

That  stream’d  at  ev’ry  look:  then,  moving 
slow, 

Sought  her  own  palace,  and  indulged  her 
woe. 

There,  while  her  tears  deplor’d  the  god- 
like man, 

Thro’  all  her  train  the  soft  infection  ran ; 
The  pious  maids  their  mingled  sorrows 
shed, 

And  mourn  the  living  Hector  as  the  dead. 

But  now,  no  longer  deaf  to  honour’s  call, 
Forth  issues  Paris  from  the  palace  wall. 

In  brazen  arms  that  cast  a gleainy  ray,  650 
Swift  thro’  the  town  the  warrior  bends  his 
way. 

The  wanton  courser  thus,  with  reins  un- 
bound, 

Breaks  from  his  stall,  and  beats  the  trem- 
bling ground; 

Pamper’d  and  proud  he  seeks  the  wonted 
tides, 

And  laves,  in  height  of  blood,  his  shining 
sides: 

His  head  now  freed  be  tosses  to  the  skies; 
His  mane  dishevell’d  o’er  his  shoulders 
flies; 

He  snuffs  the  females  in  the  distant  plain, 
And  springs,  exulting,  to  his  fields  again. 
With  equal  triumph,  sprightly,  bold,  and 
gay,  660 

In  arms  refulgent  as  the  God  of  Day, 

The  son  of  Priam,  glorying  in  his  might, 
Rush’d  forth  with  Hector  to  the  fields  of 
fight. 

And  now  the  warriors  passing  on  the 
ways 

The  graceful  Paris  first  excused  his  stay. 
To  whom  the  noble  Hector  thus  replied: 

<0  Chief!  in  blood,  and  now  in  arms,  al- 
lied! 

Thy  power  in  war  with  justice  none  con- 
test; 

Known  is  thy  courage,  and  thy  strength 
confess’d. 

What  pity,  sloth  should  seize  a soul  so 
brave,  670 

Or  godlike  Paris  live  a woman’s  slave! 

My  heart  weeps  blood  at  what  the  Trojans 
say, 

And  hopes  thy  deeds  shall  wipe  the  stain 
away. 

Haste  then,  in  all  their  glorious  labours 
share ; 

For  much  they  suffer,  for  thy  sake,  in 

war. 


These  ills  shall  cease,  whene’er  by  Jove’s 
decree 

We  crown  the  bowl  to  Heav’n  and  Liberty: 

While  the  proud  foe  his  frustrate  triumphs 
mourns, 

And  Greece  indignant  thro’  her  seas  re- 
turns.’ 


BOOK  VII 

THE  SINGLE  COMBAT  OF  HECTOR  AND  AJAX 
THE  ARGUMENT 

The  battle  renewing  with  double  ardour  upon 
the  return  of  Hector,  Minerva  is  under  ap- 
prehensions for  the  Greeks.  Apollo,  seeing 
her  descend  from  Olympus,  joins  her  near 
the  Scasan  gate.  They  agree  to  put  off  the 
general  engagement  for  that  day.  and  incite 
Hector  to  challenge  the  Greeks  to  a single 
combat.  Nine  of  the  Princes  accepting  the 
challenge,  the  lot  is  cast,  and  falls  upon 
Ajax.  These  heroes,  after  several  attacks, 
are  parted  by  the  night.  The  Trojans  call- 
ing a council,  Antenor  proposes  the  delivery 
of  Helen  to  the  Greeks,  to  which  Paris  wil 
not  consent,  but  offers  to  restore  them  hei 
riches.  Priam  sends  a herald  to  make  this 
offer,  and  to  demand  a truce  for  burning  th( 
dead,  the  last  of  which  only  is  agreed  to  by 
Agamemnon.  When  the  funerals  are  per 
formed,  the  Greeks,  pursuant  to  the  advic< 
of  Nestor,  erect  a fortification  to  protect  theii 
fleet  and  camp,  flanked  with  towers,  and  de 
fended  by  a ditch  and  palisades.  Neptuiu 
testifies  his  jealousy  at  this  work,  but  ii 
pacified  by  a promise  from  Jupiter.  Botl 
armies  pass  the  night  in  feasting,  but  Jupii 
ter  disheartens  the  Trojans  with  thunder  an< 
other  signs  of  his  wrath. 

The  three-and-twentieth  day  ends  with  tin 
duel  of  Hector  and  Ajax ; the  next  day  th 
truce  is  agreed : another  is  taken  up  in  th 
funeral  rites  of  the  slain ; and  one  more  ii 
building  the  fortification  before  the  ships 
so  that  somewhat  above  three  days  is  era 
ployed  in  this  book.  The  scene  lies  wholl 
in  the  field. 

So  spoke  the  guardian  of  the  Trojan  statf 

Then  rush’d  impetuous  thro’  the  Scsea: 
gate. 

Him  Paris  follow’d  to  the  dire  alarms ; 

Both  breathing  slaughter,  both  resolv’d  i 
arms. 

As  when  to  sailors  lab’ring  thro’  the  main 
That  long  had  heav’d  the  weary  oar  in  vail 


THE  ILIAD 


333 


Dve  bids  at  length  tlT  expected  gales  arise; 
he  gales  blow  grateful,  and  the  vessel  dies: 
a welcome  these  to  Troy’s  desiring  train: 
he  bands  are  cheer’d,  the  war  awakes 
again.  JO 

Bold  Paris  first  the  work  of  death  begun 
in  great  Menestheus,  Areithous’  son; 
orung  from  the  fair  Philomeda’s  embrace, 
he  pleasing  Arne  was  his  native  place, 
hen  sunk  Eioneus  to  the  shades  below; 
jeneath  his  steely  casque  he  felt  the  blow 
all  on  his  neck,  from  Hector’s  weighty 
hand; 

nd  roll’d,  with  limbs  relax’d,  along  the 
land. 

y Glaucus’  spear  the  bold  Iphinous  bleeds, 
ix’d  in  the  shoulder  as  he  mounts  his 
steeds;  2o 

eadlong  he  tumbles:  his  slack  nerves  un- 
bound 

rop  the  cold  useless  members  on  the 
ground. 

When  now  Minerva  saw  her  Argives 
slain, 

•oin  vast  Olympus  to  the  gleaming  plain 
erce  she  descends:  Apollo  mark’d  her 
flight, 

or  shot  less  swift  from  Ilion’s  tow’ry 
height: 

idiant  they  met,  beneath  the  beechen 
shade; 

'hen  thus  Apollo  to  the  Blue-eyed  Maid: 

‘ What  cause,  O daughter  of  almighty 
Jove  ! 

ius  wings  thy  progress  from  the  realms 
above  ? 30 

ice  more  impetuous  dost  thou  bend  thv 
way, 

) give  to  Greece  the  long-divided  day  ? 

>o  much  has  Troy  already  felt  thy  hate, 
m breathe  thy  rage,  and  hush  the  stern 
debate: 

•is  day  the  bus’ness  of  the  field  suspend ; 
ar  soon  shall  kindle,  and  great  Ilion  bend ; 
[ice  vengeful  Goddesses  confederate  join 
I raze  her  walls,  tho’  built  by  hands  di- 
vine.’ 

To  whom  the  progeny  of  Jove  replies: 

1 left  for  this  the  council  of  the  skies:  40 
t who  shall  bid  conflicting  hosts  forbear, 
hat  art  shall  calm  the  furious  sons  of 
war  ? ’ 

To  her  the  God : ‘ Great  Hector’s  soul 
> incite 

dare  the  boldest  Greek  to  single  fight, 


Till  Greece,  provoked,  from  all  her  num- 
bers shew 

A warrior  worthy  to  be  Hector’s  foe.’ 

At  this  agreed,  the  heav’nly  Powers 
withdrew; 

Sage  Helenus  their  secret  counsels  knew: 
Hector  inspired  he  sought:  to  him  ad- 
dress’d, 

Thus  told  the  dictates  of  his  sacred  breast: 
‘ O son  of  Priam  ! let  thy  faithful  ear  51 
Receive  my  words;  thy  friend  and  brother 
hear! 

Go  forth  persuasive,  and  awhile  engage 
The  warring  nations  to  suspend  their  rage; 
Then  dare  the  boldest  of  the  hostile  train 
To  mortal  combat  on  the  listed  plain, 

For  not  this  day  shall  end  thy  glorious 
date; 

The  Gods  have  spoke  it,  and  their  voice  is 
Fate.’ 

He  said:  the  warrior  heard  the  word 
with  joy; 

Then  with  his  spear  restrain’d  the  youth  of 
Troy,  60 

Held  by  the  midst  athwart.  O11  either 
hand 

The  squadrons  part;  th’  expecting  Trojans 
stand. 

Great  Agamemnon  bids  the  Greeks  for- 
bear; 

They  breathe,  and  hush  the  tumult  of  the 
war. 

Th’  Athenian  Maid,  and  glorious  God  of 
Day, 

With  silent  joy  the  settling  hosts  survey: 

In  form  of  vultures,  on  the  beech’s  height 
They  sit  conceal’d,  and  wait  the  future 
fight. 

The  thronging  troops  obscure  the  dusky 
. fields, 

Horrid  with  bristling  spears,  and  gleaming 
shields.  70 

As  when  a gen’ral  darkness  veils  the  main 
(Soft  Zephyr  curling  the  wide  wat’ry 
plain), 

The  waves  scarce  heave,  the  face  of  ocean 
sleeps, 

And  a still  horror  saddens  all  the  deeps: 
Thus  in  thick  orders  settling  wide  around, 
At  length  composed  they  sit,  and  shade  the 
ground. 

Great  Hector  first  amidst  both  armies 
broke 

The  solemn  silence,  and  their  powers  be- 
spoke: 


334 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


‘ Hear  all  ye  Trojan,  all  ye  Grecian 
bands, 

What  my  soul  prompts,  and  what  some 
God  commands.  80 

Great  Jove,  averse  our  warfare  to  compose, 
O’er  whelms  the  nations  with  new  toils  and 
woes; 

War  with  a fiercer  tide  once  more  returns, 
Till  Ilion  falls,  or  till  yon  navy  burns. 

You  then,  O Princes  of  the  Greeks!  ap- 
pear; 

’T  is  Hector  speaks,  and  calls  the  Gods  to 
hear: 

From  all  your  troops  select  the  boldest 
knight, 

And  him,  the  boldest,  Hector  dares  to 
fight. 

Here  if  I fall,  by  chance  of  battle  slain, 

Be  his  my  spoil,  and  his  these  arms  re- 
main ; 9o 

But  let  my  body,  to  my  friends  return’d, 
By  Trojan  hands,  and  Trojan  flames  be 
burn’d. 

And  if  Apollo,  in  whose  aid  I trust, 

Shall  stretch  your  daring  champion  in  the 
dust; 

If  mine  the  glory  to  despoil  the  foe, 

On  Phoebus’  temple  I ’ll  his  arms  bestow; 
The  breathless  carcass  to  your  navy  sent, 
Greece  on  the  shore  shall  raise  a monu- 
ment; 

Which  when  some  future  mariner  surveys, 
Wash’d  by  broad  Hellespont’s  resounding 
seas,  100 

Thus  shall  he  say,  A valiant  Greek  lies 
there, 

By  Hector  slain,  the  mighty  man  of  war. 
The  stone  shall  tell  your  vanquish’d  hero’s 
name, 

And  distant  ages  learn  the  victor’s  fame.’ 

This  fierce  defiance  Greece  astonish’d 
heard, 

Blush’d  to  refuse,  and  to  accept  it  fear’d. 
Stern  Menelaus  first  the  silence  broke, 

And,  inly  groaning,  thus  opprobrious  spoke: 

‘ Women  of  Greece!  Oh  scandal  of  your 
race, 

Whose  coward  souls  your  manly  forms  dis- 
grace, no 

How  great  the  shame,  when  ev’ry  age  shall 
know 

That  not  a Grecian  met  this  noble  foe  ! 

Go  then,  resolve  to  earth  from  whence  ye 
grew, 

A heartless,  spiritless,  inglorious  crew  ! 


Be  what  ye  seem,  unanimated  clay! 
Myself  will  dare  the  danger  of  the  day. 

’T  is  man’s  bold  task  the  gen’rous  strife  t 
try, 

But  in  the  hands  of  God  is  victory.’ 

These  words  scarce  spoke,  with  gen’rod 
ardour  press’d, 

His  manly  limbs  in  azure  arms  he  dress’d! 
That  day,  Atrides!  a superior  hand  1: 
Had  stretch’d  thee  breathless  on  the  hostil 
strand ; 

But  all  at  once,  thy  fury  to  compose, 

The  Kings  of  Greece,  an  awful  band,  arose 
Ev’n  he  their  Chief,  great  Agamemnoi 
press’d 

Thy  daring  hand,  and  this  advice  ac 
dress’d: 

‘ Whither,  O Menelaus!  wouldst  thou  run 
And  tempt  a fate  which  prudence  bids  the 
shun  ? 

Griev’d  tho’  thou  art,  forbear  the  rash  d( 
sign; 

Great  Hector’s  arm  is  mightier  far  tha 
thine.  1; 

Ev’n  fierce  Achilles  learn’d  its  force  t 
fear, 

And  trembling  met  this  dreadful  son  c 
war. 

Sit  thou  secure  amidst  thy  social  band; 
Greece  in  our  cause  shall  arm  some  powei 
ful  hand. 

The  mightiest  warrior  of  th’  Achaian  nanv 
Tho’  bold,  and  burning  with  desire  < 
Fame, 

Content,  the  doubtful  honour  might  foregt 
So  great  the  danger,  and  so  brave  th 
foe.’ 

He  said,  and  turn’d  his  brother’s  veng< 
ful  mind; 

He  stoop’d  to  reason,  and  his  rage  resign’c 
No  longer  bent  to  rush  on  certain  harms:  1. 
His  joyful  friends  unbrace  his  azure  arms 

He,  from  whose  lips  divine  persuasid 
flows, 

Grave  Nestor  then,  in  graceful  act  arose. 
Thus  to  the  Kings  he  spoke:  ‘What  grie 
what  shame, 

Attend  on  Greece,  and  all  the  Grecia 
name ! 

How  shall,  alas!  her  hoary  heroes  mourn 
Their  sons  degen’rate,  and  their  race 
scorn; 

What  tears  shall  down  thy  silver  beard  l 
roll’d, 

Oh  Peleus,  old  in  arms,  in  wisdom  old!  iJ 


THE  ILIAD 


335 


Once  with  what  joy  the  gen’rous  Prince 
would  hear 

Of  ev’ry  Chief,  who  fought  this  glorious 
war, 

Participate  their  fame,  and  pleas’d  inquire 
Each  name,  each  action,  and  each  hero’s 
sire  ! 

Gods!  should  he  see  our  warriors  trembling 
stand, 

And  trembling  all  before  one  hostile  hand; 
How  would  he  lift  his  aged  arms  on  high, 
Lament  inglorious  Greece,  and  beg  to  die! 
Jh!  would  to  all  th’  immortal  Powers 
above, 

Minerva,  Plicebus,  and  almighty  Jove!  160 
Fears  might  again  roll  back,  my  youth  re- 
new, 

ind  give  this  arm  the  spring  which  once  it 
knew: 

iVhen,  tierce  in  war,  where  Jardan’s  waters 
fall 

led  my  troops  to  Phea’s  trembling  wall, 
^.nd  with  th’  Arcadian  spears  my  prowess 
tried, 

Vhere  Celadon  rolls  down  his  rapid  tide, 
[’here  Ereuthalion  braved  us  in  the  field, 
h*oud  Areithous’  dreadful  arms  to  wield; 
rreat  Areithous,  known  from  shore  to  shore 
!y  the  huge, knotted,  iron  mace  he  bore;  170 

10  lance  he  shook,  nor  bent  the  twanging 

bow, 

Jut  broke,  with  this,  the  battle  of  the  foe. 
lim  not  by  manly  force  Lycurgus  slew, 
Fhose  guileful  jav’lin  from  the  thicket 
flew, 

Jeep  in  a winding  way  his  breast  assail’d, 
i or  aught  the  warrior’s  thund’ring  mace 
avail’d: 

upine  he  fell:  those  arms  which  Mars  be- 
fore 

-ad  giv’n  the  vanquish’d,  now  the  victor 
bore : 

ut  when  old  age  had  dimm’d  Lycurgus’ 
eyes,  _ 

0 Ereuthalion  he  consign’d  the  prize.  180 
furious  with  this,  he  crush’d  our  levell’d 

bands, 

nd  dared  the  trial  of  the  strongest  hands; 
or  could  the  strongest  hands  his  furv 

1 stay ; 

11  saw,  and  fear’d,  his  huge  tempestuous 

sway; 

11 1,  the  youngest  of  the  host,  appear’d, 
ad,  youngest,  met  whom  all  our  army 
fear’d, 


I fought  the  Chief;  my  arms  Minerva 
crown’d: 

Prone  fell  the  giant  o’er  a length  of 
ground. 

What  then  he  was,  oh  were  your  Nestor 
now  ! 

Not  Hector’s  self  should  want  an  equal  foe. 
But,  warriors,  you  that  youthful  vigour 
boast,  IgI 

The  flower  of  Greece,  th’  examples  of  our 
host, 

Sprung  from  such  fathers,  who  such 
numbers  sway, 

Can  you  stand  trembling,  and  desert  the 
day  ? ’ 

His  warm  reproofs  the  list’ning  Kings 
inflame; 

And  nine,  the  noblest  of  the  Grecian  name, 
Upstarted  fierce:  but  far  before  the  rest 
The  King  of  men  advanc’d  his  dauntless 
breast; 

Then  bold  Tydides,  great  in  arms,  appear’d; 
And  next  his  bulk  gigantic  Ajax  rear’d.  200 
Oileus  follow’d:  Idoinen  was  there, 

And  Merion,  dreadful  as  the  God  of  War: 
With  these  Eurypylus  and  Thoas  stand, 

And  wise  Ulysses  closed  the  daring  band. 
All  these,  alike  inspired  with  noble  rage, 
Demand  the  fight.  To  whom  the  Pylian 


‘Lest  thirst  of  glory  your  brave  souls 
divide, 

What  Chief  shall  combat,  let  the  lots  de-> 
cide. 

Whom  Heav’n  shall  choose,  be  his  the 
chance  to  raise 

His  country’s  fame,  his  own  immortal 
praise.’  2IO 

The  lots  produced,  each  hero  signs  his 
own; 

Then  in  the  Gen’ral’s  helm  the  fates  are 
thrown. 

The  people  pray  with  lifted  eyes  and  hands, 

And  vows  like  these  ascend  from  all  the 
bands: 


‘ Grant  thou,  Almighty ! in  whose  hand  is 
fate, 

A worthy  champion  for  the  Grecian  state. 
This  task  let  Ajax  or  Tydides  prove, 

Or  he,  the  King  of  Kings,  belov’d  by 
Jove.’ 


Old  Nestor  shook  the  casque.  By 
Heav’n  inspired, 

Leap’d  forth  the  lot,  of  ev’ry  Greek  de- 
sired. a20 


33® 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


This  from  the  right  to  left  the  herald 

bears, 

Held  out  in  order  to  the  Grecian  peers; 
Each  to  his  rival  yields  the  mark  unknown, 
Till  godlike  Ajax  finds  the  lot  his  own; 
Surveys  th’  inscription  with  rejoicing  eyes, 
Then  casts  before  him,  and  with  transport 
cries: 

‘ Warriors!  I claim  the  lot,  and  arm  with 
jov; 

Be  mine  the  conquest  of  this  Chief  of  Troy. 
Now,  while  my  brightest  arms  my  limbs 
invest, 

To  Saturn’s  son  be  all  your  vows  ad- 
dress’d: 230 

But  pray  in  secret,  lest  the  foes  should 
hear, 

And  deem  your  prayers  the  mean  effect  of 
fear. 

Said  I in  secret  ? No,  your  vows  declare, 
In  such  a voice  as  fills  the  earth  and  air. 
Lives  there  a Chief,  whom  Ajax  ought  to 
dread, 

Ajax,  in  all  the  toils  of  battle  bred  ? 

From  warlike  Salamis  I drew  my  birth, 
And,  born  to  combats,  fear  no  force  of 
earth.’ 

He  said.  The  troops  with  elevated  eyes, 
Implore  the  God  whose  thunder  rends  the 
skies : 240 

‘O  Father  of  Mankind,  superior  Lord! 

On  lofty  Ida’s  holy  hill  ador’d; 

Who  in  the  highest  Heav’11  hast  fix’d  thy 
throne, 

Supreme  of  Gods!  unbounded,  and  alone: 
Grant  thou,  that  Telamon  may  bear  away 
The  praise  and  conquest  of  this  doubtful 
day; . 

Or  if  illustrious  Hector  be  thy  care, 

That  both  may  claim  it,  and  that  both  may 
share.’ 

Now  Ajax  braced  his  dazzling  armour 
011; 

Sheathed  in  bright  steel  the  giant  warrior 
shone:  250 

He  moves  to  combat  with  majestic  pace; 

So  stalks  in  arms  the  grisly  God  of  Thrace, 
When  Jove  to  punish  faithless  men  pre- 
pares, 

And  gives  whole  nations  to  the  waste  of 
wars. 

Thus  march’d  the  Chief,  tremendous  as  a 
God; 

Grimly  he  smil’d:  earth  trembled  as  he 
strode: 


His  massy  jav’lin  quiv’ring  in  his  hand, 
He  stood,  the  bulwark  of  the  Grecian  bam 
Thro’  every  Argive  heart  new  transpoj 
ran; 

All  Troy  stood  trembling  at  the  might 
man.  2< 

Ev’n  Hector  paus’d;  and,  with  new  doul 
oppress’d, 

Felt  his  great  heart  suspended  in  his  breas 
’T  was  vain  to  seek  retreat,  and  vain  t 
fear; 

Himself  had  challenged,  and  the  foe  dre1 
near. 

Stern  Telamon  behind  his  ample  shield, 
As  from  a brazen  tower,  o’erlook’d  th 
field. 

Huge  was  its  orb,  with  seven  thick  folc 
o’ercast 

Of  tough  bull-hides;  of  solid  brass  the  las 
(The  work  of  Tychius,  who  in  Hyle  dwell’i 
And  all  in  arts  of  armoury  excell’d).  2 
This  Ajax  bore  before  his  manly  breast, 
And,  threat’ning,  thus  his  adverse  Chi( 
address’d: 

‘Hector!  approach  my  arm,  and  sing] 
know 

What  strength  thou  hast,  and  what  tl 
Grecian  foe. 

Achilles  shuns  the  fight;  yet  some  the] 
are 

Not  void  of  soul,  and  not  unskill’d  in  wai 
Let  him,  inactive  on  the  sea-beat  shore, 
Indulge  his  wrath,  and  aid  our  arms  1 
more ; 

Whole  troops  of  heroes  Greece  has  yet 
boast,  2 

And  sends  thee  one,  a sample  of  her  host 
Such  as  I am,  I come  to  prove  thy  might 
No  more  — be  sudden,  and  begin  the  figh 

‘ O son  of  Telamon,  thy  country’s  pride 
(To  Ajax  thus  the  Trojan  Prince  replied 
‘ Me,  as  a boy  or  woman,  would’st  th* 
fright, 

New  to  the  field,  and  trembling  at  t 
fight  ? 

Thou  meet’st  a Chief  deserving  of  t 
arms, 

To  combat  born,  and  bred  amidst  alarms 
I know  to  shift  my  ground,  remount  the  c 
Turn,  charge,  and  answer  every  call 
war: 

To  right,  to  left,  the  dext’rous  lance 
wield, 

And  bear  thick  battle  on  my  soundi 
shield. 


THE  ILIAD 


337 


But  open  be  our  fight,  and  bold  each  blow; 
[ steal  no  conquest  from  a noble  foe.’ 

He  said,  and,  rising  high  above  the  field, 
Whirl’d  the  long  lance  against  the  sev’n- 
fold  shield. 

?ull  on  the  brass  descending  from  above 
Thro’  six  bull-hides  the  furious  weapon 
drove, 

Ell  in  the  sev’nth  it  fix’d.  Then  Ajax 
threw; 

Thro’  Hector’s  shield  the  forceful  jav’lin 
flew;  3oo 

lis  corslet  enters,  and  his  garment  rends, 
ind  glancing  downwards,  near  his  flank 
descends. 

fhe  wary  Trojan  shrinks,  and,  bending 
low 

leneath  his  buckler,  disappoints  the  blow, 
rom  their  bored  shields  the  Chiefs  their 
jav’lins  drew, 

’hen  close  impetuous,  and  the  charere  re- 
new: 

'ierce  as  the  mountain  lions  bathed  in 
blood, 

»r  foaming  boars,  the  terror  of  the  wood. 

.t  Ajax,  Hector  his  long  lance  extends; 

'he  blunted  point  against  the  buckler 
bends.  3lo 

ut  Ajax,  watchful  as  his  foe  drew  near, 
•rove  thro’  the  Trojan  targe  the  knotty 
spear; 

; reach’d  his  neck,  with  matchless  strength 
impell’d ; 

pouts  the  black  gore,  and  dims  the  shining 
shield. 

et  ceas’d  not  Hector  thus;  but,  stooping 
down, 

1 his  strong  hand  upheav’d  a flinty  stone, 
lack,  craggy,  vast:  to  this  his  force  he 
bends; 

ill  on  the  brazen  boss  the  stone  descends; 
he  hollow  brass  resounded  with  the 
shock. 

aen  Ajax  seiz’d  the  fragment  of  a rock, 
jpplied  each  nerve,  and,  swinging  round 
011  hi&h>  321 

ith  force  tempestuous  let  the  ruin  fly: 
le  huge  stone  thund’ring  thro’  his  buckler 
I broke ; 

is  slacken’d  knees  receiv’d  the  numbing 
( stroke ; 

•eat  Hector  falls  extended  on  the  field, 
rs  bulk  supporting  on  the  shatter’d  shield: 

>r  wanted  heav’nly  aid:  Apollo’s  might 
•nfirm’d  his  sinews,  and  restored  to  fight. 


And  now  both  heroes  their  broad  falchions 
drew; 

In  flaming  circles  round  their  heads  they 
flew;  330 

But  then  by  heralds’  voice  the  word  was 
giv’n, 

The  sacred  Ministers  of  earth  and  Heav’n: 
Divine  Talthybius  whom  the  Greeks  eim 
ploy, 

And  sage  Idseus  on  the  part  of  Troy, 
Between  the  swords  their  peaceful  sceptres 
rear’d; 

And  first  Idseus’  awful  voice  was  heard: 

‘Forbear,  my  sons!  your  farther  force 
to  prove, 

Both  dear  to  men,  and  both  belov’d  oi 
Jove. 

To  either  host  your  matchless  worth  is 
known, 

Each  sounds  your  praise,  and  war  is  all 
your  own.  34Q 

But  now  the  Night  extends  her  awful  shade: 
The  Goddess  parts  you:  be  the  night 
obey’d.’ 

To  whom  great  Ajax  his  high  soul  ex- 
press’d: 

‘O  sage!  to  Hector  be  these  words  ad- 
dress’d. 

Let  him,  who  first  provoked  our  Chiefs  to 
fight, 

Let  him  demand  the  sanction  of  the  night; 
If  first  he  ask  it,  I content  obey, 

And  cease  the  strife  when  Hector  shews 
the  way.’ 

‘ O first  of  Greeks  ’ (his  noble  foe  re- " 
join’d), 

‘ Whom  Heav’n  adorns,  superior  to  thv 
kind,  3/o 

With  strength  of  body,  and  with  worth 
of  mind  ! 

Now  martial  law  commands  us  to  forbear; 
Hereafter  we  shall  meet  in  glorious  war; 
Some  future  day  shall  lengthen  out  the 
strife, 

And  let  the  Gods  decide  of  death  or  life! 
Since  then  the  Night  extends  her  gloomy 
shade, 

And  Heav’n  enjoins  it,  be  the  night  obey’d. 
Return,  brave  Ajax,  to  thy  Grecian  friends, 
And  joy  the  nations  whom  thy  arm  de- 
fends ; 

As  I shall  glad  each  Chief,  and  Trojan 
wife,  360 

Who  wearies  Heav’n  with  vows  for  Hec^ 
tor’s  life. 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


338 


But  let  us,  on  this  memorable  day, 
Exchange  some  gift;  that  Greece  and 
Troy  may  say, 

“Not  hate,  but  glory,  made  these  Chiefs 
contend; 

And  each  brave  foe  was  in  his  soul  a 
friend.”  ’ 

With  that,  a sword  with  stars  of  silver 
graced, 

The  baldrick  studded,  and  the  sheath  en- 
chased, 

He  gave  the  Greek.  The  gen’rous  Greek 
bestow’d 

A radiant  belt  that  rich  with  purple  glow’d. 
Then  with  majestic  grace  they  quit  the 
plain ; 37° 

This  seeks  the  Grecian,  that  the  Phrygian 
train. 

The  Trojan  bands  returning  Hector  wait, 
And  hail  with  joy  the  champion  of  their 
state : 

Escaped  great  Ajax,  they  survey’d  him 
round, 

Alive,  unharm’d,  and  vig’rous  from  his 
wound. 

To  Troy’s  high  gates  the  godlike  man  they 
bear, 

Their  present  triumph,  as  their  late  de- 
spair. 

But  Ajax,  glorying  in  his  hardy  deed, 
The  well-arm’d  Greeks  to  Agamemnon 
lead. 

A steer  for  sacrifice  the  King  design’d,  380 
Of  full  five  years,  and  of  the  nobler  kind. 
The  victim  falls;  they  strip  the  smoking 
hide, 

The  beast  they  quarter,  and  the  joints  di- 
vide; 

Then  spread  the  tables,  the  repast  pre- 
pare, 

Each  takes  his  seat,  and  each  receives  his 
share. 

The  King  himself  (an  honorary  sign) 
Before  great  Ajax  placed  the  mighty  chine. 
When  now  the  rage  of  hunger  was  re- 
mov’d, 

Nestor,  in  each  persuasive  art  approv’d, 
The  sage  whose  counsels  long  had  sway’d 
the  rest,  39° 

In  words  like  these  his  prudent  thought  ex- 
press’d: 

‘How  dear,  O King!  this  fatal  day  has 
cost ! 

What  Greeks  are  perish’d  ! what  a people 
lost ! 


What  tides  of  blood  have  drench’d  Sea- 
mander’s  shore  1 

What  crowds  of  heroes  sunk,  to  rise  nc 
more! 

Then  hear  me,  Chief!  nor  let  the  morrow’s 
light 

Awake  thy  squadrons  to  new  toils  of  fight 
Some  space  at  least  permit  the  war  t( 
breathe, 

While  we  to  flames  our  slaughter’d  friend: 
bequeath, 

From  the  red  field  their  scatter’d  bodie: 

bear,  40 

And  nigh  the  fleet  a funeral  structur< 
rear: 

So  decent  urns  their  snowy  bones  ma; 
keep, 

And  pious  children  o’er  their  ashes  weep. 
Here,  where  on  one  promiscuous  pile  the; 
blaz’d, 

High  o’er  them  all  a gen’ral  tomb  b 
rais’d; 

Next,  to  secure  our  camp,  and  nava 
powers, 

Raise  an  embattled  wall,  with  lofty  towers 
From  space  to  space  be  ample  gate 
around, 

For  passing  chariots,  and  a trench  pre 
found. 

So  Greece  to  combat  shall  in  safety  go,  41 
Nor  fear  the  fierce  incursions  of  the  foe.’ 
’T  was  thus  the  sage  his  wholesome  cour 
sel  mov’d; 

The  sceptred  Kings  of  Greece  his  worej 
approv’d. 

Meanwhile,  convened  at  Priam’s  palac 
gate, 

The  Trojan  peers  in  nightly  council  sate: 
A senate  void  of  order,  as  of  choice, 

Their  hearts  were  fearful,  and  confuse 
their  voice. 

Antenor  rising,  thus  demands  their  ear: 
‘Ye  Trojans,  Dardans,  and  auxiliars,  heai 
’T  is  Heav’n  the  counsel  of  my  breast  ii 
spires,  . 4- 

And  I but  move  what  ev’ry  God  requires: 
Let  Sparta’s  treasures  be  this  hour  r( 
stor’d, 

And  Argive  Helen  own  her  ancient  lord. 
The  ties  of  faith,  the  sworn  allianc 
broke 

Our  impious  battles  the  just  Gods  pr< 
voke. 

As  this  advice  ye  practise,  or  reject, 

So  hope  success,  or  dread  the  dire  effect.’ 


THE  ILIAD 


339 


The  senior  spoke,  and  sat.  To  whom  re- 
plied 

'he  graceful  husband  of  the  Spartan  bride: 
Cold  counsels,  Trojan,  may  become  thy 
years,  4SO 

ut  sound  ungrateful  in  a warrior’s  ears: 
H man,  if  void  of  fallacy  or  art, 
hy  words  express  the  purpose  of  thy 
heart, 

hou,  in  thy  time,  more  sound  advice  hast 
giv’n; 

ut  wisdom  has  its  date,  assign’d  by 
Heav’n. 

hen  hear  me,  Princes  of  the  Trojan 
name! 

heir  treasures  I’ll  restore,  but  not  the 
dame; 

y treasures,  too,  for  peace  I will  resign; 
ut  be  this  bright  possession  ever  mine.’ 

’T  was  then,  the  growing  discord  to  com- 
pose, _ 44o 

ow  from  his  seat  the  rev’rend  Priam 
rose : 

is  godlike  aspect  deep  attention  drew: 
s paus  d,  and  these  pacific  words  ensue: 

‘ Ye  Trojans,  Dardans,  and  auxiliar 
bands  ! 

)w  take  refreshment  as  the  hour  de- 
mands; 

lard  well  the  walls,  relieve  the  watch  of 
night, 

11  the  new  sun  restores  the  cheerful 
light: 

en  shall  our  herald,  to  th’  Atrides  sent, 
fore  their  ships  proclaim  my  son’s  intent, 
xt  let  a truce  be  ask’d,  that  Troy  may 
burn  4S0 

r slaughter’d  heroes,  and  their  bones 
inurn; 

at  done,  once  more  the  fate  of  war  be  tried, 
d whose  the  conquest,  mighty  Jove  de- 
cide! ’ 

The  Monarch  spoke:  the  warriors  snatch’d 
j with  haste 

ich  at  his  post  in  arms)  a short  repast, 
n as  the  rosy  morn  had  waked  the  day, 
,the  black  ships  Idseus  bent  his  way; 
ire,  to  the  sons  of  Mars,  in  council 
found, 

rais’d  his  voice:  the  hosts  stood  lis- 
t’ning  round: 

Ye  sons  of  Atreus,  and  ye  Greeks,  give 
ear!  46o 

f|  words  of  Troy,  and  Troy’s  great  mon- 
arch, hear. 


Pleas’d  may  ye  hear  (so  Heav’n  succeed 
my  prayers) 

What  Paris,  author  of  the  war,  declares. 

The  spoils  and  treasures  he  to  Ilion  bore 

(O  had  he  perish’d  ere  they  touch’d  our 
shore) 

He  proffers  injured  Greece;  with  large  in- 
crease 

Of  added  Trojan  wealth,  to  buy  the  peace. 

But,  to  restore  the  beauteous  bride  again, 

This  Greece  demands,  and  Troy  requests 
in  vain. 

Next,  O ye  Chiefs!  we  ask  a truce  to 

burn  470 

Our  slaughter’d  heroes,  and  their  bones 
inurn. 

That  done,  once  more  the  fate  of  war  be 
tried, 

And  whose  the  conquest,  mighty  Jove  de- 
cide! ’ 

The  Greeks  give  ear,  but  none  the  silence 
broke ; 

At  length  Tydides  rose,  and  rising  spoke: 

‘ O take  not,  friends!  defrauded  of  your 
fame, 

Their  proffer’d  wealth,  nor  ev’n  the  Spar- 
tan dame. 

Let  conquest  make  them  ours:  Fate  shakes 
their  wall, 

And  Troy  already  totters  to  her  fall.’ 

Th’  admiring  Chiefs,  and  all  the  Grecian 
name,  4go 

With  gen’ral  shouts  return’d  him  loud  ac- 
claim. 

Then  thus  the  King  of  Kings  rejects  the 
peace : 

‘Herald!  in  him  thou  hear’st  the  voice  of 
Greece. 

For  what  remains,  let  funeral  flames  be 
fed 

With  hero’s  corpse:  I war  not  with  the 
dead: 

Go,  search  your  slaughter’d  Chiefs  on  yon- 
der plain, 

And  gratify  the  Manes  of  the  slain. 

Be  witness,  Jove,  whose  thunder  rolls  on 
high  ! ’ 

He  said,  and  rear’d  his  sceptre  to  the  sky. 

To  sacred  Troy,  where  all  her  Princes 

m lay  490 

To  wait  th’  event,  the  herald  bent  his 
way. 

He  came,  and,  standing  in  the  midst,  ex- 
plain’d; 

The  peace  rejected,  but  the  truce  obtain’d. 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


340 

Straight  to  their  sev’ral  cares  the  Trojans 
move ; 

Some  search  the  plain,  some  fell  the  sound- 
ing  grove: 

Nor  less  the  Greeks,  descending  on  the 
shore, 

Hew’d  the  green  forests,  and  the  bodies 
bore. 

And  now  from  forth  the  chambers  of  the 
main, 

To  shed  his  sacred  light  on  earth  again, 

Arose  the  golden  chariot  of  the  day,  500 

And  tipp’d  the  mountains  with  a purple 
ray. 

In  mingled  throngs  the  Greek  and  Trojan 
train 

Thro’  heaps  of  carnage  search’d  the  mourn- 
ful plain. 

Scarce  could  the  friend  his  slaughter’d 
friend  explore, 

With  dust  dishonour’d,  and  deform’d  with 
gore. 

The  wounds  they  wash’d,  their  pious  tears 
they  shed, 

And,  laid  along  their  cars,  deplored  the 
dead. 

Sage  Priam  check’d  their  grief:  with  silent 
haste 

The  bodies  decent  on  the  piles  were  placed: 

With  melting  hearts  the  cold  remains  they 
burn’d; 

And  sadly  slow  to  sacred  Troy  return’d. 

Nor  less  the  Greeks  their  pious  sorrows 
shed, 

And  decent  on  the  pile  dispose  the  dead; 

The  cold  remains  consume  with  equal  care; 

And  slowly,  sadly,  to  their  fleet  repair. 

Now,  ere  the  morn  had  streak’d  with  red- 
d’ning  light 

The  doubtful  confines  of  the  day  and  night; 

About  the  dying  flames  the  Greeks  ap- 
pear’d, 

And  round  the  pile  a gen’ral  tomb  they 
rear’d. 

Then,  to  secure  the  camp  and  naval 
powers,  520 

They  rais’d  embattled  walls  with  lofty 
towers: 

From  space  to  space  were  ample  gates 
around, 

For  passing  chariots;  and  a trench  pro- 
found, 

Of  large  extent:  and  deep  in  earth  below 

Strong  piles  infix’d  stood  adverse  to  the 
foe. 


So  toil’d  the  Greeks:  meanwhile  th 
Gods  above, 

In  shining  circle  round  their  father  Jove, 
Amazed  beheld  the  wondrous  works  of  man 
Then  he  whose  trident  shakes  the  eart 
began : 

‘ What  mortals  henceforth  shall  ou 
power  adore,  5; 

Our  fanes  frequent,  our  oracles  implore, 
If  the  proud  Grecians  thus  successfi 
boast 

Their  rising  bulwarks  on  the  sea-ber 
coast  ? 

See  the  long  walls  extending  to  the  main, 
No  God  consulted,  and  no  victim  slain!  , 
Their  fame  shall  fill  the  world’s  remote: 
ends; 

Wide  as  the  morn  her  golden  beam  e: 
tends: 

While  old  Laomedon’s  divine  abodes, 
Those  radiant  structures  rais’d  by  lab’rii 
Gods, 

Shall,  razed  and  lost,  in  long  oblivi( 
sleep.’  s 

Thus  spoke  the  hoary  monarch  of  the  dee 
Th’  almighty  Thund’rer  with  a frov 
replies, 

That  clouds  the  world,  and  blackens  ha 
the  skies: 

‘Strong  God  of  Ocean!  thou,  whose  ra; 
can  make 

The  solid  earth’s  eternal  basis  shake! 
What  cause  of  fear  from  mortal  wor 
could  move 

The  meanest  subject  of  our  realms  above 
Where’er  the  sun’s  refulgent  rays  are  ca 
Thy  power  is  honour’d  and  thy  fame  sli 
last. 

But  yon  proud  work  no  future  age  sh 
view, 

No  trace  remain  where  once  the  glory  gre 
The  sapp’d  foundations  by  thy  force  sh 
fall, 

And,  whelm’d  beneath  thy  waves,  dr 
the  huge  wall; 

Vast  drifts  of  sand  shall  change  the  forn 
shore; 

The  ruin  vanish’d,  and  the  name  no  moi 
Thus  they  in  Heav’11:  while  o’er  i 
Grecian  train 

The  rolling  sun  descending  to  the  main 
Beheld  the  finish’d  work.  Their  bulls  tl 
slew ; 

Black  from  the  tents  the  sav’ry  vapo 
flew. 


THE  ILIAD 


And  now  the  fleet,  arrived  from  Lemnos’ 
strands,  560 

With  Bacchus’  blessings  cheer’d  the  gen’- 
rous  bands. 

Of  fragrant  wines  the  rich  Eunaeus  sent 

A thousand  measures  to  the  royal  tent 

(Eunseus,  whom  Hypsipyle  of  yore 

To  Jason,  shepherd  of  his  people,  bore). 

The  rest  they  purchas’d  at  their  proper 
cost, 

And  well  the  plenteous  freight  supplied 
the  host: 

Each,  in  exchange,  proportion’d  treasures 
gave, 

Some  brass,  or  iron,  some  an  ox  or  slave. 

All  night  they  feast,  the  Greek  and  Trojan 
powers;  570 

Those  on  the  fields,  and  these  within  their 
to\Vers. 

But  Jove  averse  the  signs  of  wrath  dis- 
play’d, 

And  shot  red  lightnings  thro’  the  gloomy 
shade: 

Humbled  they  stood;  pale  horror  seized 
on  all, 

While  the  deep  thunder  shook  th’  aerial 
hall. 

Each  pour’d  to  Jove,  before  the  bowl  was 
crown’d, 

And  large  libations  drench’d  the  thirsty 
ground; 

Then  late,  refresh’d  with  sleep  from  toils 
of  fight, 

Enjoy’d  the  balmy  blessings  of  the  night. 


BOOK  VIII 

THE  SECOND  BATTLE,  AND  THE  DISTRESS 
OF  THE  GREEKS? 

THE  ARGUMENT 

lupiter  assembles  a council  of  the  deities,  and 
| threatens  them  with  the  pains  of  Tartarus, 
if  they  assist  either  side:  Minerva  only  ob- 
tains of  him  that  she  may  direct  the  Greeks 
by  her  counsels.  The  armies  join  battle  ; 
Jupiter  on  Mount  Ida  weighs  in  his  balances 
the  fates  of  both,  and  affrights  the  Greeks 
; with  his  thunders  and  lightnings.  Nestor 
I alone  continues  in  the  field  in  great  danger  ; 
Diomed  relieves  him  ; whose  exploits,  and 
those  of  Hector,  are  excellently  described. 
Juno  endeavours  to  animate  Neptune  to  the 
assistance  of  the  Greeks,  but  in  vain.  The 


3H 


acts  of  Teucer,  who  is  at  length  wounded  by 
Hector,  and  carried  off.  Juno  and  Minerva 
prepare  to  aid  the  Grecians,  but  are  re- 
strained by  Iris,  sent  from  Jupiter.  The 
night  puts  an  end  to  the  battle.  Hector 
continues  in  the  field  (the  Greeks  being 
driven  to  their  fortifications  before  the 
ships),  and  gives  orders  to  keep  the  watch 
all  night  in  the  camp,  to  prevent  the  enemy 
from  reembarking  and  escaping  by  flight. 
They  kindle  fires  through  all  the  field,  and 
pass  the  night  under  arms. 

The  time  of  seven-and-twenty  days  is  employed 
from  the  opening  of  the  poem  to  the  end  of 
this  book.  The  scene  here  (except  of  the 
celestial  machines)  lies  in  the  field  toward 
the  sea-shore. 

Aurora  now,  fair  Daughter  of  the 
Dawn, 

Sprinkled  with  rosy  light  the  dewy  lawn: 

When  Jove  convened  the  senate  of  the 
skies 

Where  high  Olympus’  cloudy  tops  arise. 

The  Sire  of  Gods  his  awful  silence  broke; 

The  Heav’ns  attentive  trembled  as  he 
spoke: 

‘ Celestial  states,  immortal  Gods!  give 
ear, 

Hear  our  decree,  and  rev’rence  what  ye 
hear; 

The  fix’d  decree  which  not  all  Heav’n  can 
move; 

Thou,  Fate!  fulfil  it!  and  ye,  Powers!  ap- 
prove! 10 

What  God  but  enters  yon  forbidden  field, 

Who  yields  assistance,  or  but  wills  to 
yield; 

Back  to  the  skies  with  shame  he  shall  be 
driv’n, 

Gash’d  with  dishonest  wounds,  the  scorn  of 
Heav’n : 

Or  far,  oh  far  from  steep  Olympus  thrown, 

Low  in  the  dark  Tartarean  gulf  shall 
groan, 

With  burning  chains  fix’d  to  the  brazen 
floors, 

And  lock’d  by  Hell’s  inexorable  doors; 

As  deep  beneath  th’  infernal  centre  hurl’d, 

As  from  that  centre  to  th’ ethereal  world.  2C. 

Let  him  who  tempts  me,  dread  those  dire 
abodes; 

And  know,  th’  Almighty  is  the  God  of 
Gods. 

League  all  your  forces  then,  ye  Powers 
above, 

Join  all,  and  try  th’  omnipotence  of  Jove-. 


342 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


Let  down  our  golden  everlasting  chain, 
Whose  strong  embrace  holds  Heav’n  and 
Earth  and  Main: 

Strive  all,  of  mortal  and  immortal  birth, 

To  drag,  by  this,  the  Thund’rer  down  to 
earth, 

Ye  strive  in  vain  ! if  I but  stretch  this 
hand, 

I heave  the  Gods,  the  Ocean,  and  the  Land; 
I fix  the  chain  to  great  Olympus’  height,  31 
And  the  vast  world  hangs  trembling  in  my 
sight  ! 

For  such  I reign,  unbounded  and  above; 
Aud  such  are  men  and  Gods,  compared  to 
Jove.’ 

Th’  Almighty  spoke,  nor  durst  the 
Powers  reply; 

A rev ’rent  horror  silenc’d  all  the  sky; 
Trembling  they  stood  before  their  sov’- 
reign’s  look; 

At  length  his  best  belov’d,  the  Power  of 
Wisdom,  spoke: 

‘ Oh  first  aud  greatest!  God,  by  Gods 
ador’d  ! 

We  own  thy  might,  our  father  and  our 
Lord  ! 40 

But  ah!  permit  to  pity  human  state: 

If  not  to  help,  at  least  lament  their  fate. 
From  fields  forbidden  we  submiss  refrain, 
With  arms  unaiding  mourn  our  Ai  gives  slain; 
Yet  grant  my  counsels  still  their  breasts 
may  move, 

Or  all  must  perish  in  the  wrath  of  Jove.’ 

The  cloud-compelling  God  her  suit  ap- 
prov’d, 

And  smil’d  superior  on  his  best-belov’d. 
Then  call’d  his  coursers,  and  his  chariot 
took; 

The  steadfast  firmament  beneath  them 
shook:  so 

Rapt  by  th’  ethereal  steeds  the  chariot 
roll’d; 

Brass  were  their  hoofs,  their  curling  manes 
of  gold. 

Of  Heav’n ’s  undrossy  gold  the  God’s  array, 
Refulgent,  flash’d  intolerable  day. 

High  on  the  throne  he  shines:  his  coursers  fly 
Between  th’  extended  earth  and  starry  sky. 
But  when  to  Ida’s  topmost  height  he  came 
(Fair  nurse  of  fountains,  and  of  savage 
game), 

Where,  o’er  her  pointed  summits  proudly 
rais’d. 

His  fane  breathed  odours,  and  his  altar 
blazed:  60 


There,  from  his  radiant  car,  the  sacred  Sire 

Of  Gods  and  men  released  the  steeds  of 
fire: 

Blue  ambient  mists  th’  immortal  steeds 
embraced; 

High  on  the  cloudy  point  his  seat  he 
placed; 

Thence  his  broad  eye  the  subject  world 
surveys, 

The  town,  and  tents,  and  navigable  seas. 

Now  had  the  Grecians  snatch’d  a short 
repast, 

And  buckled  on  their  shining  arms  with 
haste. 

Troy  rous’d  as  soon;  for  on  this  dreadful 
day 

The  fate  of  fathers,  wives,  and  infants  lay. 

The  gates  unfolding  pour  forth  all  their 
train;  71 

Squadrons  on  squadrons  cloud  the  dusky 
plain: 

Men,  steeds,  and  chariots,  shake  the  trem- 
bling ground, 

The  tumult  thickens,  and  the  skies  re- 
sound. 

And  now  with  shouts  the  shocking  armies 
closed, 

To  lances  lances,  shields  to  shields  op- 
posed; 

Host  against  host  with  shadowy  legions 
drew, 

The  sounding  darts  in  iron  tempests  flew; 

Victors  and  vanquish’d  join  promiscuous 
cries, 

Triumphant  shouts  and  dying  groans  arise; 

With  streaming  blood  the  slipp’ry  fields  are 
dyed,  81 

And  slaughter’d  heroes  swell  the  dreadful 
tide. 

Long  as  the  morning  beams,  increasing 
bright, 

O’er  Heav’n’s  clear  azure  spread  the  sacred 
light, 

Commutual  death  the  fate  of  war  con- 
founds, 

Each  adverse  battle  gored  with  equal 
wounds. 

But  when  the  sun  the  height  of  Heav’n 
ascends, 

The  Sire  of  Gods  his  golden  scales  sus- 
pends, 

With  equal  hand;  in  these  explored  the 
fate 

Of  Greece  and  Troy,  and  pois’d  the  mighty 
weight.  90 


THE  ILIAD 


343 


Press’d  with  its  load,  the  Grecian  balance 
lies 

Low  sunk  on  earth,  the  Trojan  strikes  the 
skies. 

Then  Jove  from  Ida’s  top  his  horrors 
spreads; 

The  clouds  burst  dreadful  o’er  the  Grecian 
heads 5 

Thick  lightnings  flash;  the  mutt’ring 
thunder  rolls; 

Their  strength  he  withers,  and  unmans 
their  souls. 

Before  his  wrath  the  trembling  hosts  retire, 
The  Gods  in  terrors,  and  the  skies  on  fire. 
Nor  great  Idomeneus  that  sight  could 
bear. 

Nor  each  stern  Ajax,  thunderbolts  of  war; 
Nor  he,  the  King  of  Men,  th’  alarm  sus- 
tain’d ; ioi 

Nestor  alone  amidst  the  storm  remain’d. 
.Unwilling  he  remain’d,  for  Paris’  dart 
Had  pierc’d  his  courser  in  a mortal  part; 
Fix’d  in  the  forehead  where  the  springing 
mane 

Curl’d  o’er  the  brow,  it  stung  him  to  the 
brain; 

Mad  with  his  anguish,  he  begins  to  rear, 
Paw  with  his  hoofs  aloft,  and  lash  the 
air. 

Scarce  had  his  falchion  cut  the  reins,  and 
freed 

Th’  incumbent  chariot  from  the  dying 
steed,  no 

When  dreadful  Hector,  thund’ring  thro’ 
the  war, 

Pour’d  to  the  tumult  on  his  whirling  car. 
That  day  had  stretch’d  beneath  his  match- 
less hand 

The  hoary  Monarch  of  the  Pylian  band, 

But  Diomed  beheld;  from  forth  the  crowd 
He  rush’d,  and  on  Ulysses  call’d  aloud: 

I ‘ Whither,  oh  whither  does  Ulysses  run  ? 

0 flight  unworthy  great  Laertes’  son! 

Mix’d  with  the  vulgar  shall  thy  fate  be 

found, 

Pierc’d  in  the  back,  a vile,  dishonest 
wound  ? 120 

Jh  turn  and  save  from  Hector’s  direful 
rage 

The  glory  of  the  Greeks,  the  Pylian  sage.’ 

His  fruitless  words  are  lost  unheard  in 
air; 

Ulysses  seeks  the  ships,  and  shelters  there. 
’3ut  bold  Tydides  to  the  rescue  goes, 

1 single  warrior  ’midst  a host  of  foes; 


Before  the  coursers  with  a sudden  spring 
He  leap’d,  and  anxious  thus  bespoke  the 
King: 

‘Great  perils,  Father!  wait  th’  unequal 
fight; 

These  younger  champions  will  oppress  thy 
might.  ,30 

Thy  veins  no  more  with  ancient  vigour 
glow, 

Weak  is  thy  servant,  and  thy  coursers  slow. 
Then  haste,  ascend  my  seat,  and  from  the 
car 

Observe  the  steeds  of  Tros,  renown’d  in 
war, 

Practis’d  alike  to  turn,  to  stop,  to  chase, 

To  dare  the  fight,  or  urge  the  rapid  race: 
These  late  obey’d  UEneas’  guiding  rein; 
Leave  thou  thy  chariot  to  our  faithful 
train : 

With  these  against  yon  Trojans  will  we  go, 
Nor  shall  great  Hector  want  an  equal  foe; 
Fierce  as  he  is,  ev’n  he  may  learn  to  fear 
The  thirsty  fury  of  my  flying  spear.’  i42 
Thus  said  the  Chief;  and  Nestor,  skill’d 
in  war, 

Approves  his  counsel,  and  ascends  the  car: 
The  steeds  he  left,  their  trusty  servants 
hold; 

Eurymedon,  and  Sthenelus  the  bold. 

The  rev’rend  charioteer  directs  the  course, 
And  strains  his  aged  arm  to  lash  the  horse. 
Hector  they  face;  unknowing  how  to  fear, 
Fierce  he  drove  on:  Tydides  whirl’d  his 
spear.  ISO 

The  spear  with  erring  haste  mistook  its 
way, 

But  plunged  in  Eniopeus’  bosom  lay. 

His  opening  hand  in  death  forsakes  the 
rein ; 

The  steeds  fly  back:  he  falls,  and  spurns 
the  plain. 

Great  Hector  sorrows  for  his  servant  kill’d, 
Yet  unrevenged  permits  to  press  the  field; 
Till  to  supply  his  place  and  rule  the  car, 
Rose  Archeptolemus,  the  fierce  in  war. 

And  now  had  death  and  horror  cover’d  all; 
Like  tim’rous  flocks  the  Trojans  in  their 
wall  j6o 

Enclosed  had  bled:  but  Jove  with  awful 
sound 

Roll’d  the  big  thunder  o’er  the  vast  pro- 
found: 

Full  in  Tydides’  face  the  lightning  flew; 
The  ground  before  him  flamed  with  sulphur 
blue: 


344 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


The  quiv’ring  steeds  fell  prostrate  at  the 
sight; 

And  Nestor’s  trembling  hand  confess’d  his 
fright: 

He  dropp’d  the  reins;  and,  shook  with 
sacred  dread, 

Thus,  turning,  warn’d  th’  intrepid  Diomed: 

‘ O Chief  ! too  daring  in  thy  friend’s  de- 
fence, 169 

Retire  advised,  and  urge  the  chariot  hence. 
This  day,  averse,  the  Sov’reign  of  the  Skies 
Assists  great  Hector,  and  our  palm  denies. 
Some  other  sun  may  see  the  happier  hour, 
When  Greece  shall  conquer  by  his  heav’nly 
power. 

’T is  not  in  man  his  fix’d  decree  to  move: 
The  great  will  glory  to  submit  to  Jove.’ 

‘ O rev’reud  Prince!  ’ (Tydides  thus  re- 
plies) 

‘ Thy  years  are  awful,  and  thy  words  are 
wise. 

But  ah,  what  grief!  should  haughty  Hector 
boast, 

I fled  inglorious  to  the  guarded  coast.  180 
Before  that  dire  disgrace  shall  blast  my 
fame, 

O’erwhelm  me,  earth!  and  hide  a warrior’s 
shame.’ 

To  whom  Gerenian  Nestor  thus  replied: 

‘ Gods!  can  thy  courage  fear  the  Phrygian’s 
pride  ? 

Hector  may  vaunt,  but  who  shall  heed) 
the  boast  ? 

Not  those  who  felt  thy  arm,  the  Dardan  > 
host, 

Nor  Troy,  yet  bleeding  in  her  heroes  lost;  j 
Not  ev’n  a Phrygian  dame,  who  dreads  the 
sword 

That  laid  in  dust  her  lov’d,  lamented  lord.’ 

He  said:  and  hasty  o’er  the  gasping 
throng  I9o 

Drives  the  swift  steeds;  the  chariot  smokes 
along. 

The  shouts  of  Trojans  thicken  in  the  wind; 
The  storm  of  hissing  jav’lins  pours  behind. 
Then  with  a voice  that  shakes  the  solid 
skies, 

Pleas’d  Hector  braves  the  warrior  as  he 
flies: 

‘Go,  mighty  Hero!  graced  above  the  rest 
In  seats  of  council  and  the  sumptuous 
feast: 

Now  hope  no  more  those  honours  from  thy 
train ; 

Go,  less  than  woman,  in  the  form  of  man ! 


To  scale  our  walls,  to  wrap  our  towers  in 
flames,  20c 

To  lead  in  exile  the  fair  Phrygian  dames, 

Thy  once  proud  hopes,  presumptuous 
Prince!  are  fled; 

This  arm  shall  reach  thy  heart,  and  stretch 
thee  dead.’ 

Now  fears  dissuade  him,  and  now  hopes 
invite, 

To  stop  his  coursers,  and  to  stand  the 
fight; 

Thrice  turn’d  the  Chief,  and  thrice  imperial 
Jove 

On  Ida’s  summit  thunder’d  from  above. 

Great  Hector  heard;  he  saw  the  flashing 
light 

(The  sign  of  conquest),  and  thus  urged  the 
fight: 

‘ Hear,  ev’ry  Trojan,  Lycian,  Dardan 
band,  2ic 

All  famed  in  war,  and  dreadful  hand  to 
hand, 

Be  mindful  of  the  wreaths  your  arms  have 
won, 

Your  great  forefathers’  glories,  and  your 
own. 

Heard  ye  the  voice  of  Jove  ? Success  and 
fame 

Await  on  Troy,  on  Greece  eternal  shame. 

I11  vain  they  skulk  behind  their  boasted 
wall, 

Weak  bulwarks!  destin’d  by  this  arm  to 
fall. 

High  o’er  their  slighted  trench  our  steeds 
shall  bound, 

And  pass  victorious  o’er  the  levell’d 
mound. 

Soon  as  before  yon  hollow  ships  we  stand, 

Fight  each  with  flames,  and  toss  the  blazing 
brand;  22 1 

Till,  their  proud  navy  wrapt  in  smoke  and 
fires, 

All  Greece,  encompass’d,  in  one  blaze  ex- 
pires.’ 

Furious  he  said:  then,  bending  o’er  the 
yoke, 

Encouraged  his  proud  steeds,  while  thus  he 
spoke. 

‘Now  Xanthus,  iEthom,  Lampus!  urge  the 
chase, 

And  thou,  Podargus!  prove  thy  gen’rous 
race : 

Be  fleet,  be  fearless,  this  important  day, 

And  all  your  master’s  well-spent  care  re- 
pay. 


THE  ILIAD 


345 


For  this,  high  fed  in  plenteous  stalls  ye 
stand,  230 

Serv’d  with  pure  wheat,  and  by  a Princess’ 
hand ; 

For  this,  my  spouse,  of  great  Eetion’s 
line, 

So  oft  has  steep’d  the  strengthening  grain 
in  wine. 

Now  swift  pursue,  now  thunder  uncon- 
trol I’d  ; 

Give  me  to  seize  rich  Nestor’s  shield  of 
gold; 

From  Tvdeus’  shoulders  strip  the  costly 
load, 

Vulcanian  arms,  the  labour  of  a God: 

These  if  we  gain,  then  victory,  ye  Powers! 
This  night,  this  glorious  night,  the  fleet  is 
ours.’ 

That  heard,  deep  anguish  stung  Satur- 
nia’s  soul;  240 

She  shook  her  throne  that  shook  the  starry 
pole: 

And  thus  to  Neptune:  ‘ Thou  whose  force 
can  make 

The  steadfast  earth  from  her  foundations 
shake, 

Seest  thou  the  Greeks  by  Fates  unjust  op- 
press’d, 

Nor  swells  thy  heart  in  that  immortal 
breast  ? 

Yet  iEgae,  Helice,  thy  power  obey, 

And  gifts  unceasing  on  thine  altars  lay. 
Would  all  the  deities  of  Greece  com- 
bine, 

[n  vain  the  gloomy  Thund’rer  might  re- 
( pine: 

Sole  should  he  sit,  with  scarce  a God  to 
friend,  2c0 

And  see  his  Trojans  to  the  shades  descend: 
Such  be  the  scene  from  his  Idsean  bower: 
jLJngrateful  prospect  to  the  sullen  Power  ! ’ 

Neptune  with  wrath  rejects  the  rash  de- 
sign: 

What  rage,  what  madness,  furious  Queen  ! 
is  thine  ? 

- war  not  with  the  highest.  All  above 
, submit  and  tremble  at  the  hand  of  Jove.’ 

Now  godlike  Hector,  to  whose  matchless 
, might 

love  gave  the  glory  of  the  destin’d 
fight, 

squadrons  on  squadrons  drives,  and  fills 
the  fields  260 

JVith  close-ranged  chariots,  and  with  thick- 
en’d shields. 


Where  the  deep  trench  in  length  extended 
Hy, 

Compacted  troops  stand  wedg’d  in  firm 
array, 

A dreadful  front!  they  shake  the  bands, 
and  threat 

With  long-destroy ingflames  the  hostile  fleet. 
The  King  of  men,  by  Juno’s  self  inspired, 
Toil’d  thro’  the  tents,  and  all  his  army 
fired. 

Swift  as  he  mov’d,  he  lifted  in  his  hand 
His  purple  robe,  bright  ensign  of  com- 
mand. 

High  on  the  midmost  bark  the  King  ap- 
pear’d ; 270 

There,  from  Ulysses’  deck,  his  voice  was 
heard: 

To  Ajax  and  Achilles  reach’d  the  sound, 
Whose  distant  ships  the  guarded  navy 
bound. 

‘Oh  Argives!  shame  of  human  race!’  he 
cried 

(The  hollow  vessels  to  his  voice  replied), 

‘ Where  now  are  all  your  glorious  boasts  of 
yore, 

Your  hasty  triumphs  on  the  Lemnian  shore  ? 
Each  fearless  hero  dares  a hundred  foes, 
While  the  feast  lasts,  and  while  the  goblet 
flows; 

But  who  to  meet  one  martial  man  is  found, 
When  the  fight  rages,  and  the  flames  sur- 
round ? 28i 

O mighty  Jove!  oh  Sire  of  the  distress’d! 
Was  ever  King  like  me,  like  me  oppress’d  ? 
With  power  immense,  with  justice  arm’d 
in  vain; 

My  glory  ravish’d,  and  my  people  slain! 

To  thee  my  vows  were  breathed  from  ev’ry 
shore ; 

What  altar  smoked  not  with  our  victims’ 
gore  ? 

With  fat  of  bulls  I fed  the  constant  flame, 
And  ask’d  destruction  to  the  Trojan  name. 
Now,  gracious  God!  far  humbler  our  de-) 
mand;  290 

Give  these  at  least  to  ’scape  from  Hec-  }- 
tor’s  hand, 

And  save  the  relics  of  the  Grecian  land!  ’ J 
Thus  pray’d  the  King,  and  Heav’n’s 
great  Father  heard 

His  vows,  in  bitterness  of  soul  preferr’d; 
The  wrath  appeas’d  by  happy  signs  de- 
clares, 

And  gives  the  people  to  their  Monarch’s 
prayers. 


346 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


His  eagle,  sacred  bird  of  Heav’n!  he  sent, 
A fawn  his  talons  truss’d  (divine  portent), 
High  o’er  the  wond’ring  hosts  he  soar’d 
above, 

Who  paid  their  vows  to  Panomphsean  Jove; 
Then  let  the  prey  before  his  altar  fall:  301 
The  Greeks  beheld,  aud  transport  seiz’d  on 
all: 

Encouraged  by  the  sign,  the  troops  revive, 
And  fierce  on  Troy  with  double  fury  drive. 
Tydides  first,  of  all  the  Grecian  force, 

O’er  the  broad  ditch  impell’d  his  foaming 
horse, 

Pierc’d  the  deep  ranks,  their  strongest  bat- 
tle tore, 

And  dyed  his  jav’lin  red  with  Trojan  gore. 
Young  Agelaus  (Phradmon  was  his  sire) 
With  flying  coursers  shunn’d  his  dreadful 
ire:  310 

Struck  thro’  the  back  the  Phrygian  fell  op- 
press’d; 

The  dart  drove  on,  and  issued  at  his  breast: 
Headlong  he  quits  the  car;  his  arms  re- 
sound ; 

His  pond’rous  buckler  thunders  on  the 
ground. 

Forth  rush  a tide  of  Greeks,  the  passage 
freed; 

Th’  Atridae  first,  th’  Ajaces  next  succeed: 
Meriones,  like  Mars  in  arms  renown’d, 

And  godlike  Idomen,  now  pass’d  the 
mound ; 

Evaemon’s  son  next  issues  to  the  foe, 

And  last,  young  Teucer  with  his  bended 
bow.  320 

Secure  behind  tbe  Telamonian  shield 
The  skilful  archer  wide  survey’d  the  field, 
With  ev’ry  shaft  some  hostile  victim  slew, 
Then  close  beneath  the  sev’n-fold  orb  with- 
drew: 

The  conscious  infant  so,  when  fear  alarms, 
Retires  for  safety  to  the  mother’s  arms. 
Thus  Ajax  guards  his  brother  in  the  field, 
Moves  as  he  moves,  and  turns  the  shining 
shield. 

Who  first  by  Teucer’s  mortal  arrows  bled  ? 
Orsilochus;  then  fell  Ormenus  dead:  330 

The  godlike  Lycophon  next  press’d  the 
plain, 

With  Chromius,  Dsetor,  Ophelestes  slain: 
Bold  Hamopaon  breathless  sunk  to  ground; 
The  bloody  pile  great  Melanippus  crown’d. 
Heaps  fell  on  heaps,  sad  trophies  of  his 
art, 

A Trojan  ghost  attending  every  dart, 


Great  Agamemnon  views  with  joyful  eye 
The  ranks  grow  thinner  as  his  arrows 
fly: 

‘ Oh  youth,  for  ever  dear  ’ (the  Monarch 
cried), 

‘ Thus,  always  thus,  thy  early  worth  be 
tried ; 34c 

Thy  brave  example  shall  retrieve  our  host. 
Thy  country’s  saviour,  and  thy  father’s 
boast! 

Sprung  from  an  alien’s  bed  thy  sire  tc 
grace, 

The  vig’rous  offspring  of  a stol’n  embrace 
Proud  of  his  boy,  he  own’d  the  gen’rous 
flame, 

And  the  brave  son  repays  his  cares  wit! 
fame. 

Now  hear  a Monarch’s  vow:  If  Heav’n’s 
high  Powers 

Give  me  to  raze  Troy’s  long-defended 
towers; 

Whatever  treasures  Greece  for  me  design, 
The  next  rich  honorary  gift  be  thine:  35c 
Some  golden  tripod,  or  distinguish’d  car, 
With  coursers  dreadful  in  the  ranks  ol 
war; 

Or  some  fair  captive  whom  thy  eyes  ap- 
prove, 

Shall  recompense  the  warrior’s  toils  witl 
love.’ 

To  this  the  Chief:  ‘ With  praise  the  resi 
inspire, 

Nor  urge  a soul  already  fill’d  with  fire. 
What  strength  I have,  be  now  in  batth 
tried, 

Till  ev’ry  shaft  in  Phrygian  blood  bt 
dyed. 

Since,  rallying,  from  our  wall  we  forcet 
the  foe, 

Still  aim’d  at  Hector  have  I bent  1m 
bow;  36 

Eight  forky  arrows  from  this  hand  hav< 
fled, 

And  eight  bold  heroes  by  their  points  li< 
dead: 

But  sure  some  God  denies  me  to  destroy 
This  fury  of  the  field,  this  dog  of  Troy.’ 

He  said,  and  twang’d  the  string.  Th 
weapon  flies 

At  Heotor’s  breast,  and  sings  along  th 
skies: 

He  miss’d  the  mark;  but  pierc’d  Gor 
gythio’s  heart 

Aud  drench’d  in  royal  blood  the  thirst 
dart 


THE  ILIAD 


347 


(Fair  Castianira,  nymph  of  form  divine, 
This  offspring  added  to  King  Priam’s 
line).  370 

As  full-blown  poppies  overcharged  with 
rain 

Decline  the  head,  and  drooping  kiss  the 
plain; 

So  sinks  the  youth:  his  beauteous  head, 
depress’d 

Beneath  his  helmet,  drops  upon  his  breast. 
.Another  shaft  the  raging  archer  drew: 

That  other  shaft  with  erring  fury  flew 
(From  Hector  Phcebus  turn’d  the  flying 
wound), 

Yet  fell  not  dry  or  guiltless  to  the  ground: 
Thy  breast,  brave  Archeptolemus!  it  tore, 
And  dipp’d  its  feathers  in  no  vulgar 
gore.  380 

Headlong  he  falls:  his  sudden  fall  alarms 
The  steeds,  that  startle  at  his  sounding 
arms. 

Hector  with  grief  his  charioteer  beheld 
All  pale  and  breathless  on  the  sanguine 
field. 

Then  bids  Cebriones  direct  the  rein, 

Quits  his  bright  car,  and  issues  on  the 
plain. 

Dreadful  he  shouts:  from  earth  a stone  he 
took, 

And  rush’d  on  Teucer  with  a lifted  rock. 
The  youth  already  strain’d  the  forceful  yew; 
The  shaft  already  to  his  shoulder  drew;  390 
The  feather  in  his  hand,  just  wing’d  for 
flight, 

Touch’d  where  the  neck  and  hollow  chest 
unite; 

There,  where  the  juncture  knits  the  chan- 
nel bone, 

The  furious  Chief  discharged  the  craggy 
stone ; 

The  bow-string  burst  beneath  the  pon- 
d’rous  blow, 

And  his  numb’d  hand  dismiss’d  his  useless 
bow. 

He  fell;  but  Ajax  his  broad  shield  dis- 
play’d, 

And  screen’d  his  brother  with  a mighty 
shade; 

Till  great  Alastor  and  Mecistheus  bore 
The  batter’d  archer  groaning  to  the 
shore.  400 

Troy  yet  found  grace  before  th’  Olym- 
pian sire; 

He  arm’d  their  hands,  and  fill’d  their 
breasts  with  fire. 


The  Greeks,  repuls’d,  retreat  behind  their 
wall, 

Or  in  the  trench  on  heaps  confusedly  fall. 

First  of  the  foe,  great  Hector  march’d 
along, 

With  terror  clothed,  and  more  than  mortal 
strong. 

As  the  bold  hound  that  gives  the  lion 
chase, 

With  beating  bosom,  and  with  eager  pace, 

Hangs  on  his  haunch,  or  fastens  on  his 
heels, 

Guards  as  he  turns,  and  circles  as  he 
wheels;  410 

Thus  oft  the  Grecians  turn’d,  but  still  they 
flew; 

Thus  following,  Hector  still  the  hindmost 
slew. 

When,  flying,  they  had  pass’d  the  trench 
profound, 

And  many  a Chief  lay  gasping  on  the 
ground ; 

Before  the  ships  a desp’rate  stand  they 
made ; 

And  fired  the  troops,  and  call’d  the  Gods 
to  aid. 

Fierce  on  his  rattling  chariot  Hector  came; 

His  eyes  like  Gorgon  shot  a sanguine 
flame 

That  wither’d  all  their  host:  like  Mars  he 
stood, 

Dire  as  the  monster,  dreadful  as  the 
God!  420 

Their  strong  distress  the  wife  of  Jove  sur- 
vey’d; 

Then  pensive  thus  to  War’s  triumphant 
Maid : 

‘ Oh,  Daughter  of  that  God,  whose  arm 
can  wield 

Th’  avenging  bolt,  and  shake  the  sable 
shield! 

Now,  in  this  moment  of  her  last  despair, 

Shall  wretched  Greece  no  more  confess 
our  care, 

Condemn’d  to  suffer  the  full  force  of  Fate, 

And  drain  the  dregs  of  Heav’n’s  relentless 
hate  ? 

Gods!  shall  one  raging  hand  thus  level 
all? 

What  numbers  fell!  what  numbers  yet 
shall  fall!  430 

What  Power  divine  shall  Hector’s  wrath 
assuage  ? 

Still  swells  the  slaughter,  and  still  grows 
the  rage ! ’ 


348 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


So  spoke  th’  imperial  Regent  of  the 
Skies; 

To  whom  the  Goddess  with  the  azure  eyes: 
‘ Long  since  had  Hector  stain’d  these  fields 
with  gore, 

Stretch’d  by  some  Argive  on  his  native 
shore : 

But  he  above,  the  Sire  of  Heav’n,  with- 
stands, 

Mocks  our  attempts,  and  slights  our  just 
demands. 

Tiie  stubborn  God,  inflexible  and  hard, 
Forgets  my  service  and  deserv’d  re- 
ward ; 440 

Saved  I,  for  this,  his  fav’rite  son  distress’d, 
By  stern  Eurystheus  with  long  labours 
press’d  ? 

He  begg’d,  with  tears  he  begg’d,  in  deep 
dismay; 

I shot  from  Heav’n,  and  gave  his  arm  the 
day. 

Oh  had  my  wisdom  known  this  dire  event, 
When  to  grim  Pluto’s  gloomy  gates  he 
went; 

The  triple  dog  had  never  felt  his  chain, 
Nor  Styx  been  cross’d,  nor  Hell  explor’d 
in  vain. 

Averse  to  me  of  all  his  Heav’n  of  Gods, 

At  Thetis’  suit  the  partial  Thund’rer 
nods.  450 

To  grace  her  gloomy,  fierce,  resenting  son, 
My  hopes  are  frustrate,  and  my  Greeks 
undone. 

Some  future  day,  perhaps,  he  may  be 
mov’d 

To  call  his  Blue-eyed  Maid  his  best-be- 
lov’d. 

Haste,  launch  thy  chariot,  thro’  yon  ranks 
to  ride; 

Myself  will  arm,  and  thunder  at  thy  side. 
Then,  Goddess!  say,  shall  Hector  glory 
then 

(That  terror  of  the  Greeks,  that  Man  of 
men), 

When  Juno’s  self,  and  Pallas  shall  appear, 
All  dreadful  in  the  crimson  walks  of 
war  ? 460 

What  mighty  Trojan  then,  on  yonder  shore, ") 
Expiring,  pale,  and  terrible  no  more,  I 
Shall  feast  the  fowls,  and  glut  the  dogs  [ 
with  gore  ? ’ J 

She  ceas’d,  and  Juno  rein’d  the  steeds 
with  care 

(Heav’n’s  awful  Empress,  Saturn’s  other 
heir) : 


Pallas,  meanwhile,  her  various  veil  un- 
bound, 

With  flowers  adorn’d,  with  art  immortal 
crown’d ; 

The  radiant  robe  her  sacred  fingers  wove 
Floats  in  rich  waves,  and  spreads  the  court 
of  Jove. 

Her  father’s  arms  her  mighty  limbs  in- 
vest, 470 

His  cuirass  blazes  on  her  ample  breast. 

The  vig’ rous  Power  the  trembling  car 
ascends; 

Shook  by  her  arm,  the  massy  jav’lin  bends; 
Huge,  pond’rous,  strong  ! that,  when  her 
fury  burns, 

Proud  tyrants  humbles,  and  whole  hosts 
o’erturns. 

Saturnia  lends  the  lash;  the  coursers  fly; 
Smooth  glides  the  chariot  thro’  the  liquid 
sky. 

Heav’n’s  gates  spontaneous  open  to  the 
Powers, 

Heav’n’s  golden  gates,  kept  by  the  winged 
Hours: 

Commission’d  in  alternate  watch  they 
stand,  480 

The  sun’s  bright  portals  and  the  skies  com- 
mand; 

Close  or  unfold  th’  eternal  gates  of  day, 
Bar  Heav’n  with  clouds,  or  roll  those  clouds 
away: 

The  sounding  hinges  ring,  the  clouds 
divide; 

Prone  down  the  steep  of  Heav’n  their 
course  they  guide. 

But  Jove,  incens’d,  from  Ida’s  top  survey’d, 
And  thus  enjoin’d  the  many-colour’d  Maid: 

‘Thaumantia!  mount  the  winds,  and 
stop  their  car; 

Against  the  highest  who  shall  wage  the 
war  ? 

If  furious  yet  they  dare  the  vain  debate,  490 
Thus  have  I spoke,  and  what  I speak  is 
Fate. 

Their  coursers  crush’d  beneath  the  wheels 
shall  lie, 

Their  car  in  fragments  scatter’d  o’er  the 
sky; 

My  lightning  these  rebellious  shall  con- 
found, 

And  hurl  them  flaming,  headlong  to  the 
ground, 

Condemn’d  for  ten  revolving  years  to  weep 
The  wounds  impress’d  by  burning  Thunder 
deep. 


THE  ILIAD 


349 


So  shall  Minerva  learn  to  fear  our  ire, 

Nor  dare  to  combat  hers  and  Nature’s 
Sire. 

For  Juno,  headstrong  and  imperious  still,  500 

She  claims  some  title  to  transgress  our 
will.’ 

Swift  as  the  wind,  the  various-colour’d 
Maid 

From  Ida’s  top  her  golden  wings  display’d; 

To  great  Olympus’  shining  gates  she  flies, 

There  meets  the  chariot  rushing  down  the 
skies, 

Restrains  their  progress  from  the  bright 
abodes, 

And  speaks  the  mandate  of  the  Sire  of 
Gods: 

I ‘ What  frenzy,  Goddesses  ! what  rage 
can  move 

Celestial  minds  to  tempt  the  wrath  of 
Jove  ? 

Desist,  obedient  to  his  high  command;  510 
-This  is  his  word:  and  know  his  word  shall 
stand. 

His  lightning  your  rebellion  shall  confound, 

And  hurl  ye  headlong,  flaming  to  the 
ground: 

Your  horses  crush’d  beneath  the  wheels 
shall  lie, 

Your  car  in  fragments  scatter’d  o’er  the 
sky; 

Yourselves  condemn’d  ten  rolling  years  to 
weep 

The  wounds  impress’d  by  burning  Thunder 
deep. 

So  shall  Minerva  learn  to  fear  his  ire, 

1 Nor  dare  to  combat  hers  and  Nature’s 
Sire. 

For  Juno,  headstrong  and  imperious 
still,  520 

5 She  claims  some  title  to  transgress  his 
will: 

But  thee  what  desp’rate  insolence  has 
driv’11, 

To  lift  thy  lance  against  the  King  of 
i Heav’n  ? ’ 

Then,  mounting  on  the  pinions  of  the 
wind, 

She  flew;  and  Juno  thus  her  rage  resign’d: 

‘ O Daughter  of  that  God,  whose  arm 
can  wield 

; Th’  avenging  bolt,  and  shake  the  dreadful 
shield! 

No  more  let  beings  of  superior  birth 
1 Contend  with  Jove  for  this  low  race  of 
earth; 


Triumphant  now,  now  miserably  slain,  530 

They  breathe  or  perish  as  the  Fates  ordain. 

But  Jove’s  high  counsels  full  effect  shall 
find, 

And,  ever  constant,  ever  rule  mankind.’ 

She  spoke,  and  backward  turn’d  her 
steeds  of  light, 

Adorn’d  with  manes  of  gold,  and  heav’nly 
bright. 

The  Hours  unloos’d  them,  panting  as  they 
stood, 

And  heap’d  their  mangers  with  ambrosial 
food, 

There  tied,  they  rest  in  high  celestial  stalls; 

The  chariot  propp’d  against  the  crystal 
walls. 

The  pensive  Goddesses,  abash’d,  controll’d, 

Mix  with  the  Gods,  and  fill  their  seats  of 
gold.  S4i 

And  now  the  Thund’rer  meditates  his 
flight 

From  Ida’s  summits  to  th’  Olympian 
height. 

Swifter  than  thought  the  wheels  instinctive 

fly, 

Flame  thro’ the  vast  of  air,  and  reach  the  sky. 

’T  was  Neptune’s  charge  his  coursers  to 
unbrace, 

And  fix  the  car  on  its  immortal  base; 

There  stood  the  chariot,  beaming  forth  its 
rays, 

Till  with  a snowy  veil  he  screen’d  the 
blaze. 

He,  whose  all-conscious  eyes  the  world  be- 
hold, 550 

Th’  eternal  Thunderer,  sat  throned  in  gold. 

High  Heav’n  the  footstool  of  his  feet  he 
makes, 

And  wide  beneath  him  all  Olympus  shakes. 

Trembling  afar  th’  offending  Powers  ap- 
pear’d, 

Confused  and  silent,  for  his  frown  they 
fear’d. 

He  saw  their  soul,  and  thus  his  word  im- 
parts: 

‘Pallas  and  Juno!  say,  why  heave  your 
hearts  ? 

Soon  was  your  battle  o’er:  proud  Troy  re- 
tired 

Before  vour  face,  and  in  your  wrath  ex- 
pired. 

But  know,  whoe’er  almighty  Power  with- 
stand! 56c 

Unmatch’d  our  force,  unconquer’d  is  our 
hand: 


35° 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


Who  shall  the  Sov’reign  of  the  Skies  con- 
trol ? 

Not  all  the  Gods  that  crown  the  starry  pole. 
Your  hearts  shall  tremble,  if  our  arms  we 
take, 

And  each  immortal  nerve  with  horror 
shake. 

For  thus  I speak,  and  what  I speak  shall 
stand, 

What  Power  soe’er  provokes  our  lifted 
hand, 

On  this  our  hill  no  more  shall  hold  his 
place, 

Cut  otf,  and  exil’d  from  th’  ethereal  race.’ 

Juno  and  Pallas  grieving  hear  the  doom, 
But  feast  their  souls  on  Ilion’s  woes  to 
come.  57i 

Tho’  secret  anger  s well’d  Minerva’s  breast, 
The  prudent  Goddess  yet  her  wrath  re- 
press’d: 

But  Juno,  impotent  of  rage,  replies: 

‘ What  hast  thou  said,  oh  Tyrant  of  the 
Skies! 

Strength  and  omnipotence  invest  thy 
throne ; 

’T  is  thine  to  punish;  ours  to  grieve  alone. 
For  Greece  we  grieve,  abandon’d  by  her 
Fate 

To  drink  the  dregs  of  thy  unmeasured 
hate;  579 

From  fields  forbidden  we  submiss  refrain, 
With  arms  unaiding  see  onr  Argives  slain; 
Yet  grant  our  counsels  still  their  breasts 
may  move, 

Lest  all  should  perish  in  the  rage  of  Jove.’ 

The  Goddess  thus:  and  thus  the  God  re- 
plies; 

Who  swells  the  clouds,  and  blackens  all  the 
skies: 

‘ The  morning  sun,  awaked  by  loud  alarms, 
Shall  see  th’  almighty  Thunderer  in  arms. 
What  heaps  of  Argives  then  shall  load  the 
plain, 

Those  radiant  eyes  shall  view,  and  view  in 
vain. 

Nor  shall  great  Hector  cease  the  rage  of 
fight,  ^ 59a 

The  navy  flaming,  and  thy  Greeks  in  flight, 
Ev’11  till  the  day,  when  certain  Fates  ordain  "j 
That  stern  Achilles  (his  Patroclus  slain)  I 
Shall  rise  in  vengeance,  and  lay  waste  the  | 
plain,  J 

For  such  is  Fate,  nor  canst  thou  turn  its 
course 

With  all  thy  rage,  with  all  thy  rebel  force. 


Fly,  if  thou  wilt,  to  earth’s  remotest  bound, 
Where  on  her  utmost  verge  the  seas  re- 
sound; 

Where  curs’d  Iapetus  and  Saturn  dwell, 
Fast  by  the  brink,  within  the  steams  of 
Hell;  60c 

No  sun  e’er  gilds  the  gloomy  horrors  there, 
No  cheerful  gales  refresh  the  lazy  air: 
There  arm  once  more  the  bold  Titanian 
band, 

And  arm  in  vain:  for  what  I will  shall 
stand.’ 

Now  deep  in  ocean  sunk  the  lamp  of 
light, 

And  drew  behind  the  cloudy  veil  of  night: 
The  conquering  Trojans  mourn  his  beams 
decay’d; 

The  Greeks  rejoicing  bless  the  friendly 
shade. 

The  victors  keep  the  field;  and  Hector 
calls 

A martial  council  near  the  navy  walls:  610 
These  to  Scamander’s  bank  apart  he  led, 
Where  thinly  scatter’d  lay  the  heaps  of 
dead. 

Th’  assembled  Chiefs,  descending  on  the 
ground, 

Attend  his  order,  and  their  Prince  sur- 
round. 

A massy  spear  he  bore  of  mighty  strength, 
Of  full  ten  cubits  was  the  lance’s  length; 
The  point  was  brass,  refulgent  to  behold, 
Fix’d  to  the  wood  with  circling  rings  of 
gold: 

The  noble  Hector  on  this  lance  reclin’d, 
And,  bending  forward,  thus  reveal’d  his 
mind:  620 

‘Ye  valiant  Trojans,  with  attention  hear! 
Ye  Pardan  bands,  and  gen’rous  aids,  give 
ear! 

This  day,  we  hoped,  would  wrap  in  con- 
quering flame 

Greece  with  her  ships,  and  crown  our  toils 
with  fame: 

But  darkness  now,  to  save  the  cowards, 
falls, 

And  guards  them  trembling  in  their  wooden 
walls. 

Obey  the  night,  and  use  her  peaceful  hours 
Our  steeds  to  forage,  and  refresh  oui 
powers 

Straight  from  the  town  be  sheep  and  oxen 
sought, 

And  strength’ning  bread  and  gen’rous  wine 
be  brought.  63c 


THE  ILIAD 


35i 


Wide  o’er  the  field,  high  blazing  to  the  sky, 
Let  numerous  tires  the  absent  sun  supply. 
The  flaming  piles  with  plenteous  fuel  raise, 
Till  the  bright  morn  her  purple  beam  dis- 
# plays: 

Lest  in  the  silence  and  the  shades  of  night, 
Greece  on  her  sable  ships  attempt  her 
flight. 

Not  unmolested  let  the  wretches  gain 
Their  lofty  decks,  or  safely  cleave  the 
main: 

Some  hostile  wound  let  ev’ry  dart  bestow, 
Some  lasting  token  of  the  Phrygian  foe,  640 
Wounds,  that  long  hence  may  ask  their 
spouses’  care, 

And  warn  their  children  from  a Trojan  war. 
Now  thro’  the  circuit  of  our  Ilion  wall, 

Let  sacred  heralds  sound  the  solemn  call; 
To  bid  the  sires  with  hoary  honours 
crown’d, 

And  beardless  youths,  our  battlements  sur- 
round. 

Firm  be  the  guard,  while  distant  lie  our 
powers, 

And  let  the  matrons  hang  with  lights  the 
towers: 

Lest,  under  covert  of  the  midnight  shade, 
Th’  insidious  foe  the  naked  town  invade.  650 
Suffice,  to-night,  these  orders  to  obey; 

A nobler  charge  shall  rouse  the  dawning 
day. 

The  Gods,  I trust,  shall  give  to  Hector’s 
hand, 

From  these  detested  foes  to  free  the  land, 
Who  plough’d,  with  Fates  averse,  the 
wat’ry  way; 

For  Trojan  vultures  a predestin’d  prey. 

Our  common  safety  must  be  now  the  care; 
But,  soon  as  morning  paints  the  fields  of 
air, 

Sheathed  in  bright  arms  let  every  troop 
engage, 

And  the  fired  fleet  behold  the  battle  rage. 
Then,  then  shall  Hector  and  Tydides 
prove,  661 

Whose  Fates  are  heaviest  in  the  scale  of 
Jove. 

To-morrow’s  light  (oh  haste  the  glorious 
morn!) 

Shall  see  his  bloody  spoils  in  triumph 
borne ; 

With  this  keen  jav’lin  shall  his  breast  be 
gored, 

And  prostrate  heroes  bleed  around  their 
lord. 


Certain  as  this,  0I1!  might  my  days  endure, 
From  age  inglorious,  and  black  death,  se- 
cure; 

So  might  my  life  and  glory  know  no 
bound, 

Like  Pallas  worshipp’d,  like  the  sun  re- 
nown’d,  670 

As  the  next  dawn,  the  last  they  shall  enjoy, 
Shall  crush  the  Greeks,  and  end  the  woes 
of  Troy.’ 

The  leader  spoke.  From  all  his  hosts 
around 

Shouts  of  applause  along  the  shores  re- 
sound. 

Each  from  the  yoke  the  smoking  steeds 
untied, 

And  fix’d  their  headstalls  to  his  chariot- 
side. 

Fat  sheep  and  oxen  from  the  town  are  led, 
With  gen’rous  wine,  and  all-sustaining 
bread. 

Full  hecatombs  lay  burning  on  the  shore; 
The  winds  to  Heav’n  the  curling  vapours 
bore.  680 

Ungrateful  off ’ring  to  th’  immortal  Powers! 
Whose  wrath  hung  heavy  o’er  the  Trojan 
towers; 

Nor  Priam  nor  his  sons  obtain’d  their 
grace; 

Proud  Troy  they  hated,  and  her  guilty 
race. 

The  troops  exulting  sat  in  order  round, 
And  beaming  fires  illumin’d  all  the 
ground. 

As  when  the  moon,  refulgent  lamp  of 
night, 

O’er  Heav’n’s  clear  azure  spreads  her  sa- 
cred light, 

When  not  a breath  disturbs  the  deep  se- 
rene, 

And  not  a cloud  o’ercasts  the  solemn 
scene ; 69c 

Around  her  throne  the  vivid  planets  roll, 
And  stars  unnumber’d  gild  the  glowing 
pole, 

O’er  the  dark  trees  a yellower  verdure 
shed, 

And  tip  with  silver  ev’ry  mountain’s  head; 
Then  shine  the  vales,  the  rocks  in  prospect 
rise, 

A flood  of  glory  bursts  from  all  the  skies’ 
The  conscious  swains,  rejoicing  in  the 
sight, 

Eye  the  blue  vault  and  bless  the  useful 
light. 


352 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


So  many  flames  before?  proud  Ilion  blaze, 
And  lighten  glimm’ring  Xanthus  with 
their  rays:  7QO 

The  long  reflections  of  the  distant  fires 
Gleam  on  the  walls,  and  tremble  on  the 
spires. 

A thousand  piles  the  dusky  horrors  gild, 
And  shoot  a shady  lustre  o’er  the  field. 

Full  fifty  guards  each  flaming  pile  attend, 
Whose  umber’d  arms,  by  fits,  thick  flashes 
send. 

Loud  neigh  the  coursers  o’er  their  heaps 
of  corn, 

And  ardent  warriors  wait  the  rising  morn. 

BOOK  IX 

THE  EMBASSY  TO  ACHILLES 
THE  ARGUMENT 

Agamemnon,  after  the  last  day’s  defeat,  pro- 
poses to  the  Greeks  to  quit  the  siege,  and  re- 
turn to  their  country.  Diomed  opposes  this, 
and  Nestor  seconds  him,  praising  his  wisdom 
and  resolution.  He  orders  the  guard  to  be 
strengthened,  and  a council  summoned  to  de- 
liberate what  measures  were  to  be  followed  in 
this,  emergency.  Agamemnon  pursues  this 
advice,  and  Nestor  farther  prevails  upon  him 
to  send  ambassadors  to  Achilles,  in  order  to 
move  him  to  a reconciliation.  Ulysses  and 
Ajax  are  made  choice  of,  who  are  accom- 
panied by  old  Phoenix.  They  make,  each 
of  them,  very  moving  and  pressing  speeches, 
but  are  rejected  with  roughness  by  Achilles, 
who  notwithstanding  retains  Phoenix  in  his 
tent.  The  ambassadors  return  unsuccess- 
fully to  the  camp,  and  the  troops  betake 
themselves  to  sleep. 

This  book,  and  the  next  following,  take  up  the 
space  of  one  night,  which  is  the  twenty- 
seventh  from  the  beginning  of  the  poem. 
The  scene  lies  on  the  sea-shore,  the  station  of 
the  Grecian  ships. 

Thus  joyful  Troy  maintain’d  the  watch 
of  night: 

While  Fear,  pale  comrade  of  inglorious 
Flight,  8 

And  heav’n-bred  Horror,  on  the  Grecian 
part, 

Sat  on  each  face,  and  sadden’d  ev’ry 
heart. 

As  from  its  cloudy  dungeon  issuing  forth, 

A double  tempest  of  the  west  and  uorth 


Swells  o’er  the  sea,  from  Thracia’s  frozen 
shore, 

Heaps  waves  on  waves,  and  bids  th’  iEgean 
roar; 

This  way  and  that  the  boiling  deeps  are 
toss’d; 

Such  various  passions  urged  the  troubled 
host.  1( 

Great  Agamemnon  griev’d  above  the  rest; 
Superior  sorrows  swell’d  his  royal  breast; 
Himself  his  orders  to  the  heralds  bears, 

To  bid  to  council  all  the  Grecian  peers, 

But  bid  in  whispers:  these  surround  their 
Chief, 

In  solemn  sadness  and  majestic  grief. 

The  King  amidst  the  mournful  circle  rose; 
Down  his  wan  cheek  a briny  torrent  flows: 
So  silent  fountains,  from  a rock’s  tall  head, 
In  sable  streams  soft-trickling  waters 
shed.  2Q 

With  more  than  vulgar  grief  he  stood  op- 
press’d ; 

Words,  mix’d  with  sighs,  thus  bursting 
from  his  breast: 

‘ Ye  sons  of  Greece!  partake  your  leader’s 
care, 

Fellows  in  arms,  and  Princes  of  the  war! 
Of  partial  Jove  too  justly  we  complain, 
And  heav’nly  oracles  believ’d  in  vain. 

A safe  return  was  promis’d  to  our  toils 
With  conquest  honour’d,  and  enrich’d  with 
spoils: 

Now  shameful  flight  alone  can  save  the 
host, 

Our  wealth,  our  people,  and  our  glory, 
lost.  30 

So  Jove  decrees,  almighty  Lord  of  all! 
Jove,  at  whose  nod  whole  empires  rise  or 
fall, 

Who  shakes  the  feeble  props  of  human 
trust, 

And  towers  and  armies  humbles  to  the 
dust. 

Haste  then,  for  ever  quit  these  fatal  fields, 
Haste  to  the  joys  our  native  country  yields;, 
Spread  all  your  canvas,  all  your  oars’ 
employ, 

Nor  hope  the  fall  of  Heav’n  - defended 
Troy.’ 

He  said;  deep  silence  held  the  Grecian 
band; 

Silent,  unmov’d,  in  dire  dismay  they 
stand,  40 

A pensive  scene!  till  Tydeus’  warlike  son 
Roll’d  on  the  King  his  eyes,  and  thus  begun*0 


THE  ILIAD 


353 


* When  Kings  advise  us  to  renounce  our 
fame, 

First  let  him  speak,  who  first  has  suffer’d 
shame. 

If  I oppose  thee,  Prince!  thy  wrath  with- 
hold; 

The  laws  of  council  bid  my  tongue  be 
bold. 

Thou  first,  and  thou  alone,  in  fields  of 
fight, 

Durst  brand  my  courage,  and  defame  my 
might; 

Nor  from  a friend  th’  unkind  reproach  ap- 
pear’d, 

The  Greeks  stood  witness,  all  our  army 
heard.  5o 

The  Gods,  0 Chief  ! from  whom  our 
honours  spring, 

The  Gods  have  made  thee  but  by  halves  a 
King: 

They  gave  thee  sceptres  and  a wide  com- 
mand, 

They  gave  dominion  o’er  the  seas  and 
land; 

The  noblest  power  that  might  the  world 
control 

They  gave  thee  not  — a brave  and  virtuous 
soul. 

Is  this  a gen’ral’s  voice,  that  would  sug- 
gest > 

Fears  like  his  own  in  ev’ry  Grecian  breast  ? 

Confiding  in  our  want  of  worth  he  stands, 

And  if  we  fly,  ’t  is  what  our  King  com- 
mands. 6a 

Go  thou,  inglorious ! from  th’  embattled 
plain, 

Ships  thou  hast,  store,  and  nearest  to  the 
main; 

A nobler  care  the  Grecians  shall  employ, 

To  combat,  conquer,  and  extirpate  Troy. 

Here  Greece  shall  stay;  or,  if  all  Greece 
retire, 

Myself  will  stay,  till  Troy  or  I expire; 

Myself,  and  Sthenelus,  will  fight  for 
fame ; 

God  bade  us  fight,  and ’t  was  with  God  we 
came.’ 

He  ceas’d;  the  Greeks  loud  acclamations 
raise, 

And  voice  to  voice  resounds  Tydides’ 
praise.  7o 

iVise  Nestor  then  his  rev’rend  figure 
rear’d ; 

,ie  spoke  : the  host  in  still  attention 
heard: 


‘ O truly  great!  in  whom  the  Gods  have 
join’d 

Such  strength  of  body  with  such  force  of 
mind ; 

In  conduct,  as  in  courage,  you  excel, 

Still  first  to  act  what  you  advise  so  well. 
Those  wholesome  counsels  which  thy  wis- 
dom moves, 

Applauding  Greece,  with  common  voice, 
approves. 

Kings  thou  canst  blame;  a bold,  but  prudent 
youth ; 

And  blame  ev’n  Kings  with  praise,  because 
with  truth.  8o 

And  yet  those  fears  that  since  thy  birth 
have  run, 

Would  hardly  style  thee  Nestor’s  youngest 
son. 

Then  let  me  add  what  yet  remains  behind, 
A thought  unfinish’d  in  that  gen’rous  mind; 
Age  bids  me  speak;  nor  shall  th’  advice  I 
bring 

Distaste  the  people,  or  offend  the  King: 

* Curs’d  is  the  man,  and  void  of  law  and 
right, 

Unworthy  property,  unworthy  light, 

Unfit  for  public  rule,  or  private  care, 

That  wretch,  that  monster,  that  delights  in 
war:  9o 

Whose  lust  is  murder,  and  whose  horrid 

To  tear  his  country,  and  his  kind  destroy! 
This  night  refresh  and  fortify  thy  train; 
Between  the  trenoh  and  wall  let  guards 
remain : 

Be  that  the  duty  of  the  young  and  bold; 
But  thou,  O King,  to  conncil  call  the  old  : 
Great  is  thy  . sway,  and  weighty  are  thy 
cares ; 

Thy  high  commands  must  spirit  all  our 
wars: 

With  Thracian  wines  recruit  thy  honour’d 
guests, 

For  happy  counsels  flow  from  sober  feasts. 
Wise,  weighty  counsels  aid  a state  dis- 
tress’d IOI 

And  such  a monarch  as  can  choose  the 
best. 

See!  what  a blaze  from  hostile  tents  aspires, 
How  near  our  fleet  approach  the  Trojan 
fires! 

Who  can,  unmov’d,  behold  the  dreadful 
light  ? 

What  eye  beholds  them,  and  can  close  to- 
night ? 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


354 


This  dreadful  interval  determines  all; 
To-morrow,  Troy  must  flame,  or  Greece 
must  fall.’ 

Thus  spoke  the  hoary  Sage:  the  rest 
obey ; 

Swift  thro’  the  gates  the  guards  direct 
their  way.  no 

Ilis  son  was  first  to  pass  the  lofty  mound, 
The  gen’rous  Thrasymed,  in  arms  re- 
nown’d: 

Next  him  Ascalaphus,  lalmen,  stood, 

The  double  offspring  of  the  Warrior-God. 
Deipyrus,  Aphareus,  Merion  join, 

And  Ly corned,  of  Creon’s  noble  line. 

Sev’n  were  the  leaders  of  the  nightly 
bands, 

And  each  bold  Chief  a hundred  spears 
commands. 

The  fires  they  light,  to  short  repasts  they 
fall, 

Some  line  the  trench,  and  others  man  the 
wall.  120 

The  King  of  Men,  on  public  counsels 
bent, 

Convened  the  Princes  in  his  ample  tent; 
Each  seiz’d  a portion  of  the  kingly  feast, 
But  stay’d  his  hand  when  thirst  and  hunger 
ceas’d. 

Then  Nestor  spoke,  for  wisdom  long  ap- 
prov’d, 

And,  slowly  rising,  thus  the  council  mov’d: 

‘ Monarch  of  nations!  whose  superior  sway 
Assembled  states  and  lords  of  earth  obey, 
The  laws  and  sceptres  to  thy  hand  are  giv’n, 
And  millions  own  the  care  of  thee  and 
Heav’n.  130 

0 King!  the  counsels  of  my  age  attend; 
With  thee  my  cares  begin,  with  thee  must 

end; 

Thee,  Prince!  it  fits  alike  to  speak  and 
hear, 

Pronounce  with  judgment,  with  regard 
give  ear, 

To  see  no  wholesome  motion  be  withstood, 
And  ratify  the  best  for  public  good. 

Nor,  tho’  a meaner  give  advice,  repine, 

But  follow  it,  and  make  the  wisdom  thine. 
Hear  then  a thought,  not  now  conceiv’d  in 
haste, 

At  once  my  present  judgment,  and  my 
past:  140 

When  from  Pelides’  tent  you  forced  the 
Maid, 

1 first  opposed,  and,  faithful,  durst  dis- 

suade; 


But,  bold  of  soul,  when  headlong  fury  fired, 
You  wrong’d  the  man,  by  men  and  Gods 
admired: 

Now  seek  some  means  his  fatal  wrath  to 
end, 

With  prayers  to  move  him,  or  with  gifts  to 
bend.’ 

To  whom  the  King:  ‘With  justice  hast 
thou  shewn 

A Prince’s  faults,  and  I with  reason  own. 
That  happy  man  whom  Jove  still  honours 
most, 

Is  more  than  armies,  and  himself  a host.  150 
Bless’d  in  his  love,  this  wondrous  Hero 
stands; 

Heav’n  fights  his  war,  and  humbles  all  our 
bands. 

Fain  would  my  heart,  which  err’d  thro’ 
frantic  rage, 

The  wrathful  Chief  and  angry  Gods  as- 
suage. 

If  gifts  immense  his  mighty  soul  can  bow, 
blear,  all  ye  Greeks,  and  witness  what  I 
vow: 

Ten  weighty  talents  of  the  purest  gold, 
And  twice  ten  vases  of  refulgent  mould; 
Sev’n  sacred  tripods,  whose  unsullied 
frame 

Yet  knows  no  office,  nor  has  felt  the 
flame : 160 

Twelve  steeds  unmatch’d  in  fleetness  and 
in  force, 

And  still  victorious  in  the  dusty  course 
(Rich  were  the  man  whose^  ample  stores 
exceed 

The  prizes  purchas’d  by  their  winged 
speed) : 

Sev’n  lovely  captives  of  the  Lesbian  line, 
Skill’d  in  each  art,  unmatch’d  in  form 
divine, 

The  same  I chose  for  more  than  vulgar 
charms, 

When  Lesbos  sunk  beneath  the  hero’s 
arms: 

All  these,  to  buy  his  friendship,  shall  be 
paid, 

And  join’d  with  these  the  long-contested 
maid;  170 

With  all  her  charms,  Briseis  I resign, 

And  solemn  swear  those  charms  were  never 
mine ; 

Untouch’d  she  staid,  uninjured  she  re- 
moves, 

Pure  from  my  arms,  and  guiltless  of  my 
loves. 


THE  ILIAD 


These  instant  shall  be  his;  and  if  the 
Powers 

Give  to  our  arms  proud  Ilion’s  hostile 
towers, 

Then  shall  he  store  (when  Greece  the  spoil 
divides) 

With  gold  and  brass  his  loaded  navy’s 
sides. 

Besides,  full  twenty  nymphs  of  Trojan 
race 

, With  copious  love  shall  crown  his  warm 
embrace;  180 

Such  as  himself  will  choose;  who  yield  to 
none, 

Or  yield  to  Helen’s  heav’nly  charms  alone. 
Yet  hear  me  farther:  when  our  wars  are 
o’er, 

If  safe  we  land  on  Argos’  fruitful  shore, 
There  shall  he  live  my  son,  our  honours 
share, 

And  with  Orestes’  self  divide  my  care. 

Yet  more  — three  daughters  in  my  court 
are  bred, 

And  each  well  worthy  of  a royal  bed, 
Laodice  and  Iphigenia  fair, 

And  bright  Chrysothemis  with  golden 
hail’:  igo 

Her  let  him  choose  whom  most  his  eyes 
approve, 

I ask  no  presents,  no  reward  for  love; 
Myself  will  give  the  dower;  so  vast  a 
store, 

As  never  father  gave  a child  before. 

Sev’n  ample  cities  shall  confess  his  sway, 
Him  Enopd,  and  Pherse  him  obey, 
Cardamyld  with  ample  turrets  crown’d, 

And  sacred  Pedasus  for  vines  renown’d; 
iEpea  fair,  the  pastures  Hira  yields, 

And  rich  Antheia  with  her  flowery  fields: 
The  whole  extent  to  Pylos’  sandy  plain,  201 
Along  the  verdant  margin  of  the  main. 
There  heifers  graze,  and  lab’ring  oxen  toil; 
Bold  are  the  men,  and  gen'rous  is  the 
soil; 

There  shall  he  reign  with  power  and  jus- 
tice crown’d, 

And  rule  the  tributary  realms  around. 

All  this  I give,  his  vengeance  to  control, 
And  sure  all  this  may  move  his  mighty 
soul. 

Pluto,  the  grisly  God,  who  never  spares, 
Who  feels  no  mercy,  and  who  hears  no 
prayers,  210 

Lives  dark  and  dreadful  in  deep  Hell’s 
abodes, 


355 


And  mortals  hate  him  as  the  worst  of 
Gods. 

Great  tho’  he  be,  it  fits  him  to  obey? 

Since  more  than  his  my  years,  and  more 
my  sway.’ 

The  Monarch  thus:  the  rev’rend  Nestor 
then: 

‘Great  Agamemnon!  glorious  King  of  Men! 
Such  are  thy  offers  as  a Prince  may  take, 
And  such  as  fits  a gen’rous  King  to  make. 
Let  chosen  delegates  this  hour  be  sent 
(Myself  will  name  them ; to  Pelides’ 
tent:  220 

Let  Phoenix  lead,  revered  for  hoary  age, 
Great  Ajax  next,  and  Ithacus  the  sage. 

Yet  more  to  sanctify  the  word  you  send, 
Let  Hodius  and  Eury bates  attend. 

Now  pray  to  Jove  to  grant  what  Greece 
demands; 

Pray,  in  deep  silence,  and  with  purest 
hands.’ 

He  said,  and  all  approv’d.  The  heralds 
bring 

The  cleansing  water  from  the  living  spring, 
The  youth  with  wine  the  sacred  goblets 
crown’d, 

And  large  libations  drench’d  the  sands 
around.  230 

The  rite  perform’d,  the  Chiefs  their  thirst 
allay, 

Then  from  the  royal  tent  they  take  their 
way; 

Wise  Nestor  turns  on  each  his  careful  eye, 
Forbids  t’  offend,  instructs  them  to  apply: 
Much  he  advised  them  all,  Ulysses  most, 

To  deprecate  the  Chief,  and  save  the  host. 
Thro’  the  still  night  they  march,  and  hear 
the  roar 

Of  murm’ring  billows  on  the  sounding 
shore. 

To  Neptune,  ruler  of  the  seas  profound, 
Whose  liquid  arms  the  mighty  globe  sur- 
round, 24c 

They  pour  forth  vows,  their  embassy  to 
bless, 

And  calm  the  rage  of  stern  iEacides. 

And  now  arrived,  where,  on  the  sandy  bay 
The  Myrmidonian  tents  and  vessels  lav, 
Amused  at  ease,  the  godlike  man  they 
found, 

Pleas’d  with  the  solemn  harp’s  harmonious 
sound 

(The  well-wrought  harp  from  conquer’d 
Thebfe  came, 

Of  polish’d  silver  was  its  costly  frame); 


356 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


With  this  he  soothes  his  angry  soul,  and 
sings 

Th’  immortal  deeds  of  heroes  and  of 
Kings.  250 

Patroclus  only  of  the  royal  train, 

Placed  in  his  tent,  attends  the  lofty  strain: 
Full  opposite  he  sat,  and  listen’d  long 
In  silence  waiting  till  he  ceas’d  the  song. 
Unseen  the  Grecian  embassy  proceeds 
To  his  high  tent;  the  great  Ulysses  leads. 
Achilles  starting,  as  the  Chiefs  he  spied, 
Leap’d  from  his  seat,  and  laid  the  harp 
aside. 

With  like  surprise  arose  Mencetius’  son: 
Pelides  grasp’d  their  hands,  and  thus 
begun:  260 

‘ Princes,  all  hail!  whatever  brought  you 
here, 

Or  strong  necessity,  or  urgent  fear; 
Welcome,  tho’  Greeks!  for  not  as  foes  ye 
came; 

To  me  more  dear  than  all  that  bear  the 
name.’ 

With  that,  the  Chiefs  beneath  his  roof  he 
led, 

And  placed  in  seats  with  purple  carpets 
spread. 

Then  thus:  ‘ Patroclus,  crown  a larger  bowl, 
Mix  purer  wine,  and  open  every  soul. 

Of  all  the  warriors  yonder  host  can  send, 
Thy  friend  most  honours  these,  and  these 
thy  friend.’  270 

He  said:  Patroclus,  o’er  the  blazing  fire 
Heaps  in  a brazen  vase  three  chines  entire: 
The  brazen  vase  Automedon  sustains, 
Which  flesh  of  porket,  sheep,  and  goat 
contains: 

Achilles  at  the  genial  feast  presides, 

The  parts  transfixes,  and  with  skill  divides. 
Meanwhile  Patroclus  sweats  the  fire  to 
raise; 

The  tent  is  brighten’d  with  the  rising 
blaze: 

Then,  when  the  languid  flames  at  length 
subside,  279 

He  strews  a bed  of  glowing  embers  wide, 
Above  the  coals  the  smoking  fragments 
turns, 

And  sprinkles  sacred  salt  from  lifted  urns; 
With  bread  the  glitt’ring  canisters  they 
load, 

Which  round  the  board  Mencetius’  son  be- 
stow’d : 

Himself,  opposed  t’  Ulysses  full  in  sight, 
Each  portion  parts,  and  orders  every  rite. 


The  first  fat  off’rings,  to  th’  immortals  due, 
Amidst  the  greedy  flames  Patroclus  threw; 
Then  each  indulging  in  the  social  feast,  289 
His  thirst  and  hunger  soberly  repress’d. 
That  done,  to  Phcenix  Ajax  gave  the  sign; 
Not  unperceiv’d;  Ulysses  crown’d  with 
wine 

The  foaming  bowl,  and  instant  thus  began, 
His  speech  addressing  to  the  godlike  man: 

‘ Health  to  Achilles!  happy  are  thy 
guests! 

Not  those  more  honour’d  whom  Atrides 
feasts: 

Tho’  gen’rous  plenty  crown  thy  loaded 
boards, 

That,  Agamemnon’s  regal  tent  affords; 

But  greater  cares  sit  heavy  on  our  souls, 
Not  eased  by  banquets  or  by  flowing 
bowls.  300 

What  scenes  of  slaughter  in  yon  fields  ap- 
pear! 

The  dead  we  mourn,  and  for  the  living 
fear; 

Greece  on  the  brink  of  fate  all  doubtful 
stands, 

And  owns  no  help  but  from  thy  saving 
hands: 

Troy  and  her  aids  for  ready  vengeance 
call ; 

Their  threat’ning  tents  already  shade  our 
wall: 

Hear  how  with  shouts  their  conquest  they 
proclaim, 

And  point  at  ev’ry  ship  their  vengeful 
flame! 

For  them  the  Father  of  the  Gods  declares, 
Theirs  are  his  omens,  and  his  Thunder j 
theirs.  310 

See,  full  of  Jove,  avenging  Hector  rise!  I 
See!  Heav’n  and  Earth  the  raging  Chief 
defies;  ?• 

What  fury  in  his  breast,  what  lightning 
in  his  eyes!  J 

He  waits  but  for  the  morn,  to  sink  in  flame 
The  ships,  the  Greeks,  and  all  the  Grecian 
name. 

Heav’ns!  how  my  country’s  woes  distract 
my  mind, 

Lest  Fate  accomplish  all  his  rage  design’d. 
And  must  we,  Gods!  our  heads  inglorious 
lay 

In  Trojan  dust,  and  this  the  fatal  day  ? 
Return,  Achilles!  0I1  return,  tho’  late,  320 
To  save  thy  Greeks,  and  stop  the  course  of 
Fate; 


THE  ILIAD 


357 


If  in  that  heart  or  grief  or  courage  lies, 
Rise  to  redeem;  ah  yet,  to  conquer,  rise  I 
The  day  may  come,  when,  all  our  warriors 
slain, 

That  heart  shall  melt,  that  courage  rise  in 
vain. 

Regard  in  time,  O Prince  divinely  brave! 
Those  wholesome  counsels  which  thy  father 
gave. 

When  Peleus  in  his  aged  arms  embraced 
His  parting  son,  these  accents  were  his 
last: 

“My  child!  with  strength,  with  glory  and 
success,  330 

Thy  arms  may  Juno  and  Minerva  bless! 
Trust  that  to  Heav’n:  but  thou  thy  cares 
engage 

To  calm  thy  passions,  and  subdue  thy  rage: 
From  gentler  manners  let  thy  glory  grow, 
And  shun  contention,  the  sure  source  of 
woe; 

That  young  and  old  may  in  thy  praise  com- 
bine, 

The  virtues  of  humanity  be  thine.” 

This  now  despised  advice  thy  father  gave; 
Ah!  check  thy  anger,  and  be  truly  brave, 
tf  thou  wilt  yield  to  great  Atrides’  prayers, 
Grifts  worthy  thee  his  royal  hand  prepares; 

[f  not but  hear  me,  while  I number 

o’er  342 

The  proffer’d  presents,  an  exhaustless 
store. 

Ten  weighty  talents  of  the  purest  gold, 

And  twice  ten  vases  of  refulgent  mould; 
iiev’n  sacred  tripods,  whose  unsullied 
frame 

Yet  knows  no  office,  nor  has  felt  the  flame: 
Twelve  steeds  unmatch’d  in  fleetness  and 
in  force, 

Vnd  still  victorious  in  the  dusty  course 
Rich  were  the  man  whose  ample  stores 
exceed  3So 

The  prizes  purchas’d  by  their  winged 
' speed): 

lev’n  lovely  captives  of  the  Lesbian  line, 
ikill’d  in  each  art,  unmatch’d  in  form 
* divine, 

the  same  he  chose  for  more  than  vulgar 
charms, 

When  Lesbos  sunk  beneath  thy  conquering 
arms; 

U1  these,  to  buy  thy  friendship,  shall  be 
| paid, 

And  join’d  with  these  the  long-contested 
maid; 


With  all  her  charms,  Briseis  he  ’ll  resign, 
And  solemn  swear  those  charms  were  only 
thine; 

Untouch’d  she  stay’d,  uninjured  she  re- 
moves, 36o 

Pure  from  his  arms,  and  guiltless  of  his 
loves. 

These  instant  shall  be  thine:  and  if  the 
Powers 

Give  to  our  arms  proud  Ilion’s  hostile 
towers, 

Then  shalt  thou  store  (when  Greece  the 
spoil  divides) 

With  gold  and  brass  thy  loaded  navy’s 
sides. 

Besides,  full  twenty  nymphs  of  Trojan  race 
With  copious  love  shall  crown  thy  warm 
embrace ; 

Such  as  thyself  shalt  choose;  who  yield  to 
none, 

Or  yield  to  Helen’s  heav’nly  charms  alone. 
Yet  hear  me  farther:  when  our  wars  are 
o’er,  37o 

If  safe  we  land  on  Argos’  fruitful  shore, 
There  shalt  thou  live  his  son,  his  honours 
share, 

And  with  Orestes’  self  divide  his  care. 

Yet  more  — three  daughters  in  his  court 
are  bred, 

And  each  well  worthy  of  a royal  bed; 
Laodice  and  Iphigenia  fair, 

And  bright  Chrysothemis  with  golden  hair; 
Her  shalt  thou  wed  whom  most  thy  eyes 
approve ; 

He  asks  no  presents,  no  reward  for  love: 
Himself  will  give  the  dower:  so  vast  a 
store,  380 

As  never  father  gave  a child  before. 

Sev’11  ample  cities  shall  confess  thy  sway, 
Thee  Enope',  and  Pherse  thee  obey, 
Cardamyle  with  ample  turrets  crown’d, 

And  sacred  Pedasus,  for  vines  renown’d: 
iEpea  fair,  the  pastures  Hira  yields, 

And  rich  Antheia  with  her  flowery  fields: 
The  whole  extent  to  Pylos’  sandy  plain 
Along  the  verdant  margin  of  the  main. 
There  heifers  graze,  and  lab’ring  oxen 
toil;  390 

Bold  are  the  men,  and  gen’rous  is  the  soil. 
There  shalt  thou  reign  with  power  and 
justice  crown’d, 

And  rule  the  tributary  realms  around. 

Such  are  the  proffers  which  this  day  we 
bring, 

Such  the  repentance  of  a suppliant  King. 


358 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


But  if  all  this,  relentless,  thou  disdain, 

If  honour  and  if  int’rest  plead  in  vain; 

Yet  some  redress  to  suppliant  Greece  af- 
ford, 

And  be,  amongst  her  guardian  Gods,  ador’d. 
If  no  regard  thy  suff ’ring  country  claim,  400 
Hear  thy  own  glory,  and  the  voice  of 
Fame: 

For  now  that  Chief,  whose  unresisted  ire 
Made  nations  tremble,  and  whole  hosts  re- 
tire, 

Proud  Hector,  now,  th’  unequal  fight  de- 
mands, 

And  only  triumphs  to  deserve  thy  hands.’ 

Then  thus  the  Goddess- born:  ‘Ulysses, 
hear 

A faithful  speech,  that  knows  nor  art  nor 
fear; 

What  in  my  secret  soul  is  understood, 

My  tongue  shall  utter,  and  my  deeds  make 
good. 

Let  Greece  then  know,  my  purpose  I re- 
tain, 410 

Nor  with  new  treaties  vex  my  peace  in 
vain. 

Who  dares  think  one  thing,  and  another 
tell, 

My  heart  detests  him  as  the  gates  of  Hell. 

‘ Then  thus  in  short  my  fix’d  resolves  at- 
tend, 

Which  nor  Atrides,  nor  his  Greeks,  can 
bend: 

Long  toils,  long  perils,  in  their  cause  I 
bore; 

But  now  th’  unfruitful  glories  charm  no 
more. 

Fight  or  not  fight,  a like  reward  we  claim, 
The  wretch  and  hero  find  their  prize  the 
same, 

Alike  regretted  in  the  dust  he  lies,  420 
Who  yields  ignobly,  or  who  bravely  dies. 
Of  all  my  dangers,  all  my  glorious  pains, 

A life  of  labours,  lo!  what  fruit  remains  ? 
As  the  bold  bird  her  helpless  young  at- 
tends, 

From  danger  guards  them,  and  from  want 
defends; 

In  search  of  prey  she  wings  the  spacious 
air, 

And  with  th’  untasted  food  supplies  her 
care : 

For  thankless  Greece  such  hardships  have 
I braved, 

Her  wives,  her  infants,  by  my  labours 
saved; 


Long  sleepless  nights  in  heavy  arms 
stood,  43 

And  sweat  laborious  days  in  dust  ant 
blood. 

I sack’d  twelve  ample  cities  on  the  main, 
And  twelve  lay  smoking  on  the  Troja 
plain: 

Then  at  Atrides’  haughty  feet  were  laid 
The  wealth  I gather’d,  and  the  spoils 
made. 

Your  mighty  monarch  these  in  peace  pos 
sess’d; 

Some  few  my  soldiers  had,  himself  th 
rest. 

Some  present  too  to  ev’ry  Prince  was  paid 
And  ev’ry  Prince  enjoys  the  gift  he  made 
I only  must  refund  of  all  his  train;  4, 
See  what  preeminence  our  merits  gain! 

My  spoil  alone  his  greedy  soul  delights; 
My  spouse  alone  must  bless  his  lustfr 
nights: 

The  woman,  let  him  (as  he  may)  enjoy;  j 
But  what ’s  the  quarrel  then  of  Greece  t 
Troy  ? 

What  to  these  shores  th’  assembled  nation 
draws, 

What  calls  for  vengeance  but  a woman1 
cause  ? 

Are  fair  endowments  and  a beauteous  fac 
Belov’d  by  none  but  those  of  Atreus’  race  ‘ 
The  wife  whom  choice  and  passion  both  aj 
prove,  4; 

Sure  ev’ry  wise  and  worthy  man  will  love 
Nor  did  my  fair  one  less  distinction  claim 
Slave  as  she  was,  my  soul  ador’d  th 
dame. 

Wrong’d  in  my  love,  all  proffers  I disdain 
Deceiv’d  for  once,  I trust  not  Kings  agait 
Ye  have  my  answer.  What  remains  t 
do, 

Your  King,  Ulysses,  may  consult  with  yoi 
What  needs  he  the  defence  this  arm  ca 
make  ? 

Has  he  not  walls  no  human  force  cal 
shake  ? 

Has  he  not  fenc’d  his  guarded  navy  round 
With  piles,  with  ramparts,  and  a trene 
profound  ? 4( 

And  will  not  these  (the  wonders  he  ha 
done) 

Repel  the  rage  of  Priam’s  single  son  ? 
There  was  a time  (’t  was  when  for  Greec 
I fought) 

When  Hector’s  prowess  no  such  wonder 
wrought; 


THE  ILIAD 


359 


He  kept  the  verge  of  Troy,  nor  dared  to  'I 
wait 

Achilles’  fury  at  the  Scaean  gate;  > 

He  tried  it  once,  and  scarce  was  saved  by 

Fate.  J 

But  now  those  ancient  enmities  are  o’er; 
To-morrow  we  the  fav’ring  Gods  implore; 
Then  shall  you  see  our  parting  vessels 
crown’d,  47I 

And  hear  with  oars  the  Hellespont  resound. 
The  third  day  hence,  shall  Plithia  greet  our 
sails, 

If  mighty  Neptune  send  propitious  gales; 
Plithia  to  her  Achilles  shall  restore 
The  wealth  he  left  for  this  detested  shore: 
Thither  the  spoils  of  this  long  war  shall  pass, 
The  ruddy  gold,  the  steel,  and  shining 
brass; 

My  beauteous  captives  thither  I’ll  convey, 
And  all  that  rests  of  my  unravish’d  prey,  480 
One  only  valued  gift  your  tyrant  gave, 

And  that  resumed;  the  fair  Lyrnessian 
slave. 

Then  tell  him,  loud,  that  all  the  Greeks 
may  hear, 

And  learn  to  scorn  the  wretch  they  basely 
fear 

(For,  arm’d  in  impudence,  mankind  he 
braves, 

And  meditates  new  cheats  on  all  his  slaves; 
Tho’,  shameless  as  he  is,  to  face  these  eyes 
Is  what  he  dares  not;  if  he  dares,  he  dies); 
Tell  him,  all  terms,  all  commerce  Idecline, ) 
Nor  share  his  council,  nor  his  battle  join;  I 
For  once  deceiv’d,  was  his;  but  twice,  [ 
were  mine.  49IJ 

No  — let  the  stupid  Prince,  whom  Jove  de- 
prives 

Of  sense  and  justice,  run  where  frenzy 
drives; 

His  gifts  are  hateful:  Kings  of  such  a kind 
1 Stand  but  as  slaves  before  a noble  mind. 

Not  tho’  he  proffer’d  all  himself  possess’d, 
And  all  his  rapine  could  from  others  wrest: 
Not  all  the  golden  tides  of  wealth  that 
£ crown 

The  many-peopled  Orchomenian  town; 
iNot  all  proud  Thebes’  unri vail’d  walls  con- 
tain, 5oo 

The  world’s  great  Empress  on  th’  Egyptian 
plain 

» 'That  spreads  her  conquests  o’er  a thou- 
sand states, 

And  pours  her  Heroes  thro’  a hundred 
gates, 


Two  hundred  horsemen  and  two  hundred 
cars 

From  each  wide  portal  issuing  to  the  wars); 
Tho’  bribes  were  heap’d  on  bribes,  in  num- 
ber more 

Than  dust  in  fields,  or  sands  along  the 
shore; 

Should  all  these  offers  for  my  friendship  call ; 
’T  is  he  that  offers,  and  I scorn  them  all. 
Atrides’  daughter  never  shall  be  led  510 
(An  ill-match’d  consort)  to  Achilles’  bed; 
Like  golden  Venus  tho’  she  charm’d  the 
heart, 

And  vied  with  Pallas  in  the  works  of  art. 
Some  greater  Greek  let  those  high  nuptials 
grace, 

I hate  alliance  with  a tyrant’s  race. 

If  Heav’11  restore  me  to  my  realms  with 
life, 

The  rev’rend  Peleus  shall  elect  my  wife; 
Thessalian  nymphs  there  are,  of  form  di- 
vine, 

And  Kings  that  sue  to  mix  their  blood  with 
mine. 

Bless’d  in  kind  love,  my  years  shall  glide 
away,  520 

Content  with  just  hereditary  sway; 

There,  deaf  forever  to  the  martial  strife, 
Enjoy  the  dear  prerogative  of  life. 

Life  is  not  to  be  bought  with  heaps  of  gold; 
Not  all  Apollo’s  Pythian  treasures  hold, 

Or  Troy  once  held,  in  peace  and  pride  of 
sway, 

Can  bribe  the  poor  possession  of  a day! 

Lost  herds  and  treasures  we  by  arms  re- 
gain, 

And  steeds  unrivall’d  on  the  dusty  plain: 
But  from  our  lips  the  vital  spirit  fled,  530 
Returns  no  more  to  wake  the  silent  dead. 
My  Fates  long  since  by  Thetis  were  dis- 
closed, 

And  each  alternate,  Life  or  Fame,  pro- 
posed: 

Here  if  I stay,  before  the  Trojan  town, 
Short  is  my  date,  but  deathless  my  renown; 
If  I return,  I quit  immortal  praise 
For  years  on  years,  and  long-extended 
days. 

Convinc’d,  tho’  late,  I find  my  fond  mis- 
take, 

And  warn  the  Greeks  the  wiser  choice  to 
make; 

To  quit  these  shores,  their  native  seats  en- 

joy, 540 

Nor  hope  the  fall  of  Heav’n-defended  Troy. 


360 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


Jove’s  arm  display’d  asserts  her  from  the 
skies; 

Her  hearts  are  strengthen’d,  and  her  glo- 
ries rise. 

Go  then,  to  Greece  report  our  fix’d  design: 
Bid  all  your  councils,  all  your  armies  join, 
Let  all  your  forces,  all  your  arts  conspire, 
To  save  the  ships,  the  troops,  the  Chiefs, 
from  fire. 

One  stratagem  has  fail’d,  and  others  will: 
Ye  find  Achilles  is  unconquer’d  still. 

Go  then:  digest  my  message  as  ye  may: 
But  here  this  night  let  rev’rend  Plicenix 
stay:  > 55* 

His  tedious  toils  and  hoary  hairs  demand 
A peaceful  death  in  Phthia’s  friendly  land. 
But  whether  he  remain,  or  sail  with  me, 
His  age  be  sacred,  and  his  will  be  free.’ 

The  son  of  Peleus  ceas’d:  the  Chiefs 
around 

In  silence  wrapp’d,  in  consternation 
drown’d, 

Attend  the  stern  reply.  Then  Phoenix 
rose 

(Down  his  white  beard  a stream  of  sorrow 
flows), 

And  while  the  fate  of  suff’ring  Greece  he 
mourn’d,  560 

With  accent  weak  these  tender  words  re- 
turn'd: 

‘ Divine  Achilles!  wilt  thou  then  retire, 
And  leave  our  hosts  in  blood,  our  fleets  on 
fire  ? 

If  wrath  so  dreadful  fill  thy  ruthless  mind, 
How  shall  thy  friend,  thy  Phoenix,  stay  be- 
hind ? 

The  royal  Peleus,  when  from  Phthia’s  coast 
He  sent  thee  early  to  th’  Achaian  host; 
Thy  youth  as  then  in  sage  debates  un- 
skill’d, 

And  new  to  perils  of  the  direful  field; 

He  bade  me  teach  thee  all  the  ways  of 
war ; 570 

To  shine  in  councils,  and  in  camps  to  dare. 
Never,  ah  never,  let  me  leave  tliy  side! 

No  time  shall  part  us,  and  no  Fate  divide. 
Not  tho’  the  God,  that  breathed  my  life, 
restore 

The  bloom  I boasted,  and  the  port  I bore, 
When  Greece  of  old  beheld  my  youthful 
flames 

(Delightful  Greece,  the  land  of  lovely 
dames). 

My  father,  faithless  to  my  mother’s  arms, 
Old  as  he  was,  ador’d  a stranger’s  charms. 


I tried  what  youth  could  do  (at  her  desire) 
To  win  the  damsel,  and  prevent  my  sire.  581 
My  sire  with  curses  loads  my  hated  head, 
And  cries,  “Ye  Furies!  barren  be  his  bed.” 
Infernal  Jove,  the  vengeful  fiends  below, 
And  ruthless  Proserpine,  confirm’d  his 
vow. 

Despair  and  grief  attract  my  lab’ring 
mind ; 

Gods!  what  a crime  my  impious  heart  de- 
sign’d ! 

I thought  (but  some  kind  God  that  thought 
suppress’d) 

To  plunge  the  poniard  in  my  father’s  breast: 
Then  meditate  my  flight;  my  friends  in 
vain  59c 

With  prayers  entreat  me,  and  with  force 
detain. 

On  fat  of  rams,  black  bulls,  and  brawny 
swine, 

They  daily  feast,  with  draughts  of  fragrant 
wine: 

Strong  guards  they  placed,  and  watch’d 
nine  nights  entire: 

The  roofs  and  porches  flamed  with  constant 
fire. 

The  tenth,  I forc’d  the  gates,  unseen  oil 
all: 

And,  favour’d  by  the  night,  o’erleap’d  tht 
wall. 

My  travels  thence  thro’  spacious  Greece 
extend : 

In  Phthia’s  court  at  last  my  labours  end. 
Your  sire  receiv’d  me,  as  his  son  caress’d, 
With  gifts  enrich’d,  and  with  possessions 
bless’d.  60 i 

The  strong  Dolopians  thenceforth  own’d 
my  reign, 

And  all  the  coast  that  runs  along  the  main 
By  love  to  thee  his  bounties  I repaid, 

And  early  wisdom  to  thy  soul  convey’d: 
Great  as  thou  art,  my  lessons  made  thee 
brave, 

A child  I took  thee,  but  a hero  gave. 

Thy  infant  breast  a like  affection  skew’d: 
Still  in  my  arms  (an  ever-pleasing  load), 
Or  at  my  knee,  by  Phoenix  wouldst  thoi 
stand; 

No  food  was  grateful  but  from  Phoenix 
hand. 

I pass  my  watchings  o’er  thy  helpless  years 
The  tender  labours,  the  compliant  cares; 
The  Gods  (I  thought)  revers’d  their  har( 
decree, 

And  Phoenix  felt  a father’s  joys  in  thee: 


THE  ILIAD 


361 


Thy  growing  virtues  justified  my  cares, 
And  promis’d  comfort  to  my  silver  hairs. 
Now  be  thy  rage,  thy  fatal  rage,  resign’d; 
A cruel  heart  ill  suits  a manly  mind:  619 
The  Gods  (the  only  great,  and  only  wise) 
Are  mov’d  by  off’rings,  vows,  and  sacrifice; 
Offending  man  their  high  compassion  wins, 
And  daily  prayers  atone  for  daily  sins. 
Prayers  are  Jove’s  daughters,  of  celestial 
race, 

Lame  are  their  feet,  and  wrinkled  is  their 
face; 

With  humble  mien,  and  with  dejected  eyes, 
Constant  they  follow  where  Injustice  flies: 
Injustice,  swift,  erect,  and  unconfin’d,  ) 
Sweeps  the  wide  earth,  and  tramples  o’er 
mankind,  l 

While  Prayers,  to  heal  her  wrongs,  move 
slow  behind.  630  J 

Who  hears  these  daughters  of  almighty 
Jove, 

?or  him  they  mediate  to  the  throne  above: 
When  man  rejects  the  humble  suit  they 
make, 

The  sire  revenges  for  the  daughters’  sake; 
?rom  Jove  commission’d,  fierce  Injustice 
then 

)escends,  to  punish  unrelenting  men. 

)h  let  not  headlong  passion  bear  the  sway; 
these  reconciling  Goddesses  obey: 

)ue  honours  to  the  seed  of  Jove  belong; 

)ue  honours  calm  the  fierce  and  bend  the 
strong.  640 

V'ere  these  not  paid  thee  by  the  terms  we 
bring, 

Were  rage  still  harbour’d  in  the  haughty 
King, 

lor  Greece,  nor  all  her  fortunes,  should 
engage 

’hy  friend  to  plead  against  so  just  a rage, 
hit  since  what  honour  asks,  the  Gen’ral 
■ sends, 

nd  sends  by  those  whom  most  thy  heart 
commends, 

’he  best  and  noblest  of  the  Grecian  train ; 
ermit  not  these  to  sue,  and  sue  in  vain! 

1 et  me  (my  son)  an  ancient  fact  unfold, 

. great  example  drawn  from  times  of  old; 
[ear  what  our  fathers  were,  and  what 
their  praise,  651 

fho  conquer’d  their  revenge  in  former  days. 

‘Where  Calydon  on  rocky  mountains 
' stands, 

nee  fought  th’  Etolian  and  Curetian 
bauds; 


To  guard  it  those,  to  conquer  these,  ad- 
vance; 

And  mutual  deaths  were  dealt  with  mutual 
chance. 

The  silver  Cynthia  bade  Contention  rise, 

In  vengeance  of  neglected  sacrifice; 

O11  CEneus’  fields  she  sent  a monstrous 
boar, 

That  levell’d  harvests  and  whole  forests 
tore : 660 

This  beast  (when  many  a Chief  his  tusks 
had  slain) 

Great  Meleager  stretch’d  along  the  plain. 
Then,  for  his  spoils,  a new  debate  arose, 
The  neighbour  nations  thence  commencing 
foes. 

Strong  as  they  were,  the  bold  Curetes 
fail’d, 

While  Meleager’s  thund’ring  arm  pre- 
vail’d: 

Till  rage  at  length  inflamed  his  lofty  breast 
(For  rage  invades  the  wisest  and  the  best). 
Curs’d  by  Althsea,  to  his  wrath  he  yields, 
And,  in  his  wife’s  embrace,  forgets  tlie 
fields.  670 

‘ (She  from  Marpessa  sprung,  divinely 
fair, 

And  matchless  Idas,  more  than  man  in 
war; 

The  God  of  Day  adored  the  mother’s 
charms ; 

Against  the  God  the  father  bent  his  arms: 
Th’  afflicted  pair,  their  sorrows  to  pro- 
claim, 

From  Cleopatra  changed  this  daughter’s 
name, 

And  call’d  Alcyone;  a name  to  shew 
The  father’s  grief,  the  mourning  mother’s 
woe.) 

To  her  the  Chief  retired  from  stern  debate, 
But  found  no  peace  from  fierce  Althsea’s 
hate:  68o 

Althaea’s  hate  th’  unhappy  warrior  drew, 
Whose  luckless  hand  his  royal  uncle  slew; 
She  beat  the  ground,  and  call’d  the  Powers 
beneath 

On  her  own  son  to  wreak  her  brother’s 
death : 

Hell  heard  her  ourses  from  the  realms  pro- 
found, 

And  the  red  fiends  that  walk’d  the  nightly 
round. 

In  vain  Etolia  her  deliv’rer  waits, 

War  shakes  her  walls,  and  thunders  at  her 

gates. 


362 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


She  sent  ambassadors,  a chosen  band, 
Priests  of  the  Gods,  and  elders  of  the 
land,  690 

Besought  the  Chief  to  save  the  sinking 
state: 

Their  prayers  were  urgent,  and  their 
proffers  great; 

(Full  fifty  acres  of  the  richest  ground, 

Half  pasture  green,  and  half  with  vineyards 
crown’d). 

His  suppliant  father,  aged  (Eneus,  came; 
His  sisters  follow’d:  ev’n  the  vengeful 
dame 

Althsea  sues;  his  friends  before  him  fall: 

He  stands  relentless,  and  rejects  them  all. 
Meanwhile  the  victors’  shouts  ascend  the 
skies; 

The  walls  are  scaled;  the  rolling  flames 
arise ; 700 

At  length  his  wife  (a  form  divine)  appears, 
With  piercing  cries,  and  supplicating  tears; 
She  paints  the  horrors  of  a conquer’d 
town, 

The  heroes  slain,  the  palaces  o’erthrown, 
The  matrons  ravish’d,  the  whole  race  en- 
slaved: 

The  warrior  heard,  he  vanquish’d,  and  he 
saved. 

Tli’  iEtolians,  long  disdain’d,  now  took 
their  turn, 

And  left  the  Chief  their  broken  faith  to 
mourn. 

Learn  hence,  betimes  to  curb  pernicious 
ire, 

Nor  stay,  till  yonder  fleets  ascend  in  fire: 
Accept  the  presents;  draw  thy  conquering 
sword;  71 1 

And  be  amongst  our  guardian  Gods 
ador’d.’ 

Thus  he  : the  stern  Achilles  thus  re- 
plied: 

‘My  second  father,  and  my  rev’rend  guide! 
Thy  friend,  believe  me,  no  such  gifts  de- 
mands, 

And  asks  no  honours  from  a mortal’s 
hands: 

Jove  honours  me,  and  favours  my  designs: 
His  pleasure  guides  me,  and  his  will  con- 
fines: 

And  here  I stay  (if  such  his  high  behest) 
While  life’s  warm  spirit  beats  within  my 
breast.  720 

Yet  hear  one  word,  and  lodge  it  in  thy 
heart; 

No  more  molest  me  on  Atrides’  part: 


Is  it  for  him  these  tears  are  taught  to 
flow, 

For  him  these  sorrows  ? for  my  mortal 
foe  ? 

A gen’rous  friendship  no  cold  medium 
knows, 

Burns  with  one  love,  with  one  resentment 
glows; 

One  should  our  int’rests,  and  our  passions, 
be; 

My  friend  must  hate  the  man  that  injures 
me. 

Do  this,  my  Phcenix,  ’t  is  a gen’rous  part, 

And  share  my  realms,  my  honours,  and  my 
heart.  730 

Let  these  return:  our  voyage,  or  our  stay, 

Rest  undetermin’d  till  the  dawning  day.’ 

He  ceas’d:  then  order’d  for  the  sage’s 
bed 

A warmer  couch  with  numerous  carpets 
spread. 

With  that,  stern  Ajax  his  long  silence 
broke, 

And  thus,  impatient,  to  Ulysses  spoke: 

‘ Hence  let  us  go  — why  waste  we  time  in 
vain  ? 

See  what  effect  our  low  submissions  gain! 

Liked  or  not  liked,  his  words  we  must  re- 
late, 

The  Greeks  expect  them,  and  our  heroes' 

wait.  740 

Proud  as  he  is,  that  iron  heart  retains 

Its  stubborn  purpose,  and  his  friends  dis- 
dains. 

Stern,  and  unpitying!  if  a brother  bleed, 

On  just  atonement,  we  remit  the  deed; 

A sire  the  slaughter  of  his  son  forgives; 

The  price  of  blood  discharged,  the  mur- 
d’rer  lives: 

The  haughtiest  hearts  at  length  their  rage 
resign, 

And  gifts  can  conquer  ev’ry  soul  but  thine: 

The  Gods  that  unrelenting  breast  have 
steel’d, 

And  curs’d  thee  with  a mind  that  cannot 
yield.  # 750 

One  woman-slave  was  ravish’d  from  thy 
arms: 

Lo,  sev’11  are  offer’d,  and  of  equal  charms. 

Then  hear,  Achilles!  be  of  better  mind; 

Revere  thy  roof,  and  to  thy  guests  be  kind ; 

And  know  the  men,  of  all  the  Grecian 
host 

Who  honour  worth,  and  prize  thy  valour 
most.’ 


THE  ILIAD 


363 


‘Oil  Soul  of  Battles,  and  thy  people’s 
guide!  ’ 

(To  Ajax  thus  the  first  of  Greeks  replied) 
Well  hast  thou  spoke;  but  at  the  tyrant’s 
name  7S9 

My  rage  rekindles  and  my  soul’s  on  flame ; 
T is  just  resentment,  and  becomes  the 
brave ; 

Disgraced,  dishonour’d,  like  the  vilest 
slave ! 

Return  then,  Heroes!  and  our  answer  bear, 
I'he  glorious  combat  is  no  more  my  care; 
Not  till  amidst  yon  sinking  navy  slain, 

The  blood  of  Greeks  shall  dye  the  sable 
main ; 

STot  till  the  flames,  by  Hector’s  fury 
thrown, 

Consume  your  vessels,  and  approach  my 
own; 

lust  there,  th’  impetuous  homicide  shall 
stand, 

There  cease  his  battle,  and  there  feel  our 
hand.  770 

This  said,  each  Prince  a double  goblet 
i crown’d, 

Vnd  cast  a large  libation  on  the  ground : 
Then  to  their  vessels,  thro’  the  gloomy 
shades, 

The  Chiefs  return;  divine  Ulysses  leads. 
Meantime  Achilles’  slaves  prepared  a bed, 
Tith  fleeces,  carpets,  and  soft  linen  spread: 
There,  till  the  sacred  morn  restor’d  the 
i day, 

n slumbers  sweet  the  rev’rend  Phoenix  lay, 
lut  in  his  inner  tent,  an  ampler  space,  ) 
Lchilles  slept:  and  in  his  warm  embrace  > 
air  Diomede  of  the  Lesbian  race.  781 J 
^ast,  for  Patroclus  was  the  couch  prepared, 
Those  nightly  joys  the  beauteous  Iphis 
1 shared: 

Achilles  to  his  friend  consign’d  her  charms, 
Then  Scyros  fell  before  his  conquering 
I arms. 

And  now  th’  elected  Chiefs,  whom 
! Greece  had  sent, 

’ass’d  thro’  the  hosts,  and  reach’d  the 
royal  tent. 

'hen  rising  all,  with  goblets  in  their  hands, 
'he  peers,  and  leaders  of  th’  Achaian 
bands, 

[ail’d  their  return:  Atrides  first  begun:  79o 
‘ Say,  what  success  ? divine  Laertes’ 

1 son ! 

chilles’  high  resolves  declare  to  all: 
veturns  the  Chief,  or  must  our  navy  fall  ? ’ 


‘Great  King  of  Nations!’  (Ithacus  re- 
plied) 

‘ Fix’d  is  his  wrath,  unconquer’d  is  his 
pride; 

He  slights  thy  friendship,  thy  proposals 
scorns, 

And,  thus  implor’d,  with  fiercer  fury 
burns. 

To  save  our  army,  and  our  fleets  to  free, 

Is  not  his  care;  but  left  to  Greece  and 
thee. 

Your  eyes  shall  view,  when  morning  paints 
the  sky,  800 

Beneath  his  oars  the  whitening  billows 

fly- 

Us  too  he  bids  our  oars  and  sails  employ, 
Nor  hope  the  fall  of  Heav’n-protected 
Troy; 

For  Jove  o’ershades  her  with  his  arm 
divine, 

Inspires  her  war,  and  bids  her  glory  shine. 
Such  was  his  word:  what  farther  he  de- 
clared, 

These  sacred  heralds  and  great  Ajax  heard. 
But  Phoenix  in  his  tent  the  Chief  retains, 
Safe  to  transport  him  to  his  native  plains, 
When  morning  dawns;  if  other  he  decree, 
His  age  is  sacred,  and  his  choice  is  free.’  8n 
Ulysses  ceas’d:  the  great  Achaian  host, 
With  sorrow  seiz’d,  in  consternation  lost, 
Attend  the  stern  reply.  Tydides  broke 
The  gen’ral  silence,  and  uudaunted  spoke: 

‘ Why  should  we  gifts  to  proud  Achilles 
send  ? 

Or  strive  with  prayers  his  haughty  soul  to 
bend  ? 

His  country’s  woes  he  glories  to  deride, 

And  prayers  will  burst  that  swelling  heart 
with  pride. 

Be  the  fierce  impulse  of  his  rage  obey’d;  820 
Our  battles  let  him  or  desert  or  aid; 

Then  let  him  arm  when  Jove  or  he  think 
fit; 

That,  to  his  madness,  or  to  Heav’n,  com- 
mit: 

What  for  ourselves  we  can,  is  always  ours: 
This  night,  let  due  repast  refresh  our 
powers; 

(For  strength  consists  in  spirits  and  in 
blood, 

And  those  are  owed  to  gen’rous  wine  and 
food); 

But  when  the  rosy  Messenger  of  Day 
Strikes  the  blue  mountains  with  her  erolden 
ray, 


364 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


Ranged  at  the  ships  let  all  our  squadrons 
shine,  830 

In  flaming  arms,  a long  extended  line: 

In  the  dread  front  let  great  Atrides  stand, 

The  first  in  danger,  as  in  high  command.’ 

Shouts  of  acclaim  the  list’ning  heroes 
raise, 

Then  each  to  Heav’n  the  due  libations 
pays; 

Till  sleep,  descending  o’er  the  tents,  be- 
stows 

The  grateful  blessings  of  desired  repose. 


BOOK  X 

THE  NIGHT  ADVENTURE  OF  DIOMEDE  AND 
ULYSSES 

THE  ARGUMENT 

Upon  the  refusal  of  Achilles  to  return  to  the 
army,  the  distress  of  Agamemnon  is  described 
in  the  most  lively  manner.  He  takes  no  rest 
that  night,  but  passes  through  the  camp, 
awaking  the  leaders,  and  contriving  all  possi- 
ble methods  for  the  public  safety.  Menelaus, 
Nestor,  Ulysses,  and  Diomede,  are  employed 
in  raising  the  rest  of  the  captains.  They  call 
a council  of  war,  and  determine  to  send 
scouts  into  the  enemy’s  camp,  to  learn  their 
posture,  and  discover  their  intentions.  Dio- 
mede undertakes  this  hazardous  enterprise, 
and  makes  choice  of  Ulysses  for  his  com- 
panion. In  their  passage  they  surprise  Dolon, 
whom  Hector  had  sent  on  a like  design  to  the 
camp  of  the  Grecians.  From  him  they  are 
informed  of  the  situation  of  the  Trojan  and 
auxiliary  forces,  and  particularly  of  Rhesus, 
and  the  Thracians,  who  were  lately  arrived. 
They  pass  on  with  success  ; kill  Rhesus  with 
several  of  his  officers,  and  seize  the  famous 
horses  of  that  Prince,  with  which  they  return 
in  triumph  to  the  camp. 

The  same  night  continues ; the  scene  lies  in 
the  two  camps. 

All  night  the  Chiefs  before  their  vessels 
lay, 

And  lost  in  sleep  the  labours  of  the  day: 

All  but  the  King;  with  various  thoughts 
oppress’d, 

His  country’s  cares  lay  rolling  in  his 
breast. 

As  when  by  lightnings  Jove’s  ethereal 
Power 

Foretells  the  rattling  hail,  or  weighty 
shower, 


Or  sends  soft  snows  to  whiten  all  the  shore, 
Or  bids  the  brazen  throat  of  war  to  roar; 

By  fits  one  flash  succeeds  as  one  expires, 

And  Heav’n  flames  thick  with  momentary 
fires:  10 

So  bursting  frequent  from  Atrides’  breast, 
Sighs  foll’wing  sighs  his  inward  fears  con- 
fess’d. 

Now,  o’er  the  fields,  dejected,  he  surveys 
From  thousand  Trojan  fires  the  mounting 
blaze; 

Hears  in  the  passing  wind  their  music  blow, 
And  marks  distinct  the  voices  of  the  foe. 
Now,  looking  backwards  to  the  fleet  and 
coast, 

Anxious  he  sorrows  for  th’  endanger’d  host. 
He  rends  his  hairs,  in  sacrifice  to  Jove, 

And  sues  to  him  that  ever  lives  above:  2c 
Inly  he  groans ; while  glory  and  despair 
Divide  his  heart,  and  wage  a doubtful  war 
A thousand  cares  his  lab’ring  breast  re- 
volves; 

To  seek  sage  Nestor  now  the  Chief  re- 
solves, 

With  him,  in  wholesome  counsels,  to  debate 
What  yet  remains  to  save  th’ afflicted  state 
He  rose,  and  first  he  cast  his  mantle  round 
Next  on  his  feet  the  shining  sandals  bound 
A lion’s  yellow  spoils  his  back  conceal’d; 
His  warlike  hand  a pointed  jav’lin  held.  3< 
Meanwhile  his  brother,  press’d  with  equa 
woes, 

Alike  denied  the  gift  of  soft  repose, 
Laments  for  Greece;  that  in  his  cause  be 
fore 

So  much  had  suffer’d,  and  must  suffer  more  I 
A leopard’s  spotted  hide  his  shoulder: I 
spread ; 

A brazen  helmet  glitter’d  on  his  head: 

Thus  (with  a jav’lin  in  his  hand)  he  went  I 
To  wake  Atrides  in  the  royal  tent. 

Already  waked,  Atrides  he  descried 
His  armour  buckling  at  his  vessel’s  side.  4-! 
Joyful  they  met;  the  Spartan  thus  begun:  I 
‘ Why  puts  my  brother  this  bright  armoul 

011  ? I 

Sends  he  some  spy,  amidst  these  suen| 
hours, 

To  try  yon  camp,  and  watch  the  Trojail 
powers  ? 

But  say,  what  hero  shall  sustain  the  task  ' 
Such  bold  exploits  uncommon  courage  ask 
Guideless,  alone,  thro’  night’s  dark  shade  t( 
£°. 

And  ’midst  a hostile  camp  explore  the  foe. 


THE  ILIAD  365 


To  whom  tlie  King:  ‘ In  such  distress  we 
stand, 

No  vulgar  counsels  our  affairs  demand;  50 
Greece  to  preserve  is  now  no  easy  part, 

But  asks  high  wisdom,  deep  design,  and  art. 
For  Jove  averse  our  humble  prayer  denies, 
And  bows  his  head  to  Hector’s  sacrifice. 
What  eye  has  witness’d,  or  what  ear  be- 
liev'd, 

In  one  great  day,  by  one  great  arm 
achiev’d, 

Such  wondrous  deeds  as  Hector’s  hand  has 
done, 

And  we  beheld,  the  last  revolving  sun  ? 
What  honours  the  belov’d  of  Jove  adorn! 
Sprung  from  no  God,  and  of  no  Goddess 
born,  60 

Yet  such  his  acts,  as  Greeks  unborn  shall 
tell, 

And  curse  the  battle  where  their  fathers 
fell. 

Now  speed  thy  hasty  course  along  the 
fleet, 

There  call  great  Ajax,  and  the  Prince  of 
Crete; 

Ourself  to  hoary  Nestor  will  repair; 

To  keep  the  guards  on  duty,  be  his  care: 
(For  Nestor’s  influence  best  that  quarter 
guides, 

Whose  son,  with  Merion,  o’er  the  watch 
presides.’) 

To  whom  the  Spartan:  ‘ These  thy  orders 
borne, 

3ay,  shall  I stay,  or  with  despatch  re- 
turn ? ’ 70 

‘There  shalt  thou  stay  (the  King  of] 
Men  replied), 

Else  may  we  miss  to  meet  without  a guide,  [ 
The  paths  so  many,  and  the  camp  so  wide.  J 
Still,  with  your  voice,  the  slothful  soldiers 
raise, 

Urge  by  their  fathers’  fame,  their  future 
praise. 

[Forget  we  now  our  state  and  lofty  birth; 
Not  titles  here,  but  works,  must  prove  our 
worth. 

To  labour  is  the  lot  of  man  below; 
ind  when  Jove  gave  us  life,  he  gave  us 
woe.’ 

This  said,  each  parted  to  his  sev’ral 
cares;  80 

The  King  to  Nestor’s  sable  ship  repairs; 
The  sage  protector  of  the  Greeks  he  found 
stretch’d  in  his  bed,  with  all  his  arms 
around; 


The  various-colour’d  scarf,  the  shield  he 
rears, 

The  shining  helmet,  and  the  pointed  spears; 
The  dreadful  weapons  of  the  warrior’s 
rage, 

That,  old  in  arms,  disdain’d  the  peace  of 
age. 

Then,  leaning  on  his  hand  his  watchful 
head, 

The  hoary  Monarch  rais’d  his  eyes,  and 
said: 

‘ What  art  thou,  speak,  that  on  designs 
unknown,  90 

While  others  sleep,  thus  range  the  camp 
alone  ? 

Seek’st  thou  some  friend,  or  nightly  sen- 
tinel ? 

Stand  off,  approach  not,  but  thy  purpose 
tell.’ 

‘ O son  of  Neleus!  (thus  the  King  re- 
join’d) 

Pride  of  the  Greeks,  and  glory  of  thy  kind! 
Lo  here  the  wretched  Agamemnon  stands, 
Th’  unhappy  Gen’ral  of  the  Grecian  bands; 
Whom  Jove  decrees  with  daily  cares  to 
bend, 

And  woes,  that  only  with  his  life  shall  end! 
Scarce  can  my  knees  these  trembling  limbs 
sustain,  100 

And  scarce  my  heart  support  its  load  of 
pain. 

No  taste  of  sleep  these  heavy  eyes  have 
known ; 

Confused,  and  sad,  I wander  thus  alone, 
With  fears  distracted,  with  no  fix’d  design; 
And  all  my  people’s  miseries  are  mine. 

If  aught  of  use  thy  waking  thought  sug- 
gest* 

(Since  cares,  like  mine,  deprive  thy  soul  of 
rest, 

Impart  thy  counsel,  and  assist  thy  friend: 
Now  let  us  jointly  to  the  trench  descend, 
At  every  gate  the  fainting  guard  excite,  no 
Tired  with  the  toils  of  day,  and  watch  of 
night: 

Else  may  the  sudden  foe  our  works  invade, 
So  near,  and  favour’d  by  the  gloomy  shade.’ 

To  him  thus  Nestor:  ‘Trust  the  Powers 
above, 

Nor  think  proud  Hector’s  hopes  confirm’d 
by  Jove: 

How  ill  agree  the  views  of  vain  mankind, 
And  the  wise  counsels  of  th’  eternal  mind! 
Audacious  Hector,  if  the  Gods  ordain 
That  great  Achilles  rise  and  rage  again, 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


366 


What  toils  attend  thee,  and  what  woes 
remain!  120 

Lo  ! faithful  Nestor  thy  command  obeys; 
The  care  is  next  our  other  Chiefs  to  raise: 
Ulysses,  Diomed,  we  chiefly  need; 

Meges  for  strength,  Olleus  famed  for 
speed, 

Some  other  be  despatch’d  of  nimbler  feet,  'l 
To  those  tall  ships,  remotest  of  the  fleet,  ! 
Where  lie  great  Ajax,  and  the  King  of  | 
Crete.  J 

To  rouse  the  Spartan  I myself  decree; 

Dear  as  he  is  to  us,  and  dear  to  thee, 

Yet  must  I tax  his  sloth,  that  claims  no 
share,  130 

With  his  great  brother,  in  this  martial 
care : 

Him  it  behoved  to  ev’ry  Chief  to  sue, 
Preventing  ev’ry  part  perform’d  by  you; 
For  strong  necessity  our  toils  demands, 
Claims  all  our  hearts,  and  urges  all  our 
hands.’ 

To  whom  the  King:  ‘ With  rev’rence  we 
allow 

Thy  just  rebukes,  yet  learn  to  spare  them 
now. 

My  gen’rous  brother  is  of  gentle  kind, 

He  seems  remiss,  but  bears  a valiant  mind ; 
Thro’  too  much  def’rence  to  our  sov’reign 
sway, 

Content  to  follow  when  we  lead  the  way. 
But  now,  our  ills  industrious  to  prevent, 
Long  ere  the  rest  he  rose,  and  sought  my 
tent. 

The  Chiefs  you  named,  already,  at  his  call, 
Prepare  to  meet  us  at  the  navy-wall; 
Assembling  there,  between  the  trench  and 
gates, 

Near  the  night-guards  our  chosen  council 
waits.’ 

‘Then  none  (said  Nestor)  shall  his  rule 
withstand, 

For  great  examples  justify  command.’  149 

With  that,  the  venerable  warrior  rose; 
The  shining  greaves  his  manly  legs  enclose; 
His  purple  mantle  golden  buckles  join’d, 
Warm  with  the  softest  wool,  and  doubly 
lin’d. 

Then,  rushing  from  his  tent,  he  snatch’d  in 

haste 

His  steely  lance,  that  lighten’d  as  he 
pass’d. 

The  camp  he  travers’d  thro’  the  sleeping 
crowd, 

Stopp’d  at  Ulysses’  tent,  and  call’d  aloud. 


Ulysses,  sudden  as  the  voice  was  sent, 
Awakes,  starts  up,  and  issues  from  hi: 
tent:- 

‘ What  new  distress,  what  sudden  caus< 
of  fright,  16 

Thus  leads  you  wand’ring  in  the  sileu 
night  ? ’ 

‘ O prudent  Chief!  (the  Pylian  Chief  re 
plied) 

Wise  as  thou  art,  be  now  thy  wisdom  tried! 
Whatever  means  of  safety  can  be  sought,  I 
Whatever  counsels  can  inspire  our  though! 
Whatever  methods,  or  to  fly  or  fight; 

All,  all  depend  on  this  important  night!  ’ 

He  heard,  return’d,  and  took  his  painte 
shield : 

Then  join’d  the  Chiefs,  and  follow’d  thrc 
the  field.  if 

Without  his  tent,  bold  Diomed  they  found 
All  sheath’d  in  arms,  his  brave  compandor! 
round : 

Each  sunk  in  sleep,  extended  on  the  field,! 
His  head  reclining  on  his  bossy  shield: 

A wood  of  spears  stood  by,  that,  fix’d  ujl 
right, 

Shot  from  their  flashing  points  a quiv’rinl 
light. 

A bull’s  black  hide  composed  the  hero! 

bed ; I 

A splendid  carpet  roll’d  beneath  his  head  I 
Then,  with  his  foot,"  old  Nestor  gent! 
shakes 

The  slumb’ring  Chief,  and  in  these  wore 
awakes: 

‘Rise,  son  of  Tydeus!  to  the  brave  an 
strong  1 

Rest  seems  inglorious,  and  the  night  t( 
long. 

But  sleep’st  thou  now  ? when  from  yon  hi 
the  foe 

Hangs  o’er  the  fleet,  and  shades  our  wal 
below  ? ’ 

At  this,  soft  slumber  from  hir  eyelids  fle 
The  warrior  saw  the  hoary  Chief,  and  sai 
‘Wondrous  old  man!  whose  soul  no  respi 
knows, 

Tho’  years  and  honours  bid  thee  seek  r 
pose. 

Let  younger  Greeks  our  sleeping  warrio 
wake; 

111  fits  thy  age  these  toils  to  undertake.’ 

‘ My  friend  ’ (he  answer’d),  ‘ gen’rous 
thy  care, 

These  toils,  my  subjects  and  my  sons  mig 
bear, 


THE  ILIAD 


367 


Their  loyal  thoughts  and  pious  loves  con- 
spire 

To  ease  a Sov’reign,  and  relieve  a Sire. 

But  now  the  last  despair  surrounds  our 
host; 

No  hour  must  pass,  no  moment  must  be 
lost; 

Each  single  Greek,  in  this  conclusive  strife, 
Stands  on  the  sharpest  edge  of  death  or 

Yet  if  my  years  thy  kind  regard  engage, 
Employ  thy  youth  as  I employ  my  age; 
Succeed  to  these  my  cares,  and  rouse  the 
rest;  200 

He  serves  me  most,  who  serves  his  country 
best.’ 

This  said,  the  Hero  o’er  his  shoulder-] 
flung 

A lion's  spoils,  that  to  his  ankles  hung;  ( 
Then  seiz’d  his  pond’rous  lance,  and  strode 
along.  J 

Meges  the  bold,  with  Ajax  famed  for 
speed, 

The  warrior  rous’d,  and  to  th’  entrench- 
ments led. 

And  now  the  Chiefs  approaoh  the  nightly 
guard ; 

A wakeful  squadron,  each  in  arms  pre- 
pared : 

Th’  unwearied  watch  their  list’ning  leaders 
keep,  ao9 

And,  couching  close,  repel  invading  sleep. 
So  faithful  dogs  their  fleecy  charge  main- 
tain, 

With  toil  protected  from  the  prowling 
train ; 

'When  the  gaunt  lioness,  with  hunger  bold, 
springs  from  the  mountains  tow’rd  the 
guarded  fold: 

Thro’  breaking  woods  her  rustling  course 
they  hear; 

uoud,  and  more  loud,  the  clamours  strike 
their  ear 

Of  hounds,  and  men;  they  start,  they  s:aze 
1 around; 

Watch  ev’ry  side,  and  turn  to  ev’ry  sound. 
Thus  watch’d  the  Grecians,  cautious  of 
surprise, 

‘Sack  voice,  each  motion,  drew  their  ears 
and  eyes;  220 

Sach  step  of  passing  feet  increas’d  th’ 

! affright ; 

Uid  hostile  Troy  was  ever  full  in  sight. 
Nestor  with  joy  the  wakeful  band  sur- 
vey’d, 


And  thus  accosted  thro’  the  gloomy  shade: 
‘ ’T  is  well,  my  sons!  your  nightly  cares 
employ, 

Else  must  our  host  become  the  scorn  of 
Troy. 

‘ Watch  thus,  and  Greece  shall  live.’  The 
hero  said; 

Then  o’er  the  trench  the  foll’wing  Chief- 
tains led. 

His  son,  and  godlike  Merion,  march’d  be- 
hind; 

(For  these  the  Princes  to  their  council 
join’d);  230 

The  trenches  pass’d,  th’  assembled  Kings 
around 

In  silent  state  the  consistory  crown’d. 

A place  there  was  yet  unde  fil’d  with  gore, 
The  spot  where  Hector  stopp’d  his  rage 
before, 

When  night,  descending,  from  his  vengeful 
hand 

Repriev’d  the  relics  of  the  Grecian  band. 
(The  plain  beside  with  mangled  corps  was 
spread, 

And  all  his  progress  mark’d  by  heaps  of 
dead.) 

There  sat  the  mournful  kings:  when  Ne- 
leus’  son, 

The  Council  opening,  in  these  words  be- 
gun: 240 

‘ Is  there  ’ (said  he)  1 a Chief  so  greatly 
brave, 

His  life  to  hazard,  and  his  country  save  ? 
Lives  there  a man,  who  singly  dares  to  go 
To  yonder  camp,  or  seize  some  straggling 
foe? 

Or,  favour’d  by  the  night,  approach  so 
near, 

Their  speech,  their  counsels,  and  designs 
to  hear  ? 

If  to  besiege  our  navies  they  prepare, 

Or  Troy  once  more  must  be  the  seat  of 
war  ? 

This  could  he  learn  and  to  our  peers  recite, 
And  pass  unharm’d  the  dangers  of  the 
night:  250 

What  fame  were  his  thro’  all  succeeding 
days, 

While  Phoebus  shines,  or  men  have  tongues 
to  praise! 

What  gifts  his  grateful  country  would  be- 
stow! 

What  must  not  Greece  to  her  deliv’rer  owe! 
A sable  ewe  each  leader  should  provide, 
With  each  a sable  lambkin  by  her  side; 


368 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


At  ev’ry  rite  his  share  should  be  increas’d, 
And  his  the  foremost  honours  of  the  feast.’ 

Fear  held  them  mute:  alone,  untaught 
to  fear, 

Tydides  spoke:  ‘The  man  you  seek  is 
here.  260 

Thro’  yon  black  camps  to  bend  my  danger- 
ous way, 

Some  God  within  commands,  and  I obey. 
But  let  some  other  chosen  warrior  join, 

To  raise  my  hopes  and  second  my  design. 
By  mutual  confidence  and  mutual  aid, 
Great  deeds  are  done,  and  great  discov’ries 
made ; 

The  wise  new  prudence  from  the  wise 
acquire, 

And  one  brave  hero  fans  another’s  fire.’ 

Contending  leaders  at  the  word  arose; 
Each  gen’rous  breast  with  emulation 
glows:  270 

So  brave  a task  each  Ajax  strove  to  share, 
Bold  Merion  strove,  and  Nestor’s  valiant 
heir; 

The  Spartan  wish’d  the  second  place  to 
gain, 

And  great  Ulysses  wish’d,  nor  wish’d  in 
vain. 

Then  thus  the  King  of  Men  the  contest 
ends : 

‘Thou  first  of  warriors,  and  thou  best  of 
friends, 

Undaunted  Diomed!  what  Chief  to  join 
In  this  great  enterprise,  is  only  thine. 

Just  be  thy  choice,  without  affection  made, 
To  birth  or  office  no  respect  be  paid;  280 
Let  worth  determine  here.’  The  Monarch 
spake, 

And  inly  trembled  for  his  brother’s  sake. 

Then  thus  (the  godlike  Diomed  re- 
join’d) : 

‘My  choice  declares  the  impulse  of  my 
mind. 

How  can  I doubt,  while  great  Ulysses 
stands 

To  lend  his  counsels,  and  assist  our  hands  ? 
A Chief,  whose  safety  is  Minerva’s  care: 

So  famed,  so  dreadful  in  the  works  of 
war: 

Bless’d  in  his  conduct,  I no  aid  require, 
Wisdom  like  his  might  pass  thro’  flames  of 
fire.’  290 

‘It  fits  thee  not,  before  these  Chiefs  of 
fame  ’ 

(Replied  the  Sage),  ‘to  praise  me,  or  to 
blame : 


Praise  from  a friend,  or  censure  from  al 
foe, 

Are  lost  on  hearers  that  our  merits  know.  I 
But  let  us  haste.  Night  rolls  the  hours! 
away, 

The  redd’ning  Orient  shows  the  comingl 
day,  | 

The  stars  shine  fainter  on  th’  ethereal! 
plains, 

And  of  Night’s  empire  but  a third  re-j 
mains.’ 

Thus  having  spoke,  with  gen’rous  ardour! 
press’d, 

In  arms  terrific  their  huge  limbs  theJ 
dress’d.  30J 

A two-edged  falchion  Thrasymed  the  brave! 
And  ample  buckler,  to  Tydides  gave: 

Then  in  a leathern  helm  he  cased  hil 
head, 

Short  of  its  crest,  and  with  no  plume  o’er! 
spread : 

(Such  as  by  youths,  unused  to  arms,  art! 
worn ; 

No  spoils  enrich  it,  and  no  studs  adorn.)  I 
Next  him  Ulysses  took  a shining  sword,  I 
A bow  and  quiver,  with  bright  arrow! 
stor’d : 

A well-prov’d  casque,  with  leather  brace! 

bound  30I 

(Thy  gift,  Meriones),  his  temple  crown’d  :| 
Soft  wool  within;  without,  in  order  spread! 
A boar’s  white  teeth  grinn’d  horrid  o’er  hi! 
head. 

This  from  Amyntor,  rich  Ormenus’  son,  I 
Autolycus  by  fraudful  rapine  won, 

And  gave  Amphidamas;  from  him  tlfl 
prize 

Molus  receiv’d,  the  pledge  of  social  ties; 
The  helmet  next  by  Merion  was  possess’d, 
And  now  Ulysses’  thoughtful  temple 
press’d. 

Thus  sheath’d  in  arms,  the  council  the; 
forsake, 

And  dark  thro’  paths  oblique  their  progres 
take.  32 

Just  then,  in  sign  she  favour’d  their  intent 
A long-wing’d  heron  great  Minerva  sent: 
This,  tho’  surrounding  shades  obscure* 
their  view, 

By  the  shrill  clang  and  whistling  wing! 
they  knew. 

As  from  the  right  she  soar’d,  Ulyssel 
pray’d, 

Hail’d  the  glad  omen,  and  address’d  th 
Maid: 


THE  ILIAD 


369 


* 0 Daughter  of  that  God,  whose  arm 
can  wield 

Th’  avenging  bolt,  and  shake  the  dreadful 
shield! 

0 thou!  for  ever  present  in  my  way,  329 
Who  all  my  motions,  all  my  toils,  survey! 
Safe  may  we  pass  beneath  the  gloomy 
shade, 

Safe  by  thy  succour  to  our  ships  convey’d; 
A.nd  let  some  deed  this  signal  night  adorn, 
To  claim  the  tears  of  Trojans  yet  unborn.’ 

Then  godlike  Dioined  preferr’d  his 
prayer: 

Daughter  of  Jove,  unconquer’d  Pallas! 
hear, 

xreat  Queen  of  Arms,  whose  favour  Ty- 
deus  won, 

is  thou  defend’st  the  sire,  defend  the  son. 
When  on  ^Esopus’  banks  the  banded  powers 
)f  Greece  he  left,  and  sought  the  Theban 
towers,  34o 

^eace  was  his  charge;  receiv’d  with  peace- 
ful show, 

le  went  a legate,  but  return’d  a foe: 
lien  help’d  by  thee,  and  cover’d  by  thy 
shield, 

le  fought  with  numbers,  and  made  num- 
bers yield. 

0 now  be  present,  O celestial  Maid! 

0 still  continue  to  the  race  thine  aid! 

1 youthful  steer  shall  fall  beneath  the 

stroke, 

Tiitamed,  unconscious  of  the  galling  yoke, 
Pith  ample  forehead,  and  with  spreading 
horns,  349 

Those  taper  tops  refulgent  gold  adorns.’ 
The  heroes  pray’d,  and  Pallas,  from  the 
skies, 

ccords  their  vow,  succeeds  their  enter- 
' prise. 

ow  like  two  lions  panting  for  the  prey, 

1th  deathful  thoughts  they  trace  the 
dreary  way, 

hro’  the  black  horrors  of  th’  ensanguin’d 
1 plain, 

hro’  dust,  thro’  blood,  o’er  arms,  and  hills 
of  slain. 

Nor  less  bold  Hector,  and  the  sons  of 
Troy, 

n high  designs  the  wakeful  hours  em- 
ploy ; 

’T  assembled  peers  their  lofty  Chief  en- 
. closed; 

1 ho  thus  the  counsels  of  his  breast  pro- 
posed: 36o 


‘ What  glorious  man,  for  high  attempts 
prepared, 

Dares  greatly  venture  for  a rich  reward  ? 
Of  yonder  fleet  a bold  discov’ry  make, 
What  watch  they  keep,  and  what  resolves 
they  take  ? 

If  now,  subdued,  they  meditate  their  flight, 
And,  spent  with  toil,  neglect  the  watch  of 
night  ? 

His  be  the  chariot  that  shall  please  him 
most, 

Of  all  the  plunder  of  the  vanquish’d  host; 
His  the  fair  steeds  that  all  the  rest  excel, 
And  his  the  glory  to  have  serv’d  so  well.’ 

A youth  there  was  among  the  tribes  of 
Troy,  37I 

Dolon  his  name,  Eumedes’  only  boy, 

(Five  girls  beside  the  rev’rend  Herald  told) : 
Rich  was  the  son  in  brass,  and  rich  in  gold: 
Not  bless’d  by  Nature  with  the  charms  of 
face, 

But  swift  of  foot,  and  matchless  in  the  race. 

‘ Hector! 5 (he  said)  ‘ my  courage  bids  me 
meet 

This  high  achievement,  and  explore  the  fleet: 
But  first  exalt  thy  sceptre  to  the  skies, 

And  swear  to  grant  me  the  demanded  prize; 
Th’  immortal  coursers,  and  the  glitt’ring 
car  _ 38i 

That  bear  Pelides  thro’  the  ranks  of  war. 
Encouraged  thus,  no  idle  scout  I go, 

Fulfil  thy  wish,  their  whole  intention  know, 
Ev’n  to  the  royal  tent  pursue  my  way, 

And  all  their  councils,  all  their  aims,  be- 
tray.’ 

The  Chief  then  heav’d  the  golden  scep- 
tre high, 

Attesting  thus  the  Monarch  of  the  Sky: 

‘ Be  witness,  thou!  ’ immortal  Lord  of  All! 
Whose  thunder  shakes  the  dark  aerial  hall: 
By  none  but  Dolon  shall  this  prize  be 
borne,  39I 

And  him  alone  th’  immortal  steeds  adorn.’ 

Thus  Hector  swore  : the  Gods  were  call’d 
in  vain  ; 

But  the  rash  youth  prepares  to  scour  the 
plain: 

Across  his  back  the  bended  bow  he  flung, 

A wolf’s  grey  hide  around  his  shoulders 
hung, 

A ferret’s  downy  fur  his  helmet  lined, 

And  in  his  hand  a pointed  jav’lin  shined. 
Then  (never  to  return)  he  sought  the  shore, 
And  trod  the  path  his  feet  must  tread  no 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


Scaroe  had  he  pass’d  the  steeds  and  Trojan 
throng, 

(Still  bending  forward  as  he  cours’d  along), 
When,  on  the  hollow  way,  th’  approaching 
tread 

Ulysses  mark’d,  and  thus  to  Diomed: 

‘ Q friend  1 I hear  some  step  of  hostile 
feet, 

Moving  this  way,  or  hast’ning  to  the  fleet; 
Some  spy,  perhaps,  to  lurk  beside  the  main; 
Or  nightly  pillager  that  strips  the  slain. 

Yet  let  him  pass,  and  win  a little  space; 
Then  rush  behind  him,  and  prevent  his 
pace.  410 

But  if,  too  swift  of  foot,  he  flies  before, 
Confine  his  course  along  the  fleet  and  shore, 
Betwixt  the  camp  and  him  our  spears  em- 

. ploy> 

And  intercept  his  hoped  return  to  Troy. 

With  that  they  stepp’d  aside,  and  stoop’d 
their  head 

(As  Dolon  pass’d),  behind  a heap  of  dead: 
Along  the  path  the  spy  unwary  flew: 

Soft,  at  just  distance,  both  the  Chiefs  pur- 
sue. 

So  distant  they,  and  such  the  space  between, 
As  when  two  teams  of  mules  divide  the 
green  420 

(To  whom  the  hind  like  shares  of  land  al- 
lows), 

When  now  new  furrows  part  th’  approach- 
ing ploughs. 

Now  Dolon  list’ning  heard  them  as  they 
pass’d; 

Hector  (lie  thought)  had  sent,  and  check’d 
his  haste: 

Till  scarce  at  distance  of  a jav’lin’s  throw, 
No  voice  succeeding,  he  perceiv’d  the  foe. 
As  when  two  skilful  hounds  the  lev’ret 
wind, 

Or  chase  thro’  woods  obscure  the  trembling 
hind, 

Now  lost,  now  seen,  they  intercept  his  way, 
And  from  the  herd  still  turn  the  flying 
prey:  430 

So  fast,  and  with  such  fears,  the  Trojan 
flew; 

So  close,  so  constant,  the  bold  Greeks  pur- 
sue. 

Now  almost  on  the  fleet  the  dastard  falls, 
And  mingles  with  the  guards  that  watch 
the  walls: 

When  brave  Tydides  stopp’d:  a gen’rous 
thought 

(Inspired  by  Pallas)  in  his  bosom  wrought, 


Lest  on  the  foe  some  forward  Greek  ad- 
vance, . 

And  snatch  the  glory  from  his  lifted  lance) 
Then  thus  aloud:  ‘ Whoe’er  thou  art.  re- 
main ; 

This  jav’lin  else  shall  fix  thee  to  the 
plain.’  44c 

He  said,  and  high  in  air  the  weapon  cast,  j 
Which  wilful  err’d,  and  o’er  his  shoulder 
pass’d: 

Then  fix’d  in  earth.  Against  the  trembling 
wood 

The  wretch  stood  propp’d,  and  quiver’d  ae 
he  stood; 

A sudden  palsy  seiz’d  his  turning  head; 

His  loose  teeth  chatter’d,  and  his  colour 
fled: 

The  panting  warriors  seize  him,  as  he 
stands, 

And,  with  unmanly  tears,  his  life  demands: 

‘ O spare  my  youth,  and,  for  the  breatL 
I owe, 

Large  gifts  of  price  my  father  shall  be-j 
stow:  45c 

Vast  heaps  of  brass  shall  in  your  ships  be 
told, 

And  steel  well-temper’d,  and  refulgent 
gold.’ 

To  whom  Ulysses  made  this  wise  reply: 
‘Whoe’er  thou  art,  be  bold,  nor  fear  to  die. 
What  moves  thee,  say,  when  sleep  has  closec 
the  sight, 

To  roam  the  silent  fields  in  dead  of  night  \ 
Camest  thou  the  secrets  of  our  camp  tc 
find, 

By  Hector  prompted,  or  thy  daring  mind  ci 
Or  art  some  wretch  by  hopes  of  plundei 
led 

Thro’  heaps  of  carnage  to  despoil  the 
dead?  ’ 46. 

Then  thus  pale  Dolon  with  a fearful  lool 
(Still  as  he  spoke  his  limbs  with  horroi 
shook) : 

‘Hither  I came,  by  Hector’s  words  deceiv’d 
Much  did  he  promise,  rashly  I believ’d: 

No  less  a bribe  than  great  Achilles’  car, 
And  those  swift  steeds  that  sweep  the  rank: 
of  war, 

Urged  me,  unwilling,  this  attempt  to  make 
To  learn  what  counsels,  what  resolves,  yoi 
take: 

If  now,  subdued,  you  fix  your  hopes  01 
flight, 

And,  tired  with  toils,  neglect  the  watch  o 
night?  * 47 


THE  ILIAD 


37i 


1 Bold  was  thy  aim,  and  glorious  was  the 
prize  ’ 

Ulysses,  with  a scornful  smile,  replies) ; 
Far  other  rulers  those  proud  steeds  de- 
mand, 

.nd  scorn  the  guidance  of  a vulgar  hand; 
Iv’n  great  Achilles  scarce  their  rage  can 
tame, 

chilles  sprung  from  an  immortal  dame, 
ut  say,  be  faithful,  and  the  truth  recite: 
/here  lies  encamp’d  the  Trojan  Chief  to- 
night ? 

/here  stand  his  coursers  ? in  what  quarter 
sleep 

heir  other  princes  ? tell  what  watch  they 
keep.  48o 

*y,  since  this  conquest,  what  their  conn-) 
sels  are; 

r here  to  combat,  from  their  city  far,  f 
r back  to  Uion’s  walls  transfer  the  war?’  J 
Ulysses  thus,  and  thus  Eumedes’  son: 
vVhat  Colon  knows,  his  faithful  tongue 
shall  own. 

ector,  the  peers  assembling  in  his  tent, 
council  holds  at  Hus’  monument. 

0 certain  guards  the  nightly  watch  par- 

take: 

rhere’er  yon  fires  ascend,  the  Troians 
wake : 

tixions  for  Troy,  the  guard  the  natives 
. keeP:  49a 

fe  in  their  cares,  th’  auxiliar  forces  sleep, 
hose  wives  and  infants,  from  the  danger 

1 far, 

scharge  their  souls  of  half  the  fears  of 
war.’ 

‘ Then  sleep  these  aids  among  the  Trojan 
train,’ 

nquired  the  Chief),  ‘or  scatter’d  o’er  the 
plain  ? ’ 

To  whom  the  spy:  ‘Their  powers  they 
1 thus  dispose; 

e Paeons,  dreadful  with  their  bended 
■ bows, 

e Carians,  Caucons,  the  Pelasgian  host, 
d Leleges,  encamp  along  the  coast. 

: t distant  far,  lie  higher  on  the  land  500 
e Lycian,  Mysian,  and  Maeonian  band, 

, d Bhrygia’s  horse,  by  Thymbra’s  ancient 
wall ; 

e Thracians  utmost,  and  apart  from  all. 
tese  Troy  but  lately  to  her  succour  won, 
i on  by  Rhesus,  great  Eioneus’  son: 

,iw  his  coursers  in  proud  triumph  go, 
ift  as  the  wind,  and  white  as  winter  snow: 


Rich  silver  plates  his  shining  car  infold; 
His  solid  arms,  refulgent,  fiaine  with  gold; 
No  mortal  shoulders  suit  the  glorious  load, 
Celestial  panoply,  to  grace  a God!  sn 
Let  me,  unhappy,  to  your  fleet  be  borne, 
Or  leave  me  here,  a captive’s  fate  to  mourn, 
I11  cruel  chains;  till  your  return  reveal 
The  truth  or  falsehood  of  the  news  I tell.’ 

To  this  Tydides,  with  a gloomy  frown: 
‘Think  not  to  live,  tho’  all  the  truth  be 
shewn; 

Shall  we  dismiss  thee,  in  some  future  strife 
To  risk  more  bravely  thy  now  forfeit  life  ? 
Or  that  again  our  camps  thou  may’st  ex- 
piore  ? 520 

No  — once  a traitor,  thou  betray’st  no 
more.’ 

Sternly  he  spoke,  and,  as  the  wretch  pre- 
pared 

With  humble  blandishment  to  stroke  his 
beard, 

Like  lightning  swift  the  wrathful  falchion 
flew, 

Divides  the  neck,  and  cuts  the  nerves  in 
two; 

One  instant  snatch’d  his  trembling  soul  to 
Hell, 

The  head,  yet  speaking,  mutter’d  as  it  fell. 
The  furry  helmet  from  his  brow  they  tear, 
The  wolf’s  grey  bide,  th’  unbended  bow  and 
spear; 

These  great  Ulysses  lifting  to  the  skies,  530 
To  fav’ring  Pallas  dedicates  the  prize: 

‘Great  Queen  of  Arms!  receive  this  hos' 
tile  spoil, 

And  let  the  Thracian  steeds  reward  out1 
toil: 

Thee  first  of  all  the  heav’nly  host  we 
praise ; 

O speed  our  labours,  and  direct  our  ways!  ’ 
This  said,  the  spoils,  with  dropping  gore 
defaced, 

High  on  a spreading  tamarisk  he  placed; 
Then  heap’d  with  reeds  and  gather’d  boughs 
the  plain, 

To  guide  their  footsteps  to  the  place  again. 

Thro’  the  still  night  they  cross  the  devi- 
ous fields,  540 

Slipp’ry  with  blood,  o’er  arms  and  heaps  of 
shields. 

Arriving  where  the  Thracian  squadrons  lay, 
And  eased  in  sleep  the  labours  of  the  day. 
Ranged  in  three  lines  they  view  the  pros- 
trate band: 

The  horses  yoked  beside  each  warrior  stand; 


372 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


Their  arms  in  order  on  the  ground  reclined, 
Thro’  the  brown  shade  the  fulgid  weapons 
shined; 

Amidst,  lay  Rhesus,  stretch’d  in  sleep  pro- 
found, 

And  the  white  steeds  behind  his  chariot 
bound. 

The  welcome  sight  Ulysses  first  descries,  550 
And  points  to  Diomed  the  tempting  prize: 

‘ The  man,  the  coursers,  and  the  car  be- 
hold! 

Described  by  Dolon,  with  the  arms  of  gold. 
Now,  brave  Tydides!  now  thy  courage  try, 
Approach  the  chariot,  and  the  steeds  untie; 
Or  if  thy  soul  aspire  to  fiercer  deeds, 

Urge  thou  the  slaughter,  while  I seize  the 
steeds.’ 

Pallas  (this  said)  her  hero’s  bosom 
warms, 

Breathed  in  his  heart,  and  strung  his  ner- 
vous arms; 

Where’er  he  pass’d,  a purple  stream  pur- 
sued; 560 

His  thirsty  falchion,  fat  with  hostile  blood, 
Bathed  all  his  footsteps,  dyed  the  fields 
with  gore, 

A.nd  a low  groan  remurmur’d  thro’  the 
shore. 

So  the  grim  lion,  from  his  nightly  den, 
O’erleaps  the  fences,  and  invades  the  pen; 
On  sheep  or  goats,  resistless  in  his  way, 

He  falls,  and  foaming  rends  the  guardless 
prey. 

Nor  stopp’d  the  fury  of  his  vengeful  hand, 
Till  twelve  lay  breathless  of  the  Thracian 
band. 

Ulysses  foll’wing  as  his  partner  slew,  570 
Back  by  the  foot  each  slaughter’d  warrior 
drew; 

The  milk-white  coursers  studious  to  convey 
Safe  to  the  ships,  he  wisely  clear’d  the  way ; 
Lest  the  fierce  steeds,  not  yet  to  battles 
bred, 

Should  start  and  tremble  at  the  heaps  of 
dead. 

Now  twelve  despatch’d,  the  Monarch  last 
they  found; 

Tydides’  falchion  fix’d  him  to  the  ground. 
Just  then  a dreadful  dream  Minerva  sent; 
A warlike  form  appear’d  before  his  tent, 
Whose  visionary  steel  his  bosom  tore:  580 
So  dream ’d  die  Monarch,  and  awaked  no 
more. 

Ulysses  now  the  snowy  steeds  detains, 
And  leads  them  fasten’d  by  the  silver  reins; 


These,  with  his  bow  unbent,  he  lash’d  alon; 
(The  scourge,  forgot,  on  Rhesus’  charid 
hung). 

Then  gave  his  friend  the  signal  to  retire; 
But  him  new  dangers,  new  achievements 
fire: 

Doubtful  he  stood,  or  with  his  reeking  blad 
To  send  more  heroes  to  th’  infernal  shade. 
Drag  off  the  car  where  Rhesus’  arinou 
Ry,  e ss 

Or  heave  with  manly  force,  and  lift  away 
While  unresolv’d  the  son  of  Tydeus  stand; 
Pallas  appears,  and  thus  her  Chief  con 
mands: 

‘Enough,  my  son;  from  farther  slang! 
ter  cease, 

Regard  thy  safety,  and  depart  in  peace; 
Haste  to  the  ships,  the  gotten  spoils  enjoy 
Nor  tempt  too  far  the  hostile  Gods  of  Troy 

The  voice  divine  confess’d  the  Marti: 
Maid ; 

In  haste  he  mounted,  and  her  word  obey’f 
The  coursers  fly  before  Ulysses’  bow,  6< 
Swift  as  the  wind,  and  white  as  white 
snow. 

Not  unobserv’d  they  pass’d:  the  God  ( 
Light 

Had  watch’d  his  Troy,  and  mark’d  Mine] 
va’s  flight, 

Saw  Tydeus’  son  with  heav’nly  succoi 
bless’d, 

And  vengeful  anger  fill’d  his  sacred  breas 
Swift  to  the  Trojau  camp  descends  tl 
power, 

And  wakes  Hippocoon  in  the  morning  hoi 
(On  Rhesus’  side  accustom’d  to  attend, 

A faithful  kinsman  and  instructive  friend 
He  rose,  and  saw  the  field  deform’d  wii 
blood,  6 

An  empty  space  where  late  the  course' 
stood, 

The  yet  warm  Thracians  panting  on  tl 
coast; 

For  each  he  wept,  but  for  his  Rhesus  mos 
Now,  while  on  Rhesus’  name  he  calls  in  vai 
The  gathering  tumult  spreads  o’er  all  tl 
plain; 

On  heaps  the  Trojans  rush,  with  wild  a 
fright, 

And  wond’ring  view  the  slaughter  of  tl 
night. 

Meanwhile  the  Chiefs  arriving  at  ti 
shade 

Where  late  the  spoils  of  Hector’s  spy  we 
laid, 


THE  ILIAD 


373 


Ulysses  stopp’d;  to  him  Tydides  bore  620 
The  trophy,  dropping  yet  with  Dolon’s 
gore: 

Then  mounts  again;  again  their  nimble 
feet 

The  coursers  ply,  and  thunder  towards  the 
fleet. 

Old  Nestor  first  perceiv’d  th’  approach- 
ing sound, 

Bespeaking  thus  the  Grecian  peers  around: 
Methinks  the  noise  of  trampling  steeds  I 
hear, 

riiick’ning  this  way,  and  gath’ring  on  my 
ear; 

3erhaps  some  horses  of  the  Trojan  breed 
So  may,  ye  Gods!  my  pious  hopes  succeed) 
The  great  Tydides  and  Ulysses  bear,  630 
leturn’d  triumphant  with  this  prize  of  war. 
Tet  much  I fear  (ah  may  that  fear  be 
vain) ! 

?he  Chiefs  outnumber’d  by  the  Trojan 
train ; 

*erhaps,  ev’n  now  pursued,  they  seek  the 
shore ; 

)r,  oh!  perhaps  those  heroes  are  no  more.’ 
Scarce  had  he  spoke,  when  lo!  the  Chiefs 
appear, 

md  spring  to  earth;  the  Greeks  dismiss 
their  fear: 

Vitli  words  of  friendship  and  extended 
hands 

'hey  greet  the  Kings;  and  Nestor  first  de- 
mands: 

‘Say  thou,  whose  praises  all  our  host 
proclaim,  640 

hou  living  glory  of  the  Grecian  name! 
ay,  whence  these  coursers?  by  what 
chance  bestow’d, 

he  spoil  of  foes,  or  present  of  a God  ? 
ot  those  fair  steeds  so  radiant  and  so  gay, 
hat  draw  the  burning  chariot  of  the  day. 

Id  as  I am,  to  age  I scorn  to  yield, 
nd  daily  mingle  in  the  martial  field; 
iut  sure  till  now  no  coursers  struck  my 
f.  sight 

ike  these,  conspicuous  thro’  the  ranks  of 
fight. 

>me  God,  I deem,  conferr’d  the  glorious 
prize,  650 

less’d  as  ye  are,  and  fav’rites  of  the  skies: 
he  care  of  him  who  bids  the  thunder  roar, 
nd  her,  whose  fury  bathes  the  world  with 
gore ! ’ 

‘ Father!  not  so  (sage  Ithacus  rejoin’d), 
le  gifts  of  Heav’11  are  of  a nobler  kind. 


Of  Thracian  lineage  are  the  steeds  ye  view, 
Whose  hostile  King  the  brave  Tydides 
slew; 

Sleeping  he  died,  with  all  his  guards  around, 
And  twelve  beside  lay  gasping  on  the 
ground. 

These  other  spoils  from  conquer’d  Dolon 
came,  660 

A wretch,  whose  swiftness  was  his  only 
fame; 

By  Hector  sent  our  forces  to  explore, 

He  now  lies  headless  on  the  sandy  shore.’ 
Then  o’er  the  trench  the  bounding  cours- 
ers flew; 

The  joyful  Greeks  with  loud  acclaim  pur- 
sue. 

Straight  to  Tydides’  high  pavilion  borne, 
The  matchless  steeds  his  ample  stalls  adorn: 
The  neighing  coursers  their  new  fellows 
greet, 

And  the  full  racks  are  heap’d  with  gen’- 
rous  wheat.  669 

But  Dolon’s  armour  to  his  ships  convey’d,  ) 
High  on  the  painted  stern  Ulysses  laid,  *• 
A trophy  destin’d  to  the  blue-eyed  maid.  J 
Now  from  nocturnal  sweat,  and  sanguine 
stain, 

They  cleanse  their  bodies  in  the  neighb’ring 
main: 

Then  in  the  polish’d  bath,  refresh’d  from 
toil, 

Their  joints  they  supple  with  dissolving  oil, 
In  due  repast  indulge  the  genial  hour, 

And  first  to  Pallas  the  libations  pour: 

They  sit  rejoicing  in  her  aid  divine, 

And  the  crown’d  goblet  foams  with  floods 
of  wine.  68c 

BOOK  XI 

THE  THIRD  BATTLE,  AND  THE  ACTS  OF 
AGAMEMNON 

THE  ARGUMENT 

Agamemnon,  having  armed  himself,  leads  the 
Grecians  to  battle  ; Hector  prepares  the  Tro- 
jans to  receive  them  : while  Jupiter,  Juno, 
and  Minerva  give  the  signals  of  war.  Aga- 
memnon bears  all  before  him  ; and  Hector  is1 
commanded  by  Jupiter  (who  sends  Iris  for 
that  purpose)  to  decline  the  engagement,  till 
the  king  should  be  wounded  and  retire  from 
the  field.  He  then  makes  a great  slaughter 
of  the  enemy ; Ulysses  and  Diomede  put  a 
stop  to  him  for  a time  ; but  the  latter,  being 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


374 


•wounded  by  Paris,  is  obliged  to  desert  his 
companion,  who  is  encompassed  by  the  Tro- 
jans, wounded,  and  in  the  utmost  danger, 
till  Menelaus  and  Ajax  rescue  him.  Hector 
comes  against  Ajax,  but  that  hero  alone  op- 
poses multitudes  and  rallies  the  Greeks.  In 
the  meantime  Maehaon,  in  the  other  wing  of 
the  army,  is  pierced  with  an  arrow  by  Paris, 
and  carried  from  the  fight  in  Nestor’s  chariot. 
Achilles  (who  overlooked  the  action  from  his 
ship)  sends  Patroclus  to  inquire  which  of  the 
Greeks  was  wounded  in  that  manner.  Nes- 
tor entertains  him  in  his  tent  with  an  account 
of  the  accidents  of  the  day,  and  a long  re- 
cital of  some  former  wars  which  he  had  re- 
membered, tending  to  put  Patroclus  upon 
persuading  Achilles  to  fight  for  his  country- 
men, or  at  least  to  permit  him  to  do  it  clad 
in  Achilles’  armour.  Patroclus  in  his  return 
meets  Eurvpylus  also  wounded,  and  assists  in 
that  distress. 

This  book  opens  with  the  eight-and-twent.ieth 
day  of  the  poem  ; and  the  same  day,  with  its 
various  actions  and  adventures,  is  extended 
through  the  twelfth,  thirteenth,  fourteenth, 
fifteenth,  sixteenth,  seventeenth,  and  part  of 
the  eighteenth  books.  The  scene  lies  in  the 
field  near  the  monument  of  Ilus. 

The  saffron  Morn,  with  early  blushes 
spread, 

Now  rose  refulgent  from  Tithonus’  bed; 
With  new-born  clay  to  gladden  mortal 
sight, 

And  gild  the  courts  of  Heav’n  with  sacred 
light: 

When  baleful  Eris,  sent  by  Jove’s  com- 
mand, 

The  torch  of  discord  blazing  in  her  hand, 
Thro’  the  red  skies  her  bloody  sign  extends, 
And,  wrapp’d  in  tempests,  o’er  the  fleet 
descends. 

High  on  Ulysses’  bark  her  horrid  stand 
She  took,  and  thunder’d  thro’  the  seas  and 
land.  io 

Ev’n  Ajax  and  Achilles  heard  the  sound, 
Whose  ships,  remote,  the  guarded  navy 
bound. 

Thence  the  black  fury  thro’  the  Grecian 
throng 

With  horror  sounds  the  loud  Orthian  song: 
The  navy  shakes,  and  at  the  dire  alarms 
Each  bosom  boils,  each  warrior  starts  to 
arms: 

No  more  they  sigh  inglorious  to  return, 
But  breathe  revenge,  and  for  the  combat 
burn. 


The  King  of  Men  his  hardy  host  inspires 
With  loud  command,  with  great  example 
fires : 20 

Himself  first  rose,  himself  before  the  rest 
His  mighty  limbs  in  radiant  armour  dress’d. 
And  first  he  cased  his  manly  legs  around 
I11  shining  greaves,  with  silver  buckles 
bound : 

The  beaming  cuirass  next  adorn’d  his 
breast, 

The  same  which  once  King  Cinyras  pos- 
sess’d: 

(The  fame  of  Greece  and  her  assembled 
host 

Had  reach’d  that  Monarch  on  the  Cyprian 
coast; 

’T  was  then,  the  friendship  of  the  Chief  to 
gain, 

This  glorious  gift  he  sent,  nor  sent  in 
vain.)  30 

Ten  rows  of  azure  steel  the  work  infold, 
Twice  ten  of  tin,  and  twelve  of  ductile; 
gold; 

Three  glitt’ring  dragons  to  the  gorget  rise,: 
Whose  imitated  scales  against  the  skies 
Reflected  various  light,  and  arching  bow’d, 
Like  colour’d  rainbows  o’er  a showery 
cloud 

(Jove’s  wondrous  bow,  of  three  celestial 
dyes, 

Placed  as  a sign  to  man  amid  the  skies). 

A radiant  bald  rick,  o’er  his  shoulder  tied, 
Sustain’d  the  sword  that  glitter’d  at  his 
side;  4f 

Gold  was  the  hilt,  a silver  sheath  encased 
The  shining  blade,  and  golden  hangers 
graced. 

His  buckler’s  mighty  orb  was  next  dis- 
play’d, 

That  round  the  warrior  cast  a dreadful 
shade; 

Ten  zones  of  brass  its  ample  brim  sur- 
round, 

And  twice  ten  bosses  the  bright  convex 
crown’d ; 

Tremendous  Gorgon  frown’d  upon  its  field 
And  circling  terrors  fill  th’  expressive 
shield: 

Within  its  concave  hung  a silver  thong, 

On  which  a mimic  serpent  creeps  along,  s< 
His  azure  length  in  easy  waves  extends, 
Till  in  three  heads  th’  embroider’d  mon- 
ster ends. 

Last  o’er  his  brows  his  fourfold  helm  lu 
placed. 


THE  ILIAD 


375 


With  nodding  horse-hair  formidably  graced ; 
And  in  his  hands  two  steely  jav’lins  wields, 
That  blaze  to  Heav’n,  and  lighten  all  the 
fields. 

That  instant  Juno  and  the  Martial  Maid 
In  happy  thunders  promis’d  Greece  their 
aid; 

High  o’er  the  Chief  they  clash’d  their  arms 
in  air, 

And,  leaning  from  the  clouds,  expect  the 
war.  . _ 60 

Close  to  the  limits  of  the  trench  and 
mound, 

The  fiery  coursers,  to  their  chariots  bound, 
The  squires  restrain’d;  the  foot,  with  those 
who  wield 

The  lighter  arms,  rush  forward  to  the 
field. 

To  second  these,  in  close  array  combin’d, 
The  squadrons  spread  their  sable  wings 
behind. 

tfow  shouts  and  tumults  wake  the  tardy 
sun, 

^.s  with  the  light  the  warriors’  toils  begun ; 
3v’n  Jove,  whose  thunder  spoke  his  wrath, 
distill’d 

Ted  drops  of  blood  o’er  all  the  fatal 
field ; 70 

Hie  woes  of  men  unwilling  to  survey, 
bid  all  the  slaughters  that  must  stain  the 
day. 

Near  Ilus’  tomb  in  order  ranged  around, 
?he  Trojan  lines  possess’d  the  rising 
ground. 

here  wise  Polydamas  and  Hector  stood; 
’Eneas,  honour’d  as  a guardian  God; 

>old  Polybus,  Agenor  the  divine; 
fhe  brother- warriors  of  Antenor’s  line; 

Vlth  youthful  Acamas,  whose  beauteous 
1 face, 

aid  fair  proportions,  match’d  th’  ethereal 
c;  race.  8o 

h*eat  Hector,  cover’d  with  his  spacious 
shield, 

'lies  all  the  troops,  and  orders  all  the  field, 
s the  red  star  now  shews  his  sanguine 
* fires, 

hro’  the  dark  clouds,  and  now  in  night 
retires; 

hus  thro’  the  ranks  appear’d  the  godlike 
man, 

dunged  in  the  rear,  or  blazing  in  the  van; 
/hile  streamy  sparkles,  restless  as  he  flies, 
lash  from  his  arms,  as  lightning  from  the 
skies. 


As  sweating  reapers  in  some  wealthy  field, 
Ranged  in  two  bands,  their  crooked  wea- 
pons wield,  90 

Bear  down  the  furrows  till  their  labours 
meet; 

Thick  fall  the  heapy  harvests  at  their 
feet: 

So  Greece  and  Troy  the  field  of  war  divide. 
And  falling  ranks  are  strew’d  on  ev’ry 
side. 

None  stoop’d  a thought  to  base  inglorious 
flight; 

But  horse  to  horse  and  man  to  man  they 
fight. 

Not  rabid  wolves  more  fierce  contest  their 
prey; 

Each  wounds,  each  bleeds,  but  none  resign 
the  day. 

Discord  with  joy  the  scene  of  death  de- 
scries, 

And  drinks  large  slaughter  at  her  sanguine 
eyes:  Iod 

Discord  alone,  of  all  th’  immortal  train, 
Swells  the  red  horrors  of  this  direful  plain: 
The  Gods  in  peace  their  golden  mansions 
fill, 

Ranged  in  bright  order  on  th’  Olympian 
hill; 

But  gen’ral  murmurs  told  their  griefs 
above, 

And  each  accused  the  partial  will  of  Jove. 
Meanwhile  apart,  superior,  and  alone, 

Th’  Eternal  Monarch,  on  his  awful  throne, 
Wrapp’d  in  the  blaze  of  boundless  glory 
sat: 

And,  fix’d,  fulfill’d  the  just  decrees  of 
fate. 

On  earth  he  turn’d  his  alhconsid’ring  eyes, 
And  mark’d  the  spot  where  Ilion’s  towers 
arise ; 

The  sea  with  ships,  the  field  with  armies 
spread, 

The  victor’s  rage,  the  dying,  and  the  dead. 

Thus  while  the  morning  beams  increas- 
ing bright 

O’er  Heav’n’s  pure  azure  spread  the  glow- 
ing  light, 

Commutual  Death  the  fate  of  War  con- 
founds, 

Each  adverse  battle  gored  with  equal 
wounds. 

But  now  (what  time  in  some  sequester’d 
vale 

The  weary  woodman  spreads  his  sparing 
meal,  120 


376 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


When  his  tired  arms  refuse  the  axe  to 
rear, 

And  claim  a respite  from  the  sylvan  war; 
But  not  till  half  the  prostrate  forests  lay 
Stretch’d  in  long  ruin,  and  exposed  to 
day;) 

Then,  nor  till  then,  the  Greeks’  impulsive 
might 

Pierc’d  the  black  phalanx,  and  let  in  the 
light. 

Great  Agamemnon  then  the  slaughter  led, 
And  slew  Bienor  at  his  people’s  head; 
Whose  squire  Oileus,  with  a sudden  spring, 
Leap’d  from  the  chariot  to  revenge  his 
King,  130 

But  in  his  front  he  felt  the  fatal  wound, 
Which  pierc’d  his  brain,  and  stretch’d  him 
on  the  ground: 

Atrides  spoil’d,  and  left  them  on  the  plain: 
Vain  was  their  youth,  their  glitt’ring  ar- 
mour vain: 

Now  soil’d  with  dust,  and  naked  to  the  sky, 
Their  snowy  limbs  and  beauteous  bodies 
lie. 

Two  sons  of  Priam  next  to  battle  move, 
The  product  one  of  marriage,  one  of  love; 
In  the  same  ear  the  brother  warriors 
ride, 

This  took  the  charge  to  combat,  that  to 
guide:  140 

Far  other  task,  than  when  they  went  to 
keep, 

On  Ida’s  tops,  their  father’s  fleecy  sheep! 
These  on  the  mountains  once  Achilles 
found, 

And  captive  led,  with  pliant  osiers  bound; 
Then  to  their  sire  for  ample  sums  restor’d; 
But  now  to  perish  by  Atrides’  sword: 
Pierc’d  in  the  breast  the  base-born  Isus 
bleeds: 

Cleft  thro’  the  head,  his  brother’s  fate  suc- 
ceeds. 

Swift  to  the  spoil  the  hasty  victor  falls, 
And,  stripp’d,  their  features  to  his  mind 
recalls.  150 

The  Trojans  see  the  youths  untimely  die, 
But  helpless  tremble  for  themselves,  and 
%• 

So  when  a lion,  ranging  o’er  the  lawns, 
Finds,  on  some  grassy  lair,  the  couching 
fawns, 

Their  botfes  he  cracks,  their  reeking  vitals 
draws, 

And  grinds  the  quiv’ring  flesh  with  bloody 
jaws; 


The  frighted  hind  beholds,  and  dares  not 
stay, 

But  swift  thro’  rustling  thickets  bursts  her 
way; 

All  drown’d  in  sweat  the  panting  mother 
flies, 

And  the  big  tears  roll  trickling  from  her 
eyes.  160 

Amidst  the  tumult  of  the  routed  train, 
The  sons  of  false  Antimachus  were  slain, 
He,  who  for  bribes  his  faithless  counsels 
sold, 

And  voted  Helen’s  stay  for  Paris’  gold. 
Atrides  mark’d,  as  these  their  safety 
sought, 

And  slew  the  children  for  the  father’s 
fault; 

Their  headstrong  horse  unable  to  restrain, 
They  shook  with  fear,  and  dropp’d  the 
silken  rein; 

Then  in  their  chariot  on  their  knees  they 
fall, 

And  thus  with  lifted  hands  for  mercy 
call:  170 

‘ O spare  our  youth,  and,  for  the  life  we 
owe, 

Antimachus  shall  copious  gifts  bestow; 
Soon  as  he  hears,  that,  not  in  battle  slain, 
The  Grecian  ships  his  captive  sons  detain, 
Large  heaps  of  brass  in  ransom  shall  be 
told, 

And  steel  well-temper’d,  and  persuasive 
gold.’ 

These  words,  attended  with  a flood  of 
tears, 

The  youths  address’d  to  unrelenting  ears: 
The  vengeful  Monarch  gave  this  stern 
reply: 

‘ If  from  Antimachus  ye  spring,  ye  die:  180 
The  daring  wretch  who  once  in  council 
stood 

To  shed  Ulysses’  and  my  brother’s  blood, 
For  proffer’d  peace!  and  sues  his  seed  for 
grace  ? 

No,  die,  and  pay  the  forfeit  of  your  race.’ 
This  said,  Pisander  from  the  car  he 
cast, 

And  pierc’d  his  breast:  supine  he  breathed 
his  last. 

His  brother  leap’d  to  earth ; but,  as  he  lay, 
The  trenchant  falchion  lopp’d  his  hands 
away : 

His  sever’d  head  was  toss’d  among  the 
throng, 

And  rolling  drew  a bloody  trail  along.  190 


THE  ILIAD 


377 


Then,  where  the  thickest  fought,  the  victor 
flew; 

The  King’s  example  all  his  Greeks  pursue. 
Now  by  the  foot  the  flying  foot  were  slain, 
Horse  trod  by  horse  lay  foaming  on  the 
plain. 

From  the  dry  fields  thick  clouds  of  dust 
arise, 

Shade  the  black  host,  and  intercept  the 
skies. 

The  brass-hoof’d  steeds  tumultuous  plunge 
and  bound, 

And  the  thick  thunder  beats  the  lab’ring 
ground. 

Still,  slaught’ring  on,  the  King  of  Men  pro- 
ceeds; 

The  distanced  army  wonders  at  his  deeds. 
As  when  the  winds  with  raging  flames  con- 
spire, 201 

And  o’er  the  forests  roll  the  flood  of  fire, 

[n  blazing  heaps  the  grove’s  old  honours 
fall, 

And  one  refulgent  ruin  levels  all: 

Before  Atrides’  rage  so  sinks  the  foe, 

Whole  squadrons  vanish,  and  proud  heads 
lie  low. 

The  steeds  fly  trembling  from  his  waving 
sword ; 

And  many  a car,  now  lighten’d  of  its  lord, 
Wide  o’er  the  fields  with  guideless  fury 
rolls, 

Breaking  their  ranks,  and  crushing  out 
their  souls:  210 

jWhile  his  keen  falchion  drinks  the  war- 
riors’ lives; 

VIore  grateful  now  to  vultures  than  their 
wives! 

Perhaps  great  Hector  then  had  found  his 
j fate, 

I But  Jove  and  Destiny  prolong’d  his  date. 
Safe  from  the  darts,  the  care  of  Heav’n,  he 
stood, 

Amidst  alarms,  and  death,  and  dust,  and 
blood. 

Now  past  the  tomb  where  ancient  Ilus 
k lay> 

Thro’  the  mid  field  the  routed  urge  their 

[ way 

Where  the  wild  figs  th’  adjoining  summit 
crown, 

That  path  they  take,  and  speed  to  reach 
the  town.  220 

?As  swift  Atrides  with  loud  shouts  pursued, 
lot  with  his  toil,  and  bathed  in  hostile 
blood. 


Now  near  the  beech-tree,  and  the  Scsean 
gates, 

The  hero  halts,  and  his  associates  waits. 
Meanwhile,  on  ev’ry  side,  around  the  plain, 
Dispers’d,  disorder’d,  flv  the  Trojan  train. 
So  flies  a herd  of  beeves,  that  hear  dis- 
may’d 

The  lion’s  roaring  thro’  the  midnight  shade: 
On  heaps  they  tumble  with  successless 
haste: 

The  savage  seizes,  draws,  and  rends  the 
last:  230 

Not  with  less  fury  stern  Atrides  flew, 

Still  press’d  the  rout,  and  still  the  hind- 
most slew; 

Hurl’d  from  their  cars  the  bravest  Chiefs 
are  kill’d, 

And  rage,  and  death,  and  carnage,  load  the 
field. 

Now  storms  the  victor  at  the  Trojan 
wall; 

Surveys  the  towers,  and  meditates  their 
fall. 

But  Jove,  descending,  shook  th’  Idsean  hills, 
And  down  their  summits  pour’d  a hundred 
rills: 

Th’  unkindled  lightning  in  his  hand  he 
took, 

And  thus  the  many-colour’d  maid  bespoke: 

‘ Iris,  with  haste  thy  golden  wings  dis- 
play, . 241 

To  godlike  Hector  this  our  word  convey. 
While  Agamemnon  wastes  the  ranks 
around, 

Fights  in  the  front,  and  bathes  with  blood 
the  ground, 

Bid  him  give  way;  but  issue  forth  com- 
mands, 

And  trust  the  war  to  less  important  hands: 
But  when,  or  wounded  by  the  spear  or 
dart, 

That  Chief  shall  mount  his  chariot  and  de- 
part: 

Then  Jove  shall  string  his  arm,  and  fire  his 
breast, 

Then  to  her  ships  shall  flying  Greece  be 
press’d,  250 

Till  to  the  main  the  burning  sun  descend, 
And  sacred  night  her  awful  shade  extend.’ 

He  spoke,  and  Iris  at  his  word  obey’d; 

On  wings  of  winds  descends  the  various 
Maid. 

The  Chief  she  found  amidst  the  ranks  of 
war, 

Close  to  the  bulwarks,  on  his  glitt’ring  car. 


37» 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


The  Goddess  then:  ‘ O son  of  Priam,  hear! 
From  Jove  I come,  and  his  high  mandate 
bear. 

While  Agamemnon  wastes  the  ranks 
around, 

Fights  in  the  front,  and  bathes  with  blood 
the  ground,  260 

Abstain  from  fight,  yet  issue  forth  com- 
mands, 

And  trust  the  war  to  less  important  hands: 
But  when,  or  wounded  by  the  spear  or  dart, 
The  Chief  shall  mount  his  chariot,  and  de- 
part ; 

Then  Jove  shall  string  thy  arm,  and  fire 
thy  breast, 

Then  to  her  ships  shall  flying  Greece  be 
press’d, 

Till  to  the  main  the  burning  sun  descend, 
And  sacred  night  her  awful  shade  extend.’ 

She  said,  and  vanish’d:  Hector  with  a 
bound, 

Springs  from  his  chariot  on  the  trembling 
ground,  270 

In  clanging  arms:  he  grasps  in  either  hand 
A pointed  lance,  and  speeds  from  band  to 
band ; 

Revives  their  ardour,  turns  their  steps  from 
flight, 

And  wakes  anew  the  dying  flames  of  fight. 
They  stand  to  arms;  the  Greeks  their  onset 
dare, 

Condense  their  powers,  and  wait  the  com- 
ing war. 

New  force,  new  spirit,  to  each  breast  re- 
turns; 

The  fight  renew’d,  with  fiercer  fury  burns: 
The  King  leads  on;  all  fix  on  him  their 
eye’ 

And  learn,  from  him,  to  conquer,  or  to  die. 

Ye  sacred  Nine,  celestial  Muses!  tell,  281 
Who  faced  him  first,  and  by  his  prowess 
fell? 

The  great  Iphidamas,  the  bold  and  young: 
From  sage  Antenor  and  Theano  sprung; 
Whom  from  his  youth  his  grandsire  Cisseus 
bred, 

And  nurs’d  in  Thrace,  where  snowy  flocks 
are  fed. 

Scarce  did  the  down  his  rosy  cheeks  invest, 
And  early  honour  warm  his  gen’rous  breast, 
When  the  kind  sire  consign’d  his  daughter’s 
charms 

(Theano’s  sister)  to  his  youthful  arms:  290 
But,  call’d  by  glory  to  the  wars  of  Troy, 
He  leaves  untasted  the  first  fruits  of  joy; 


From  his  lov’d  bride  departs  with  melting 
eyes, 

And  swift  to  aid  his  dearer  country  flies. 
With  twelve  black  ships  he  reach’d  Per- 
cope’s  strand, 

Thence  took  the  long  laborious  march  by 
land. 

Now  fierce  for  Fame,  before  the  ranks  he 
springs, 

Tow’ring  in  arms,  and  braves  the  King  of 
Kings. 

Atrides  first  discharged  the  missive  spear; 
The  Trojan  stoop’d,  the  jav’lin  pass’d  in 
air.  3oc 

Then  near  the  corslet,  at  the  Monarch’s 
heart, 

With  all  his  strength  the  youth  directs  his 
dart : 

But  the  broad  belt,  with  plates  of  silvei 
bound, 

The  point  rebated,  and  repell’d  the  wound 
Encumber’d  with  the  dart,  Atrides  stands 
Till,  grasp’d  with  force,  he  wrench’d  it  fron 
his  hands. 

At  once  his  weighty  sword  discharged  i 
wound 

Full  on  his  neck,  that  fell’d  him  to  th( 
ground. 

Stretch’d  in  the  dust  th’  unhappy  warrioi 
lies, 

And  sleep  eternal  seals  his  swimming  eyes 
Oh  worthy  better  fate!  oh  early  slain!  31 
Thy  country’s  friend;  and  virtuous,  tho’  ii 
vain! 

No  more  the  youth  shall  join  his  consort’: 
side, 

At  once  a virgin,  and  at  once  a bride! 

No  more  with  presents  her  embraces  meet 
Or  lay  the  spoils  of  conquest  at  her  feet, 
On  whom  his  passion,  lavish  of  his  store, 
Bestow’d  so  much,  and  vainly  promis’c 
more! 

Unwept,  uncover’d,  on  the  plain  he  lay,  31 
While  the  proud  victor  bore  his  arms  away 
Coon,  Antenor’s  eldest  hope,  was  nigh: 
Tears  at  the  sight  came  starting  from  hi 
eye, 

While  pierc’d  with  grief  the  much-lov’< 
youth  he  view’d, 

And  the  pale  features  now  deform’d  witl 
blood. 

Then  with  his  spear,  unseen,  his  time  hi 
took, 

Aim’d  at  the  King,  and  near  his  elbov 
struck. 


THE  ILIAD 


379 


The  thrilling  steel  transpierc’d  the  brawny 
part, 

And  thro’  liis  arm  stood  forth  the  barbed 
dart. 

Surprised  the  Monarch  feels,  yet  void  of 
fear 

On  Coon  rushes  with  his  lifted  spear:  330 
liis  brother’s  corpse  the  pious  Trojan  draws, 
And  calls  his  country  to  assert  his  cause, 

\ Defends  him  breathless  on  the  sanguine 
field, 

And  o’er  the  body  spreads  his  ample  shield. 
Atrides,  marking  an  unguarded  part, 
Transfix’d  the  warrior  with  his  brazen  dart; 
Prone  on  his  brother’s  bleeding  breast  he 
lay 

The  Monarch’s  falchion  lopp’d  his  head 
away : 

The  social  shades  the  same  dark  journey 
. £°> 

And  join  each  other  in  the  realms  below. 

The  vengeful  victor  rages  round  the 
fields,  341 

With  ev’ry  weapon  art  or  fury  yields: 

By  the  long  lance,  the  sword,  or  pond’rous 
stone, 

Whole  ranks  are  broken,  and  whole  troops 
o’erthrown. 

This,  while  yet  warm,  distill’d  the  purple 
flood; 

But  when  the  wound  grew  stiff  with  clotted 
blood, 

Then  grinding  tortures  his  strong  bosom 
rend; 

Less  keen  those  darts  the  fierce  Ilythise 
send 

(The  Powers  that  cause  the  teeming  ma- 
■ tron’s  throes, 

Sad  mothers  of  unutterable  woes!),  350 
Stung  with  the  smart,  all  panting  with  the 
pain, 

He  mounts  the  car,  and  gives  his  squire  the 
rein: 

Then  witli  a voice  which  fury  made  more 
strong, 

And  pain  augmented,  thus  exhorts  the 
throng: 

‘O  friends!  O Greeks!  assert  your  hon- 
ours won; 

1 Proceed,  and  finish  what  this  arm  begun: 

Lo!  angry  Jove  forbids  your  Chief  to  stay, 

I And  envies  half  the  glories  of  the  day.’ 

He  said,  the  driver  whirls  his  lengthful 
thong: 

The  horses  fly,  the  chariot  smokes  along  360 


Clouds  from  their  nostrils  the  fierce  cours- 
ers blow, 

And  from  their  sides  the  foam  descends  in 
snow; 

Shot  thro’  the  battle  in  a moment’s  space, 
The  wounded  Monarch  at  his  tent  they 
place. 

No  sooner  Hector  saw  the  King  retired, 
But  thus  his  Trojans  and  his  aids  he  fired: 

‘ Hear,  all  ye  Dardan,  all  ye  Lycian  race! 
Famed  in  close  fight,  and  dreadful  face  to 
face; 

Now  call  to  mind  your  ancient  trophies  won, 
Your  great  forefathers’  virtues,  and  your 
own.  370 

Behold,  the  gen’ral  flies,  deserts  his  powers! 
Lo,  Jove  himself  declares  the  conquest 
ours! 

Now  011  yon  ranks  impel  your  foaming 
steeds; 

And,  sure  of  glory,  dare  immortal  deeds.’ 

With  words  like  these  the  fiery  Chief 
alarms 

His  fainting  host,  and  ev’ry  bosom  warms. 
As  the  bold  hunter  cheers  his  hounds  to 
tear 

The  brindled  lion,  or  the  tusky  bear; 

With  voice  and  hand  provokes  their  doubt- 
ing heart, 

And  springs  the  foremost  with  his  lifted 
dart:  38o 

So  godlike  Hector  prompts  his  troops  to 
dare: 

Nor  prompts  alone,  but  leads  himself  the 
war. 

On  the  black  body  of  the  foes  he  pours; 

As  from  the  cloud’s  deep  bosom,  s well’d 
with  showers, 

A sudden  storm  the  purple  ocean  sweeps, 
Drives  the  wild  waves,  and  tosses  all  the 
deeps. 

Say,  Muse!  when  Jove  the  Trojan’s  glory 
crown’d, 

Beneath  his  arm  what  heroes  bit  the 
ground  ? 

Assseus,  Dolops,  and  Autonous  died, 

Opites  next  was  added  to  their  side,  39o 
Then  brave  Hipponous,  famed  in  many  a 
fight, 

Opheltius,  Orus,  sunk  to  endless  night, 
iEsymnus,  Agelaus;  all  Chiefs  of  name* 

The  rest  were  vulgar  deaths,  unknown  to 
fame. 

As  when  a western  whirlwind,  charged  with 
storms, 


38° 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


Dispels  the  gather’d  clouds  that  Notus 
forms; 

The  gust  continued,  violent,  and  strong, 
Rolls  sable  clouds  in  heaps  on  heaps  along; 
Now  to  the  skies  the  foaming  billows  rears, 
Now  breaks  the  surge,  and  wide  the  bot- 
tom bares:  400 

Thus  raging  Hector,  with  resistless  hands, 
O’erturns,  confounds,  and  scatters  all  their 
bands. 

Now  the  last  ruin  the  whole  host  appalls; 
Now  Greece  had  trembled  in  her  wooden 
walls; 

But  wise  Ulysses  call’d  Tydides  forth, 

His  soul  rekindled,  and  awaked  his  worth: 

‘ And  stand  we  deedless,  O eternal  shame! 
Till  Hector’s  arm  involve  the  ships  in 
flame  ? 

Haste,  let  us  join,  and  combat  side  by  side.’ 
The  warrior  thus,  and  thus  the  friend  re- 
plied: 4IO 

‘ No  martial  toil  I shun,  no  danger  fear; 
Let  Hector  come;  I wait  his  fury  here. 

But  Jove  with  conquest  crowns  the  Trojan 
train; 

And,  Jove  our  foe,  all  human  force  is  vain.’ 

He  sigh’d;  but,  sighing,  rais’d  his  venge- 
ful steel, 

And  from  his  car  the  proud  Thymbrseus 

Molion,  the  charioteer,  pursued  his  lord, 
His  death  ennobled  by  Ulysses’  sword. 
There  slain,  they  left  them  in  eternal  night; 
Then  plunged  amidst  the  thickest  ranks  of 
fight.  420 

So  two  wild  boars  outstrip  the  foil’ wing 
hounds, 

Then  swift  revert,  and  wounds  return  for 
wounds. 

Stern  Hector’s  conquests  in  the  middle 
plain 

Stood  check’d  awhile,  and  Greece  respired 
again. 

The  sons  of  Merops  shone  amidst  the  war; 
Tow’ringthey  rode  in  one  refulgent  car; 

In  deep  prophetic  arts  their  father  skill’d, 
Had  warn’d  his  children  from  the  Trojan 
field; 

Fate  urged  them  on;  the  father  warn’d  in 
vain, 

They  rush’d  to  fight,  and  perish’d  on  the 
plain!  43o 

Their  breasts  no  more  the  vital  spirit 
warms; 

The  stern  Tydides  strips  their  shining  arms. 


Hypirochus  by  great  Ulysses  dies, 

And  rich  Hippodamus  becomes  his  prize. 
Great  Jove  from  Ide  with  slaughter  fills 
his  sight, 

And  level  hangs  the  doubtful  scale  of  fight. 
By  Tydeus’  lance  Agastroplms  was  slain, 
The  far-famed  hero  of  Paeonian  strain; 
Wing’d  with  his  fears,  on  foot  he  strove  to 

. 439 

His  steeds  too  distant,  and  the  foe  too  nigh; 
Thro’  broken  orders,  swifter  than  the  wind, 
He  fled,  but,  flying,  left  his  life  behind. 
This  Hector  sees,  as  his  experienced  eyes 
Traverse  the  files,  and  to  the  rescue  flies; 
Shouts,  as  he  pass’d,  the  crystal  regions 
rend, 

And  moving  armies  on  his  march  attend. 
Great  Diomed  himself  was  seiz’d  with  fear, 
And  thus  bespoke  his  brother  of  the  war: 

‘ Mark  how  this  way  yon  bending  squad- 
rons yield! 

The  storm  rolls  on,  and  Hector  rules  the 
field:  4SO 

Here  stand  his  utmost  force  ’ — The  war- 
rior said: 

Swift  at  the  word  hispond’rous  jav’lin  fled; 
Nor  miss’d  its  aim,  but,  where  the  plumage 
danced, 

Razed  the  smooth  cone,  and  thence  obliquely 
glanced. 

Safe  in  his  helm  (the  gift  of  Phoebus’ 
hands) 

Without  a wound  the  Trojan  hero  stands; 
But  yet  so  stunn’d,  that,  stagg’ring  on  the 
plain, 

His  arm  and  knee  his  sinking  bulk  sustain; 
O’er  his  dim  sight  the  misty  vapours  rise, 
And  a short  darkness  shades  his  swimming 
eyes.  46o 

Tydides  follow’d  to  regain  his  lance; 

While  Hector  rose,  recover’d  from  the 
trance, 

Remounts  his  car,  and  herds  amidst  the 
crowd; 

The  Greek  pursues  him,  and  exults  aloud: 

‘ Once  more  thank  Phoebus  for  thy  forfeit 
breath, 

Or  thank  that  swiftness  which  outstrips  the 
death. 

Well  by  Apollo  are  thy  prayers  repaid, 

And  oft  that  partial  power  has  lent  his 
aid. 

Thou  shalt  not  long  the  death  deserv’d 
withstand, 

If  any  God  assist  Tydides’  hand.  47c 


THE  ILIAD 


381 


Fly  then,  inglorious!  but  thy  flight,  this  day, 
Whole  hecatombs  of  Troian  ghosts  shall 

Him,  while  he  triumph’d,  Paris  eyed  from 
far, 

[The  spouse  of  Helen,  the  fair  cause  of 
war) : 

Around  the  fields  his  feather’d  shafts  he 
sent, 

From  ancient  Ilus’  ruin’d  monument; 
Behind  the  column  placed,  he  bent  his  bow, 
And  wing’d  an  arrow  at  th’  unwary  foe: 
Just  as  he  stoop’d,  Agastrophus’s  crest 
To  seize,  and  draw  the  corslet  from  his 
breast,  4S0 

The  bow-string  twang’d;  nor  flew  the  shaft 
in  vain, 

But  pierc’d  his  foot,  and  nail’d  it  to  the 
plain. 

The  laughing  Trojan,  with  a joyful  spring, 
Leaps  from  his  ambush,  and  insults  the 
King: 

‘He  bleeds!’  (he  cries)  ‘some  God  has 
sped  my  dart; 

Would  the  same  God  had  fix’d  it  in  his 
heart! 

So  Troy,  reliev’d  from  that  wide-wasting 
hand, 

Should  breathe  from  slaughter,  and  in  com- 
bat stand, 

Whose  sons  now  tremble  at  his  darted  spear, 
^s  scatter’d  lambs  the  rushing  lion  fear.’ 

He  dauntless  thus:  ‘Thou  conqueror  of 
the  Fair,  49i 

Thou  woman-warrior  with  the  curling  hair; 
V ain  archer!  trusting  to  the  distant  dart, 
.Jnskill’d  in  arms  to  act  a manly  part! 

Thou  hast  but  done  what  boys  or  women 
can; 

.Such  hands  may  wound,  but  not  incense  a 
man. 

Nor  boast  the  scratch  thy  feeble  arrow 
gave, 

^ coward’s  weapon  never  hurts  the  brave. 
Not  so  this  dart,  which  thou  may’st  one  day 
feel: 

Tate  wings  its  flight,  and  death  is  on  the 
steel.  5oo 

Yhere  this  but  lights,  some  noble  life  ex- 
. pires, 

ts  touch  makes  orphans,  bathes  the  cheeks 
j of  sires, 

Steeps  earth  in  purple,  gluts  the  birds  of 

} air, 

hid  leaves  such  objects  as  distract  the  fair.’ 


Ulysses  hastens  with  a trembling  heart, 
Before  him  steps,  and  bending  draws  the 
dart: 

Forth  flows  the  blood;  an  eager  pang  suc- 
ceeds: 

Tydides  mounts,  and  to  the  navy  speeds. 

Now  on  the  field  Ulysses  stands  alone, 
The  Greeks  all  fled,  the  Trojans  pouring 
on:  510 

But  stands  collected  in  himself  and  whole, 
And  questions  thus  his  own  unconquer’d 
soul: 

‘ What  farther  subterfuge,  what  hopes 
remain  ? 

What  shame,  inglorious  if  I quit  the  plain  ? 
What  danger,  singly  if  I stand  the  ground, 
My  friends  all  scatter’d,  all  the  foes 
around  ? 

Yet  wherefore  ^doubtful  ? let  this  truth  suf- 
fice: 

The  brave  meets  danger,  and  the  coward 
flies; 

To  die,  or  conquer,  proves  a hero’s  heart; 
And,  knowing  this,  I know  a soldier’s  part.* 

Such  thoughts  revolving  in  his  careful 
breast,  52i 

Near,  and  more  near,  the  shady  cohorts 
press’d; 

These,  in  the  warrior,  their  own  fate  en- 
close: 

And  round  him  deep  the  steely  circle  grows. 
So  fares  a boar,  whom  all  the  troop  sur- 
rounds 

Of  shouting  huntsmen,  and  of  clam’rous 
hounds; 

He  grinds  his  iv’ry  tusks;  he  foams  with 
ire; 

His  sanguine  eyeballs  glare  with  living  fire; 
By  these,  by  those,  on  every  part  is  plied; 
And  the  red  slaughter  spreads  on  every 
side.  53o 

Pierc’d  thro’  the  shoulder,  first  Deiopis 
fell; 

Next  Ennomus  and  Thoon  sunk  to  hell; 
Chersidamas,  beneath  the  navel  thrust, 

Falls  prone  to  earth,  and  grasps  the  bloody 
dust. 

Charops,  the  son  of  Hippasus,  was  near; 
Ulysses  reach’d  him  with  the  fatal  spear; 
But  to  his  aid  his  brother  Socus  flies, 

Socus,  the  brave,  the  gen’rous,  and  the 
wise : 

Near  as  he  drew,  the  warrior  thus  began: 

‘O  great  Ulysses,  much-enduring  man! 
Not  deeper  skill’d  in  every  martial  sleight. 


382 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


Than  worn  to  toiis,  and  active  in  the 

fig'llt!  542 

This  day  two  brothers  shall  thy  conquest 
grace, 

And  end  at  once  the  great  Hippasian  race, 
Or  thou  beneath  this  lance  must  press  the 
field.’ 

He  said,  and  forceful  pierc’d  his  spacious 
shield; 

Thro’  the  strong  brass  the  ringing  jav’lin 
thrown, 

Plough’d  half  his  side,  and  bared  it  to  the 
bone. 

By  Pallas’ care,  the  spear,  tho’  deep  infix’d, 
Stopp’d  short  of  life,  nor  with  his  entrails 
mix’d,  550 

The  wound  not  mortal  wise  Ulysses  knew, 
Then  furious  thus  (but  first  some  steps 
withdrew): 

‘Unhappy  man!  whose  death  our  hands 
shall  grace! 

Fate  calls  thee  hence,  and  finish’d  is  thy 
race. 

No  longer  check  my  conquests  on  the  foe:  ) 
But,  pierc’d  by  this,  to  endless  darkness  [ 
g°> 

And  add  one  spectre  to  the  realms  below  ! ’ J 
He  spoke,  while  Socus,  seiz’d  with  sud- 
den fright, 

Trembling  gave  way,  and  turn’d  his  back 
to  flight, 

Between  his  shoulders  pierc’d  the  foll’wing 
dart,  560 

And  held  its  passage  thro’  the  panting 
heart. 

Wide  in  his  breast  appear’d  the  grizzly 
wound; 

He  falls:  his  armour  rings  against  the 
ground. 

Then  thus  Ulysses,  gazing  on  the  slain: 
‘Famed  son  of  Hippasus!  there  press  the 
plain; 

There  ends  thy  narrow  span  assign’d  by 
fate: 

Heav’n  owes  Ulysses  yet  a longer  date. 

Ah  wretch ! no  father  shall  thy  corpse  com- 
pose, 

Thy  dying  eyes  no  tender  mother  close, 
But  hungry  birds  shall  tear  those  balls 
away,  570 

And  hov’ring  vultures  scream  around  their 
prey. 

Me  Greece  shall  honour,  when  I meet  my 
doom, 

With  solemn  funerals,  and  a lasting  tomb.’ 


Then,  raging  with  intolerable  smart, 

He  writhes  his  body,  and  extracts  the  dart.  I 
The  dart  a tide  of  spouting  gore  pursued, 
And  gladden’d  Troy  with  sight  of  hostile 
blood. 

Now  troops  on  troops  the  fainting  Chief 
invade; 

Forced  he  recedes,  and  loudly  calls  fori 
aid. 

Thrice  to  its  pitch  his  lofty  voice  he  I 
rears ; 580 

The  well-known  voice  thrice  Menelaus 
hears; 

Alarm’d,  to  Ajax  Telamon  he  cried, 

Who  shares  his  labours,  and  defends  his 
side: 

‘O  friend!  Ulysses’  shouts  invade  my  ear; 
Distress’d  he  seems,  and  no  assistance  I 
near: 

Strong  as  he  is,  yet,  one  opposed  to  all, 
Oppress’d  by  multitudes,  the  best  may  fall.  I 
Greece,  robb’d  of  him,  must  bid  her  host  I 
despair, 

And  feel  a loss  not  ages  can  repair.’ 

Then,  where  the  cry  directs,  his  course  he 
bends,  590 

Great  Ajax,  like  the  God  of  War,  attends. 
The  prudent  Chief  in  sore  distress  they 
found, 

With  bands  of  furious  Trojans  compass’d  ) 
round, 

As  when  some  huntsman,  with  a flying  I 
spear, 

From  the  blind  thicket  wounds  a stately 
deer; 

Down  his  cleft  side  while  fresh  the  blood  | 
distils, 

He  bounds  aloft,  and  scuds  from  hills  to 
hills: 

Till,  life’s  warm  vapour  issuing  thro’  the 
wound, 

Wild  mountain-wolves  the  fainting  beast! 
surround; 

Just  as  their  jaws  his  prostrate  limbs  in- 
vade, 600 

The  lion  rushes  thro’  the  woodland  shade; 
The  wolves,  tho’  hungry,  scour  dispers’d 
away; 

The  lordly  savage  vindicates  his  prey. 
Ulysses  thus,  unconquer’d  by  his  pains, 

A single  warrior,  half  a host  sustains: 

But  soon  as  Ajax  heaves  his  tow'er-like 
shield, 

The  scatter’d  crowds  fly  frighted  o’er  the 
field: 


THE  ILIAD 


?S3 


trides’  arrn  the  sinking  hero  stays, 
nd,  saved  from  numbers,  to  his  car  con- 
veys. 609 

Victorious  Ajax  plies  the  routed  crew; 
nd  first  Doryclus,  Priam’s  son,  he  slew: 
n strong  Pandocus  next  inflicts  a wound, 
nd  lays  Lysander  bleeding  on  the  ground, 
s when  a torrent,  swell’d  with  wintry  rains, 
ours  from  the  mountains  o’er  the  deluged 
plains, 

nd  pines  and  oaks,  from  their  foundation 
torn, 

country’s  ruins!  to  the  seas  are  borne: 
erce  Ajax  thus  o’erwhelms  the  yielding 
throng ; 

en,  steeds,  and  chariots,  roll  in  heaps 
along.  * 

But  Hector,  from  this  scene  of  slaughter 
far,  620 

aged  on  the  left,  afid  ruled  the  tide  of 
war: 

and  groans  proclaim  his  progress  thro’ 
the  plain, 

ad  deep  Scamander  swells  with  heaps  of 
slain. 

lere  Nestor  and  Idomeneus  oppose 
le  warrior’s  fury;  there  the  battle  glows; 
lere  fierce  on  foot,  or  from  the  chariot’s 
height, 

is  sword  deforms  the  beauteous  ranks  of 
fight. 

le  spouse  of  Helen,  dealing  darts  around, 
ad  pierc’d  Machaon  with  a distant  wound: 
his  right  shoulder  the  broad  shaft  ap- 
pear’d, 630 

id  trembling  Greece  for  her  physician 
fear’d. 

> Nestor  then  Idomeneus  begun: 

-lory  of  Greece,  old  Neleus’  valiant  son! 
I'.eend  thy  chariot,  haste  with  speed  away, 
id  great  Machaon  to  the  ships  convey, 
wise  physician,  skill’d  our  wounds  to  heal, 
more  than  armies  to  the  public  weal.’ 

Old  Nestor  mounts  the  seat.  Beside 
him  rode 

ie  wounded  offspring  of  the  healing  God. 

►3  lends  the  lash;  the  steeds  with  sound- 
ing feet  640 

ake  the  dry  field,  and  thunder  toward 
the  fleet. 

But  now  Cebriones,  from  Hector’s  car, 
rvey’d  the  various  fortune  of  the  war. 
Vhile  here’  (he  cried)  ‘ the  flying  Greeks 
1 are  slain, 

ojans  on  Trojans  yonder  load  the  plain.  I 


Before  great  Ajax,  see  the  mingled  throng 
Of  men  and  chariots  driv’11  in  heaps  along! 
I know  him  well,  distinguish’d  o’er  the 
field 

By  the  broad  glitt’ring  of  the  sev’nfold 
shield. 

Thither,  O Hector,  thither  urge  thy 
steeds,  650 

There  danger  calls,  and  there  the  combat 
bleeds; 

There  horse  and  foot  in  mingled  deaths 
unite, 

And  groans  of  slaughter  mix  with  shouts  of 
fight.’ 

Thus  having  spoke,  the  driver’s  lash  re- 
sounds; 

Swift  thro’  the  ranks  the  rapid  chariot 
bounds; 

Stung  by  the  stroke,  the  coursers  scour  the 
fields, 

O’er  heaps  of  carcases,  and  hills  of  shields. 
The  horses’  hoofs  are  bathed  in  heroes’ 
gore, 

And,  dashing,  purple  all  the  car  before  : 
The  groaning  axle  sable  drops  distils,  660 
And  mangled  carnage  clogs  the  rapid 
wheels. 

Here  Hector,  plunging  thro’  the  thickest 
fight, 

Broke  the  dark  phalanx,  and  let  in  the 
light : 

(By  the  long  lance,  the  sword,  or  pond’rous 
stone, 

The  ranks  lie  scatter’d,  and  the  troops  o’er- 
thrown.) 

Ajax  he  shuns,  thro’  all  the  dire  debate, 
And  fears  that  arm  whose  force  he  felt  so 
late. 

But  partial  Jove,  espousing  Hector’s  part, 
Shot  Heav’n-bred  horror  thro’  the  Grecian’s 
heart; 

Confused,  unnerv’d  in  Hector’s  presence 
grown,  670 

Amazed  he  stood,  with  terrors  not  his  own. 
O’er  his  broad  back  his  moony  shield  he 
threw, 

And,  glaring  round,  by  tardy  steps  with- 
drew. 

Thus  the  grim  lion  his  retreat  maintains, 
Beset  with  watchful  dogs  and  shouting 
swains, 

Repuls’d  by  numbers  from  the  nightly 

stalls, 

Tho’  rage  impels  him,  and  tho’  hunger 
calls, 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


384 


Long  stands  the  show’ring  darts,  and  mis- 
sile tires; 

Then  sourly  slow  th’  indignant  beast  re- 
tires. 

So  turn’d  stern  Ajax,  by  whole  hosts  re- 
pell’d,  680 

While  his  swoln  heart  at  every  step  re- 
bell’d. 

As  the  slow  beast,  with  heavy  strength 
endued, 

111  some  wide  field  by  troops  of  boys  pur- 
sued, 

Tho’  round  his  sides  a wooden  tempest 
rain, 

Crops  the  tall  harvest,  and  lays  waste  the 
plain ; 

Thick  on  his  hide  the  hollow  blows  re- 
sound; 

The  patient  animal  maintains  his  ground; 
Scarce  from  the  field  with  all  their  efforts 
chased, 

And  stirs  but  slowly  when  he  stirs  at  last. 
On  Ajax  thus  a weight  of  Trojans  hung,  690 
The  strokes  redoubled  on  his  buckler  rung; 
Confiding  now  in  bulky  strength  he  stands, 
Now  turns,  and  backward  bears  the  yield- 
ing bands; 

Now  stiff  recedes,  yet  hardly  seems  to  fly, 
And  threats  his  foll’wers  with  retorted 
eye. 

Fix’d  as  the  bar  between  two  warring 
powers, 

While  hissing  darts  descend  in  iron 
showers: 

In  his  broad  buckler  many  a weapon  stood, 
Its  surface  bristled  with  a quiv’ring  wood; 
And  many  a jav’lin,  guiltless  on  the 
plain,  700 

Marks  the  dry  dust,  and  thirsts  for  blood 
in  vain. 

But  bold  Eurypylus  his  aid  imparts, 

And  dauntless  springs  beneath  a cloud  of 
darts; 

Whose  eager  jav’lin  launch’d  against  the 
foe, 

Great  Apisaon  felt  the  fatal  blow; 

From  his  torn  liver  the  red  current  flow’d, 
And  his  slack  knees  desert  their  dying 
load. 

The  victor  rushing  to  despoil  the  dead, 
From  Paris’  bow  a vengeful  arrow  fled: 
Fix’d  in  his  nervous  thigh  the  weapon 
stood,  710 

Fix’d  was  the  point,  but  broken  was  the 
wood. 


Back  to  the  lines  the  wounded  Greek  re 
tired, 

Yet  thus,  retreating,  his  associates  fired  : 

‘ What  God,  O Grecians!  has  your  heartl 
dismay’d  ? 

Oh,  turn  to  arms;  ’t  is  Ajax  claims  you 
aid. 

This  hour  he  stands  the  mark  of  hostil 
rage, 

And  this  the  last  brave  battle  he  shal 
wage : 

Haste,  join  your  forces;  from  the  gloom; 
grave 

The  warrior  rescue,  and  your  countr 
save.’ 

Thus  urged  the  Chief;  a gen’rous  trooj 
appears,  72 

Who  spread  their  bucklers,  and  advanc 
their  spears, 

To  guard  their  wounded  friend:  while  thu 
they  stand 

With  pious  care,  great  Ajax  joins  the  band 
Each  takes  new  courage  at  the  hero’s  sight 
The  hero  rallies  and  renews  the  fight. 

Thus  raged  both  armies  like  conflictin: 
fires, 

While  Nestor’s  chariot  far  from  fight  re 
tires: 

His  coursers  steep’d  in  sweat,  and  stain’i 
with  gore, 

The  Greeks’  preserver,  great  Machaon 
bore. 

That  hour,  Achilles,  from  the  topmos 
height  72 

Of  his  proud  fleet,  o’erlook’d  the  fields  c 
fight; 

His  feasted  eyes  beheld  around  the  plain 
The  Grecian  rout,  the  slaying,  and  th 
slain. 

His  friend  Machaon  singled  from  the  rest 
A transient  pity  touch’d  his  vengeful  breas 
Straight  to  Mencetius’  much-lov’d  son  h 
sent; 

Graceful  as  Mars,  Pa  trod  us  quits  his  teni 
In  evil  hour!  then  Fate  decreed  his  doom 
And  fix’d  the  date  of  all  his  woes  to  come 

‘ Why  calls  my  friend  ? thy  lov’d  injunc 
tions  lay ; 7‘ 

Whate’er  thy  will,  Patroclus  shall  obey.’ 

‘ O first  of  friends  ! ’ (Pelides  thus  re 
plied) 

‘ Still  at  my  heart,  and  ever  at  my  side! 
The  time  is  come,  when  yon  despairin 
host 

Shall  learn  the  value  of  the  man  they  lost 


THE  ILIAD 


335 


'low  at  my  knees  the  Greeks  shall  pour 
their  moan, 

Vnd  proud  Atrides  tremble  on  his  throne. 
to  now  to  Nestor,  and  from  him  be  taught 
What  wounded  warrior  late  his  chariot 
brought  ? 749 

<’or,  seen  at  distance,  and  but  seen  behind, 
lis  form  recall’d  Machaon  to  my  mind; 

•Jor  could  I,  thro’  yon  cloud,  discern  his 
face, 

Che  coursers  pass’d  me  with  so  swift  a 
pace.’ 

The  hero  said.  His  friend  obey’d  with 
haste; 

thro’  intermingled  ships  and  tents  he 
pass’d ; 

lie  Chiefs  descending  from  their  car  he 
found ; 

’he  panting  steeds  Eurymedon  unbound, 
’he  warriors,  standing  on  the  breezy  shore, 

10  dry  their  sweat,  and  wash  away  the 

gore, 

fere  paus’d  a moment,  while  the  gentle 
gale  760 

'onvey’d  that  freshness  the  cool  seas  ex- 
hale; 

’hen  to  consult  on  farther  methods  went, 
.nd  took  their  seats  beneath  the  shady 
tent. 

'he  draught  prescribed  fair  Hecamede 
1 prepares, 

.rsinous’  daughter,  graced  with  golden 
1 hairs ; 

Whom  to  his  aged  arms,  a royal  slave, 
reece,  as  the  prize  of  Nestor’s  wisdom, 
gave;) 

1 table  first  with  azure  feet  she  placed; 
Hiose  ample  orb  a brazen  charger  graced: 
;oiiey  new  press’d,  the  sacred  flower  of 
wheat,  77o 

nd  wholesome  garlicks  crown’d  the  sav’ry 
treat. 

ext  her  white  hand  an  antique  goblet 
brings, 

goblet  sacred  to  the  Pylian  Kings, 
worn  eldest  times:  emboss’d  with  studs  of 
gold, 

wo  feet  support  it,  and  four  handles  hold; 

11  each  bright  handle,  bending  o’er  the 
[ brink, 

1 sculptured  gold,  two  turtles  seem  to 
drink: 

massy  weight,  yet  heav’d  with  ease  by 
him, 

lien  the  brisk  nectar  overlook’d  the  brim. 


Temper’d  in  this,  the  nymph  of  form 
divine  780 

Pours  a large  portion  of  the  Pramnian 
wine; 

With  goat’s-milk  cheese  a flav’rous  taste 
bestows, 

And  last  with  flour  the  smiling  surface 
strews. 

This  for  the  wounded  Prince  the  dame  pre- 
pares ; 

The  cordial  be  v’rage  rev’rend  Nestor  shares : 
Salubrious  draughts  the  warrior’s  thirst 
allay, 

And  pleasing  conference  beguiles  the  day. 

Meantime  Patroclus,  by  Achilles  sent, 
Unheard  approach’d,  and  stood  before  the 
tent. 

Old  Nestor,  rising  then,  the  hero  led  79o 
To  his  high  seat;  the  Chief  refused,  and  said: 

‘ ’Tis  now  no  season  for  these  kind  de- 
lays; 

The  great  Achilles  with  impatience  stays. 
To  great  Achilles  this  respect  I owe; 

Who  asks  what  hero,  wounded  by  the  foe, 
Was  borne  from  combat  by  thy  foaming 
steeds  ? 

With  grief  I see  the  great  Machaon  bleeds. 
This  to  report,  my  hasty  course  I bend ; 
Thou  know’st  the  fiery  temper  of  my 
friend.’ 

‘ Can  then  the  sons  of  Greece  ’ (the  sage 
rejoin’d)  800 

‘Excite  compassion  in  Achilles’  mind  ? * 
Seeks  he  the  sorrows  of  our  host  to  know  ? 
Tins  is  not  half  the  story  of  our  woe. 

Tell  him,  not  great  Machaon  bleeds  alone, 
Our  bravest  heroes  in  the  navy  groan; 
Ulysses,  Agamemnon,  Diomed, 

And  stern  Eurypylus,  already  bleed. 

But  ah!  what  flatt’ring  hopes  I entertain! 
Achilles  heeds  not,  but  derides  our  pain; 
Ev’n  till  the  flames  consume  our  fleet  he 
stays,  8io 

And  waits  the  xusing  of  the  fatal  blaze. 
Chief  after  Chief  the  raging  foe  destroys; 
Calm  he  looks  on,  and  ev’ry  death  enjoys. 
Now  the  slow  course  of  all-impairing  time 
Unstrings  my  nerves,  and  ends  my  manly 
prime; 

Oh!  had  I still  that  strength  my  youth 
possess’d, 

When  this  bold  arm  th’  Epeian  powers  op- 
press’d, 

The  bulls  of  Elis  in  glad  triumph  led, 

And  stretch’d  the  great  Itymonseus  dead! 


386 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


‘ Then,  from  my  fury  fled  the  trembling 
swains,  820 

And  ours  was  all  the  plunder  of  the  plains: 
Fifty  white  flocks,  full  fifty  herds  of  swine, 
As  many  goats,  as  many  lowing  kine: 

And  thrice  the  number  of  unrivall’d  steeds, 
All  teeming  females,  and  of  gen’rous 
breeds. 

These,  as  my  first  essay  of  arms,  I won; 
Old  Neleus  gloried  in  his  conquering  son. 
Thus  Elis  forc’d,  her  long  arrears  restor’d, 
And  shares  were  parted  to  each  Pylian 
lord. 

The  state  of  Pyle  was  sunk  to  last  despair, 
When  the  proud  Elians  first  commenced 
the  war.  831 

For  Neleus’  sons  Alcides’  rage  had  slain; 
Of  twelve  bold  brothers,  I alone  remain  ! 
Oppress’d,  we  arm’d;  and  now,  this  con- 
quest gain’d, 

My  sire  three  hundred  chosen  sheep  ob- 
tain’d. 

(That  large  reprisal  he  might  justly  claim, 
For  prize  defrauded,  and  insulted  fame; 
When  Elis’  monarch  at  the  public  course 
Detain’d  his  chariot,  and  victorious  horse.) 
The  rest  the  people  shared;  myself  sur- 
vey’d 840 

The  just  partition,  and  due  victims  paid. 
Three  days  were  past,  when  Elis  rose  to 
war, 

With  many  a courser,  and  with  many  a car; 
Tire  sons  of  Actor  at  their  army’s  head 
(Young  as  they  were)  the  vengeful  squad- 
rons led. 

High  on  a rock  fair  Thrvoessa  stands, 

Our  utmost  frontier  on  the  Pylian  lands; 
Not  far  the  streams  of  famed  Alphseus 
flow; 

The  stream  they  pass’d,  and  pitch’d  their 
tents  below; 

Pallas,  descending  in  the  shades  of  night, 
Alarms  the  Pylians,  and  commands  the 
fight.  851 

Each  burns  for  Fame,  and  swells  with 
martial  pride; 

Myself  the  foremost;  but  my  sire  denied; 
Fear’d  for  my  youth,  exposed  to  stern 
alarms, 

And  stopp’d  my  chariot,  and  detain’d  my 
arms. 

My  sire  denied  in  vain:  on  foot  I fled 
Amidst  our  chariots:  for  the  Goddess  led. 

‘ Along  fair  Arene’s  delightful  plain, 
tSoft  Minyas  rolls  his  waters  to  the  main. 


There,  horse  and  foot,  the  Pylian  troop* 
unite,  86< 

And,  sheathed  in  arms,  expect  the  dawning 
light. 

Thence,  ere  the  sun  advanc’d  his  noon-da} 
flame, 

To  great  Alphseus’  sacred  source  we  camei 
There  first  to  Jove  our  solemn  rites  were 
paid; 

An  untamed  heifer  pleas’d  the  Blue-eyei 
Maid, 

A bull  Alphseus;  and  a bull  was  slain 
To  the  blue  Monarch  of  the  wat’ry  Main. 
I11  arms  we  slept,  beside  the  winding  flood 
While  round  the  town  the  fierce  Epeian: 
stood. 

Soon  as  the  sun,  with  all-revealing  ray,  87 
Flamed  in  the  front  of  Heav’11,  and  gav< 
the  day, 

Bright  scenes  of  arms,  and  works  of  wa 
appear; 

The  nations  meet;  there  Pylos,  Elis  here. 
The  first  who  fell,  beneath  my  jav’lin  bled 
King  Augias’  son,  and  spouse  of  Agamede 
(She  that  all  simples’  healing  virtues  knew 
And  every  herb  that  drinks  the  mornin* 
dew.) 

I seiz’d  his  car,  the  van  of  battle  led; 

Th’  Epeians  saw,  they  trembled,  and  the; 
fled. 

The  foe  dispers’d,  their  bravest  warrio 
kill’d,  8S 

Fierce  as  a whirlwind  now  I swept  tin 
field: 

Full  fifty  captive  chariots  graced  my  train 
Two  Chiefs  from  each  fell  breathless  to  th 
plain. 

Then  Actor’s  sons  had  died,  but  Neptun 
shrouds 

The  youthful  heroes  in  a veil  of  clouds. 
O’er  heapy  shields,  and  o’er  the  prostrat 
throng, 

Collecting  spoils,  and  slaught’ring  al 
along, 

Thro’  wide  Buprasian  fields  we  forc’d  the  ) 
foes, 

Where  o’er  the  vales  th’  Olenian  rocks 
arose ; 

Till  Pallas  stopp’d  us  where  Alisium  flows.  J 
Ev’n  there,  the  hindmost  of  their  rear  I 
slay,  891 

And  the  same  arm  that  led,  concludes  the 
day; 

Then  back  to  Pyle  triumphant  take  my 
way.  J 


THE  ILIAD 


38  7 


There  to  high  Jove  were  public  thanks  as- 
sign’d 

As  first  of  Gods;  to  Nestor,  of  mankind. 
Such  then  I was,  imped'd  by  youthful 
blood: 

So  prov’d  my  valour  for  my  country’s  good. 
Achilles  with  inactive  fury  glows, 

And  gives  to  passion  what  to  Greece  he 
owes. 

How  shall  he  grieve,  when  to  th’  eternal 
shade  9OO 

Her  hosts  shall  sink,  nor  his  the  power  to 
aid  ? 

0 friend!  my  memory  recalls  the  day, 
When,  gath’ring  aids  along  the  Grecian  sea, 
[,  and  Ulysses,  touch’d  at  Phthia’s  port, 
And  enter’d  Peleus’  hospitable  court. 

A bull  to  Jove  he  slew  in  sacrifice, 

And  pour’d  libations  on  the  flaming  thighs. 
Thyself,  Achilles,  and  thy  rev’rend  sire 
Mencetius,  turn’d  the  fragments  on  the  fire. 
Achilles  sees  us,  to  the  feast  invites;  910 
Social  we  sit,  and  share  the  genial  rites. 

We  then  explain’d  the  cause  on  which  we 
came, 

Urged  you  to  arms,  and  found  you  fierce 
for  fame. 

Tour  ancient  fathers  gen’rous  precepts  gave : 
Peleus  said  only  this:  “My  son!  be  brave,” 
Mencetius  thus:  “ Tho’  great  Achilles  shine 
[n  strength  superior,  and  of  race  divine, 

Yet  cooler  thoughts  thy  elder  years  attend; 
-wet  thy  just  counsels  aid,  and  rule  thy 
friend.” 

Thus  spoke  your  father  at  Thessalia’s 
court;  920 

Words  now  forgot,  tho’  now  of  vast  import. 
Vh!  try  the  utmost  that  a friend  can  say, 
>uch  gentle  force  the  fiercest  minds  obey; 
Some  fav’ring  God  Achilles’  heart  may 

1 move; 

CW  deaf  to  glory,  he  may  yield  to  love. 

; f some  dire  oracle  his  breast  alarm, 
f aught  from  Heav’n  withhold  his  saving 
arm ; 

jome  beam  of  comfort  yet  on  Greece  may 
shine, 

f thou  but  lead  the  Myrmidonian  line; 

’lad  in  Achilles’  arms,  if  thou  appear,  930 
’roud  Troy  may  tremble,  and  desist  from 
war! 

Press’d  by  fresh  forces,  her  o’erlabour’d 
train 

dhall  seek  their  walls,  and  Greece  respire 
again.’ 


This  touch’d  his  gen’rous  heart,  and  from 
the  tent 

Along  the  shore  with  hasty  strides  he  went; 
Soon  as  he  came,  where,  on  the  crowded 
strand, 

The  public  mart  and  courts  of  justice  stand, 
Where  the  tall  fleet  of  great  Ulysses  lies, 
And  altars  to  the  guardian  Gods  arise; 
There  sad  he  met  the  brave  Evsemon’s  son; 
Large  painful  drops  from  all  his  members 
run;  94x 

An  arrow’s  head  yet  rooted  in  his  wound, 
The  sable  blood  in  circles  mark’d  the 
ground, 

As,  faintly  reeling,  he  confess’d  the  smart: 
Weak  was  his  pace,  but  dauntless  was  his 
heart. 

Divine  compassion  touch’d  Patroclus’ 
breast, 

Who,  sighing,  thus  his  bleeding  friend  ad- 
dress’d: 

‘ Ah,  hapless  leaders  of  the  Grecian  host! 
Thus  must  ye  perish  on  a barb’rous  coast  ? 
Is  this  your  fate,  to  glut  the  dogs  with 
gore,  95o 

Far  from  your  friends,  and  from  your  na- 
tive shore  ? 

Say,  great  Eurypylus!  shall  Greece  yet 
stand  ? 

Resists  she  yet  the  raging  Hector’s  hand  ? 
Or  are  her  heroes  doom’d  to  die  with 
shame, 

And  this  the  period  of  our  wars  and  fame  ? ’ 
Eurypylus  replies:  ‘ No  more,  my  friend, 
Greece  is  no  more!  this  day  her  glories  end. 
Ev’11  to  the  ships  victorious  Troy  pursues, 
Her  force  increasing  as  her  toil  renews. 
Those  Chiefs,  that  used  her  utmost  rage  to 
meet,  960 

Lie  pierc’d  with  wounds,  and  bleeding  in 
the  fleet. 

But  thou,  Patroclus!  act  a friendly  part, 
Lead  to  my  ships,  and  draw  this  deadly 
dart; 

With  lukewarm  water  wash  the  gore  away, 
With  healing  balms  the  ragingsmart  allay, 
Such  as  sage  Chiron,  sire  of  pharmacy, 

Once  taught  Achilles,  and  Achilles  thee. 

Of  two  famed  surgeons,  Podalirius  stands 
This  hour  surrounded  by  the  Trojan  bands', 
And  great  Machaon,  wounded  in  his  tent, 
Now  wants  that  succour  which  so  oft  he 
lent.’  971 

To  vhom  the  Chief:  ‘ What  then  remains 
to  do  ? 


388 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


Tli’  event  of  things  the  Gods  alone  can 
view. 

Charged  by  Achilles’  great  command  I 

fly, 

And  bear  with  haste  the  Pylian  King’s  re- 
ply: 

But  thy  distress  this  instant  claims  relief.’ 

He  said,  and  in  his  arms  upheld  the  Chief. 

The  slaves  their  master’s  slow  approach 
survey’d, 

And  hides  of  oxen  on  the  floor  displayed: 

There  stretch’d  at  length  the  wounded  hero 
lay ; 980 

Patroclus  cut  the  forky  steel  away. 

Then  in  his  hands  a bitter  root  he  bruis’d; 

The  wound  he  wash’d,  the  styptic  juice  in- 
fused. 

The  closing  flesh  that  instant  ceas’d  to 
glow, 

The  wound  to  torture,  and  the  blood  to 
flow. 


BOOK  XII 

THE  BATTLE  AT  THE  GRECIAN  WALL 
THE  ARGUMENT 

The  Greeks  being  retired  into  their  entrench- 
ments, Hector  attempts  to  force  them  ; but 
it  proving  impossible  to  pass  the  ditch,  Poly- 
damas  advises  to  quit  their  chariots,  and 
manage  the  attack  on  foot.  The  Trojans 
follow  his  counsel,  and  having  divided  their 
army  into  five  bodies  of  foot,  begin  the  as- 
sault. But  upon  the  signal  of  an  eagle  with 
a serpent  in  his  talons,  which  appeared  on 
the  left  hand  of  the  Trojans,  Polydamas  en- 
deavours to  withdraw  them  again.  This  Hec- 
tor opposes,  and  continues  the  attack;  in 
which,  after  many  actions,  Sarpedon  makes 
the  first  breach  in  the  wall : Hector  also, 
casting  a stone  of  a vast  size,  forces  open  one 
of  the  gates,  and  enters  at  the  head  of  his 
troops,  who  victoriously  pursue  the  Grecians 
even  to  their  ships. 


While  thus  the  hero’s  pious  cares  at- 
tend 

The  cure  and  safety  of  his  wounded  friend, 

Trojans  and  Greeks  with  clashing  shields 
engage, 

And  mutual  deaths  are  dealt  with  mutual 
rage. 

Nor  long  the  trench  or  lofty  walls  oppose; 

With  Gods  averse  th’  ill-fated  works  arose ; 


Their  powers  neglected,  and  no  victim  slain, 
The  walls  are  rais’d,  the  trenches  sunk,  in 
vain. 

Without  the  Gods,  how  short  a period 
stands 

The  proudest  monument  of  mortal  hands! 
This  stood,  while  Hector  and  Achilles 
raged,  n 

While  sacred  Troy  the  warring  hosts  en- 
gaged; 

But  when  her  sons  were  slain,  her  city 
burn’d, 

And  what  survived  of  Greece  to  Greece  re- 
turn’d; 

Then  Neptune  and  Apollo  shook  the  shore, 
Then  Ida’s  summits  pour’d  their  wat’ry 
store; 

Rhesus  and  Rhodius  then  unite  their  rills, 
Caresus  roaring  down  the  stony  hills, 
iEsepus,  Granicus,  with  mingled  force, 

And  Xanthus  foaming  from  his  fruitful 
source;  20 

And  gulfy  Simois,  rolling  to  the  main 
Helmets,  and  shields,  and  godlike  heroes 
slain : 

These,  turn’d  by  Phcebus  from  their  wonted 
ways, 

Deluged  the  rampire  nine  continual  days; 
The  weight  of  waters  saps  the  yielding 
wall, 

And  to  the  sea  the  floating  bulwarks  fall. 
Incessant  cataracts  the  Tlmnd’rer  pours, 
And  half  the  skies  descend  in  sluicy  show- 
ers. 

The  God  of  Ocean,  marching  stern  be- 
fore, 

With  his  huge  trident  wounds  the  trembling 
shore,  3° 

Vast  stones  and  piles  from  their  foundation 
heaves, 

And  whelms  the  smoky  ruin  in  the  waves. 
Now,  smooth’d  with  sand,  and  levell’d  by 
the  flood, 

No  fragment  tells  where  once  the  wonder 
stood ; 

In  their  old  bounds  the  rivers  roll  again, 
Shine  ’twixt  the  hills,  or  wander  o’er  the 
plain. 

But  this  the  Gods  in  later  times  perform ; 
As  yet  the  bulwark  stood,  and  braved  the 
storm ! 

The  strokes  yet  echoed  of  contending 
powers; 

War  thunder’d  at  the  gates,  and  blood  di,P* 
tain’d  the  towers.  4° 


THE  ILIAD 


389 


Smote  by  the  arm  of  Jove,  and  dire  dis- 
may, 

Close  by  their  hollow  ships  the  Grecians  lay; 
Hector’s  approach  in  every  wind  they  hear, 
And  Hector’s  fury  every  moment  fear. 

He,  like  a whirlwind,  toss’d  the  scatt’ring 
throng, 

Mingled  the  troops,  and  drove  the  field 
along, 

So,  ’midst  the  dogs  and  hunters’  daring 
bands, 

Fierce  of  his  might,  a boar  or  lion  stands; 
Arm’d  foes  around  a dreadful  circle  form, 
And  hissing  jav’lins  rain  an  iron  storm;  50 
His  powers  untamed  their  bold  assault  defy, 
And,  where  he  turns,  the  rout  disperse,  or 
die: 

He  foams,  he  glares,  he  bounds  against 
them  all, 

And,  if  he  falls,  his  courage  makes  him  fall. 
With  equal  rage  encompass’d  Hector  glows; 
Exhorts  his  armies,  and  the  trenches  shows. 
The  panting  steeds  impatient  fury  breathe, 
But  snort  and  tremble  at  the  gulf  beneath; 
Just  on  the  brink,  they  neigh,  and  paw  the 
ground, 

And  the  turf  trembles,  and  the  skies  re- 
sound. 60 

Eager  they  view’d  the  prospect  dark  and 
deep, 

Vast  was  the  leap,  and  headlong  hung  the 
steep; 

’ The  bottom  bare  (a  formidable  show)! 

And  bristled  thick  with  sharpen’d  stakes 
below. 

The  foot  alone  this  strong  defence  could 
force, 

And  try  the  pass  impervious  to  the  horse. 
This  saw  Polydamas;  who,  wisely  brave, 
Restrain’d  great  Hector,  and  this  counsel 
gave : 

‘O  thou!  bold  leader  of  our  Trojan 
bands, 

And  you,  confed’rate  Chiefs  from  foreign 
lands!  70 

What  entrance  here  can  cumbrous  chariots 
find, 

The  stakes  beneath,  the  Grecian  walls  be- 
hind ? 

No  pass  thro’  those  without  a thousand 
wounds; 

No  space  for  combat  in  yon  narrow  bounds. 
Proud  of  the  favours  mighty  Jove  has 
shown, 

On  certain  dangers  we  too  rashly  run: 


If ’t  is  his  will  our  haughty  foes  to  tame, 

O may  this  instant  end  the  Grecian  name! 
Here,  far  from  Argos,  let  their  heroes 
fall,  79 

And  one  great  day  destroy,  and  bury  all! 
But  should  they  turn,  and  here  oppress  our 
train, 

What  hopes,  what  methods  of  retreat  re- 
main ? 

Wedg’d  in  the  trench,  by  our  own  troops 
confused, 

In  one  promiscuous  carnage  crush’d  and 
bruis’d, 

All  Troy  must  perish,  if  their  arms  pre- 
vail, 

Nor  shall  a Trojan  live  to  tell  the  tale. 
Hear  then,  ye  warriors!  and  obey  wiili 
speed; 

Back  from  the  trenches  let  your  steeds  be 
led; 

Then  all  alighting,  wedg’d  in  firm  array, 
Proceed  on  foot,  and  Hector  lead  the 
way.  90 

So  Greece  shall  stoop  before  our  conquer- 
ing power, 

And  this  (if  Jove  consent)  her  fatal  hour.’ 

This  counsel  pleas’d:  the  godlike  Hector 
sprung 

Swift  from  his  seat;  his  clanging  armour 
rung. 

The  Chief’s  example  follow’d  by  his  train, 
Each  quits  his  car,  and  issues  on  the  plain. 
By  orders  strict  the  charioteers  enjoin’d, 
Compel  the  coursers  to  their  ranks  behind. 
The  forces  part  in  five  distinguish’d  bands, 
And  all  obey  their  sev’ral  Chiefs’  com- 
mands, 100 

The  best  and  bravest  in  the  first  conspire, 
Pant  for  the  fight,  and  threat  the  fleet  with 
fire: 

Great  Hector  glorious  in  the  van  of  these, 
Polydamas,  and  brave  Cebriones. 

Before  the  next  the  graceful  Paris  shines, 
And  bold  Alcathoiis,  and  Agenor  joins. 

The  sons  of  Priam  with  the  third  appear, 
Deiphobus,  and  Helenas  the  seer; 

In  arms  with  these  the  mighty  Asius  stoodv 
Who  drew  from  Hyrtacus  his  noble 
blood,  no 

And  whom  Arisba’s  yellow  coursers  bore, 
The  coursers  fed  on  Selle’s  winding  shore. 
Antenor’s  sons  the  fourth  battalion  guide, 
And  great  iEneas,  born  on  fountful  Ide. 
Divine  Sarpedon  the  last  band  obey’d, 
Whom  Glaucus  and  Asteropceus  aid; 


390 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


Next  liiin,  the  bravest  at  their  army’s 
head, 

But  he  more  brave  than  all  the  hosts  he 
led. 

Now,  with  compacted  shields,  in  close 
array, 

The  moving  legions  speed  their  headlong 
way:  i2Q 

Already  in  their  hopes  they  fire  the  fleet, 
And  see  the  Grecians  gasping  at  their  feet. 

While  every  Trojan  thus,  and  every  aid, 
Th’  advice  of  wise  Polydatnas  obey’d; 

Asius  alone,  confiding  in  his  car, 

His  vaunted  coursers  urged  to  meet  the 
war. 

Unhappy  hero!  and  advised  in  vain! 

Those  wheels  returning  ne’er  shall  mark 
the  plain; 

No  more  those  coursers  with  triumphant 

j°y 

Restore  their  master  to  the  gates  of 
Troy!  130 

Black  death  attends  behind  the  Grecian 
wall, 

And  great  Idomeneus  shall  boast  thy  fall! 
Fierce  to  the  left  he  drives,  where  from  the 
plain 

The  flying  Grecians  strove  their  ships  to 
gain ; 

Swift  thro’  the  wall  their  horse  and  chari- 
ots past, 

The  gates  half-open’d  to  receive  the  last. 
Thither,  exulting  in  his  force,  he  flies; 

His  foll’wing  host  with  clamours  rend  the 
skies: 

To  plunge  the  Grecians  headlong  in  the 
main, 

Such  their  proud  hopes,  but  all  their  hopes 
were  vain!  140 

To  guard  the  gates,  two  mighty  Chiefs 
attend, 

Who  from  the  Lapiths’  warlike  race  de- 
scend ; 

This  Poly  pastes,  great  Perithous’  heir, 

And  that  Leonteus,  like  the  God  of  War. 
As  two  tall  oaks,  before  the  wall  they  rise; 
Their  roots  in  earth,  their  heads  amidst 
the  skies: 

Whose  spreading  arms,  with  leafy  honours 
crown’d, 

Forbid  the  tempest,  and  protect  the 
ground; 

High  on  the  hills  appears  their  stately  form, 
Ahd  their  deep  roots  for  ever  brave  the 
storm.  150 


So  graceful  these,  and  so  the  shock  they 
stand 

Of  raging  Asius,  and  his  furious  band. 
Orestes,  Acamas,  in  front  appear, 

And  (Enomaus  and  Thoon  close  the  rear. 
In  vain  their  clamours  shake  the  ambient 
fields, 

In  vain  around  them  beat  their  hollow 
shields; 

The  fearless  brothers  on  the  Grecians  call, 
To  guard  their  navies,  and  defend  their 
wall. 

Ev’11  when  they  saw  Troy’s  sable  troops 
impend, 

And  Greece  tumultuous  from  her  towers 
descend,  x6o 

Forth  from  the  portals  rush’d  tli’  intrepid 
pair. 

Opposed  their  breasts,  and  stood  them- 
selves the  war. 

So  two  wild  boars  spring  furious  from  their 
den, 

Rous’d  with  the  cries  of  dogs,  and  voice  of 
men ; 

On  every  side  the  crackling  trees  they  tear, 
And  root  the  shrubs,  and  lay  the  forest 
bare; 

They  gnash  their  tusks,  with  fire  their  eye- 
balls roll, 

Till  some  wide  wound  lets  out  their  mighty 
soul. 

Around  their  heads  the  whistling  jav’lins 
sung; 

With  sounding  strokes  their  brazen  targets 
rung:  _ 170 

Fierce  was  the  fight,  while  yet  the  Grecian 
powers 

Maintain’d  the  walls,  and  maim’d  the  lofty 
towers: 

To  save  their  fleet,  the  last  efforts  they 

try, 

And  stones  and  darts  in  mingled  tempests 

%• 

As  when  sharp  Boreas  blows  abroad,  and 
brings 

The  dreary  winter  on  his  frozen  wings; 
Beneath  the  low-hung  clouds  the  sheets  of 
snow 

Descend,  and  whiten  all  the  fields  below: 

So  fast  the  darts  on  either  army  pour, 

So  down  the  rampires  rolls  the  rocky 
shower;  180 

Heavy,  and  thick,  resound  the  batter’d 
shields, 

And  the  deaf  echo  rattles  round  the  fields. 


THE  ILIAD 


With  shame  repuls’d,  with  grief  and  fury 
driv’n, 

The  frantic  Asius  thus  accuses  Heav’n: 

‘ In  powers  immortal  who  shall  now  be- 
lieve ? 

Can  those  too  flatter,  and  can  Jove  de- 
ceive ? 

What  man  can  doubt  but  Troy’s  victorious 
power 

Should  humble  Greece,  and  this  her  fatal 
hour  ? 

But  like  when  wasps  from  hollow  crannies 
drive, 

To  guard  the  entrance  of  their  common 
hive,  190 

Dark’ning  the  rock,  while,  with  unwearied 
wings, 

They  strike  th’  assailants,  and  infix  their 
stings; 

A race  determin’d,  that  to  death  contend: 

1 So  fierce,  these  Greeks  their  last  retreat 
defend. 

1 Gods!  shall  two  warriors  only  guard  their 
gates, 

, Repel  an  army,  and  defraud  the  fates  ? ’ 

) These  empty  accents  mingled  with  the 
wind, 

• Nor  mov’d  great  Jove’s  unalterable  mind; 

To  godlike  Hector  and  his  matchless 
might  199 

Was  owed  the  glory  of  the  destin’d  fight. 

; Like  deeds  of  arms  thro’  all  the  forts  were 
tried, 

And  all  the  gates  sustain’d  an  equal  tide; 

Thro’  the  long  walls  the  stony  showers 
were  heard, 

The  blaze  of  flames,  the  flash  of  arms,  ap- 
pear’d. 

The  spirit  of  a God  my  breast  inspire, 

To  raise  each  act  to  life,  and  sing  with  fire! 

While  Greece  unconquer’d  kept  alive  the 

f war, 

Secure  of  death,  confiding  in  despair; 

And  all  her  guardian  Gods,  in  deep  dis- 
may, 209 

With  unassisting  arms  deplor’d  the  day. 

Ev’n  yet  the  dauntless  Lapithfe  maintain 

The  dreadful  pass,  and  round  them  heap 
the  slain. 

First  Damasus,  by  Polvpcetes’  steel 

Pierc’d  thro’  his  helmet’s  brazen  vizor,  fell; 

The  weapon  drank  the  mingled  brains  and 
gore; 

The  warrior  sinks,  tremendous  now  no 
more! 


391 


Next  Ormenus  and  Pylon  yield  their 
breath: 

Nor  less  Leonteus  strews  the  field  with 
death; 

First  thro’  the  belt  Hippomachus  he 
gor’d,  219 

Then  sudden  waved  his  unresisted  sword; 
Antiphates,  as  thro’  the  ranks  he  broke, 
The  falchion  struck,  and  Fate  pursued  the 
stroke ; 

Iamenus,  Orestes,  Menon,  bled; 

And  round  him  rose  a monument  of  dead. 

Meantime,  the  bravest  of  the  Trojan 
crew 

Bold  Hector  and  Polydamas  pursue; 

Fierce  with  impatience  on  the  works  to 
fall, 

And  wrap  in  rolling  flames  the  fleet  and 
wall. 

These  on  the  farther  bank  now  stood  and 
gazed,  229 

By  Heav’n  alarm’d,  by  prodigies  amazed: 

A signal  omen  stopp’d  the  passing  host, 
Their  martial  fury  in  their  wonder  lost. 
Jove’s  bird  on  sounding  pinions  beat  the 
skies, 

A bleeding  serpent  of  enormous  size 
His  talons  truss’d;  alive,  and  curling 
round, 

He  stung  the  bird,  whose  throat  receiv’d 
the  wound: 

Mad  with  the  smart,  he  drops  the  fatal  prey, 
In  airy  circles  wings  his  painful  way. 

Floats  on  the  winds,  and  rends  the  Heav’ns 
with  cries; 

Amidst  the  host  the  fallen  serpent  lies:  240 
They,  pale  with  terror,  mark  its  spires  un- 
roll’d 

And  Jove’s  portent  with  beating  hearts 
behold. 

Then  first  Polydamas  the  silence  broke, 
Long  weigh’d  the  signal,  and  to  Hector 
spoke: 

‘ How  oft,  my  brother,  thy  reproach  I 
bear, 

For  words  well  meant,  and  sentiments  sin- 
cere ? 

True  to  those  counsels  which  I judge  the 
best, 

I tell  the  faithful  dictates  of  my  breast. 

To  speak  his  thoughts,  is  every  freeman’s 
right,  . 249 

In  peace  and  war,  in  council  and  in  fight; 
And  all  I move,  deferring  to  thy  sway, 

But  tends  to  raise  that  power  which  I obey. 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


3 92 


Then  hear  my  words,  nor  may  my  words 
be  vain; 

Seek  not,  this  day,  the  Grecian  ships  to 
gain; 

For  sure  to  warn  us  Jove  his  omen  sent, 
And  thus  my  mind  explains  its  clear  event. 
The  victor  eagle,  whose  sinister  flight 
Retards  our  host,  and  fills  our  hearts  with 
fright, 

Dismiss’d  his  conquest  in  the  middle  skies, 
Allow’d  to  seize,  but  not  possess,  the  prize; 
Tims,  tho’  we  gird  with  fires  the  Grecian 
fleet,  261 

Tho’  these  proud  bulwarks  tumble  at  our 
feet, 

Toils  unforeseen,  and  fiercer,  are  decreed; 
More  woes  shall  follow,  and  more  heroes 
bleed. 

So  bodes  my  soul,  and  bids  me  thus  advise; 
For  thus  a skilful  seer  would  read  the 
skies.’ 

To  him  then  Hector  with  disdain  re- 
turn’d: 

(Fierce  as  he  spoke,  his  eyes  with  fury 
burn’d) : 

‘ Are  these  the  faithful  counsels  of  thy 
tongue  ? 269 

Thy  will  is  partial,  not  thy  reason  wrong: 
Or  if  the  purpose  of  thy  heart  thou  vent, 
Sure  Heav’11  resumes  the  little  sense  it 
lent. 

What  coward  counsels  would  thy  madness 
move, 

Against  the  word,  the  will  reveal’d  of 
Jove  ? 

The  leading  sign,  th’  irrevocable  nod, 

And  happy  thunders  of  the  fav’ring  God, 
These  shall  I slight  ? and  guide  my  wav’r- 
iug  mind 

By  wand’ring  birds,  that  flit  with  ev’ry 
wind  ? 

Ye  vagrants  of  the  sky!  your  wings  ex- 
tend, 279 

Or  where  the  suns  arise,  or  where  descend; 
To  right,  to  left,  unheeded  take  your  way, 
While  I the  dictates  of  high  Heav’n  obey. 
Without  a sign,  his  sword  the  brave  man 
draws, 

And  asks  no  omen  but  his  country’s  cause. 
But  why  shouldst  thou  suspect  the  war’s 
success  ? 

None  fears  it  more,  as  none  promotes  it 
less: 

Tho’  all  our  Chiefs  amid  yon  ships  expire, 
Trust  thy  own  cowardice  t’  escape  their  fire. 


Troy  and  her  sons  may  find  a gen’ral 
grave, 

But  thou  canst  live,  for  thou  canst  be  a 
slave.  290 

Yet  should  the  fears  that  wary  mind  sug- 
gests 

Spread  their  cold  poison  thro’  our  soldiers’ 
breasts, 

My  jav’lin  can  revenge  so  base  a part, 

And  free  the  soul  that  quivers  in  thy  heart.’ 

Furious  he  spoke,  and,  rushing  to  the 
wall, 

Calls  on  his  host;  his  host  obey  the  call; 
With  ardour  follow  where  their  leader 
flies: 

Redoubling  clamours  thunder  in  the  skies. 
Jove  breathes  a whirlwind  from  the  hills  of 
Ide,  299 

And  drifts  of  dust  the  clouded  navy  hide: 
He  fills  the  Greeks  with  terror  and  dismay, 
And  gives  great  Hector  the  predestin’d 
day. 

Strong  in  themselves,  but  stronger  in  his 
aid, 

Close  to  the  works  their  rigid  siege  they 
laid. 

In  vain  the  mounds  and  massy  beams  de- 
fend, 

While  these  they  undermine,  and  those  they 
rend ; 

Upheave  the  piles  that  prop  the  solid  wall; 
And  heaps  on  heaps  the  smoky  ruins  fall. 
Greece  on  her  ramparts  stands  the  fierce 
alarms; 

The  crowded  bulwarks  blaze  with  waving 
arms,  3IO 

Shield  touching  shield,  a long  refulgent 
row; 

Whence  hissing  darts,  incessant,  rain  be- 
low. 

The  bold  Ajaces  fly  from  tower  to  tower, 
And  rouse,  with  flame  divine,  the  Grecian 
power. 

The  gen’rous  impulse  every  Greek  obeys; 
Threats  urge  the  fearful;  "and  the  valiant, 
praise. 

‘ Fellows  in  arms!  whose  deeds  are  known 
to  Fame, 

And  you  whose  ardour  hopes  an  equal 
name!  3ls 

Since  not  alike  endued  with  force  or  art, 
Behold  a day  when  each  may  act  his  part! 

A day  to  fire  the  brave,  and  warm  the 
cold, 

To  gain  new  glories,  or  augment  the  old. 


THE  ILIAD 


393 


Urge  those  who  stand,  and  those  who  faint, 
excite, 

Drown  Hector’s  vaunts  in  loud  exhorts  of 
fight; 

Conquest,  not  safety,  fill  the  thoughts  of 
all; 

I Seek  not  your  fleet,  but  sally  from  the 
wall ; 

So  Jove  once  more  may  drive  their  routed 
train, 

And  Troy  lie  trembling  in  her  walls  again.’ 

Their  ardour  kindles  all  the  Grecian 
powers; 

And  now  the  stones  descend  in  heavier 
showers.  33o 

As  when  high  Jove  his  sharp  artillery 
forms, 

And  opes  his  cloudy  magazine  of  storms; 

In  winter’s  bleak  uncomfortable  reign, 

A snowy  inundation  hides  the  plain; 

I He  stills  the  winds,  and  bids  the  skies  to 
sleep; 

Then  pours  the  silent  tempest,  thick  and 
deep: 

And  first  the  mountain  tops  are  cover’d  o’er, 
Then  the  green  fields,  and  then  the  sandy 
shore; 

Bent  with  the  weight  the  nodding  woods 
are  seen, 

And  one  bright  waste  hides  all  the  works  of 
men : 34o 

The  circling  seas  alone  absorbing  all, 

Drink  the  dissolving  fleeces  as  they  fall. 

So  from  each  side  increas’d  the  stony  rain, 
And  the  white  ruin  rises  o’er  the  plain. 

Thus  godlike  Hector  and  his  troops  con- 
tend 

To  force  the  ramparts,  and  the  gates  to 
rend ; 

Nor  Troy  could  conquer,  nor  the  Greeks 
would  yield, 

Till  great  Sarpedon  tower’d  amid  the  field; 
For  mighty  Jove  inspired  with  martial  flame 
His  matchless  son,  and  urged  him  on  to 
fame.  35o 

In  arms  he  shines,  conspicuous  from  afar, 
And  bears  aloft  his  ample  shield  in  air; 
Within  whose  orb  the  thick  bull-hides  were 
roll’d, 

Pond’rous  with  brass,  and  bound  with  duc- 
tile gold: 

And  while  two  pointed  jav’lins  arm  his 
hands, 

Majestic  moves  along,  and  leads  his  Lycian 
bands. 


So  press’d  with  hunger,  from  the  moun- 
tain’s brow, 

Descends  a lion  on  the  flocks  below: 

So  stalks  the  lordly  savage  o’er  the  plain, 
In  sullen  majesty,  and  stern  disdain:  36o 

In  vain  loud  mastiffs  bay  him  from  afar. 
And  shepherds  gall  him  with  an  iron  war; 
Regardless,  furious,  he  pursues  his  way; 

He  foams,  he  roars,  he  rends  the  panting 
prey. 

Resolv’d  alike,  divine  Sarpedon  glows 
With  gen’rous  rage  that  drives  him  on  the 
foes. 

He  views  the  towers,  and  meditates  their 
fall; 

To  sure  destruction  dooms  th’  aspiring  wall: 
Then,  casting  on  his  friend  an  ardent  look, 
Fired  with  the  thirst  of  glory,  thus  he 
spoke:  3yo 

‘Why  boast  we,  Glaucus!  our  extended 
reign, 

Where  Xanthus’  streams  enrich  the  Lycian 
plain, 

Our  numerous  herds  that  range  the  fruitful 
field, 

And  hills  where  vines  their  purple  harvest 
yield, 

Our  foaming  bowls  with  purer  nectar 
crown’d, 

Oui*  feasts  enhanc’d  with  music’s  sprightly 
sound  ? 

Why  on  those  shores  are  we  with  joy  sur- 
vey’d, 

Admired  as  heroes,  and  as  Gods  obey’d 
Unless  great  acts  superior  merit  prove, 

And  vindicate  the  bounteous  Powers 
above?  38o 

’T  is  ours,  the  dignity  they  give  to  grace; 
The  first  in  valour,  as  the  first  in  place: 
That  when,  with  wond’ring  eyes,  our  mar 
tial  bands 

Behold  our  deeds  transcending  our  com- 
mands, 

Such,  they  may  cry,  deserve  the  sov’reign 
state, 

Whom  those  that  envy  dare  not  imitate! 
Could  all  our  care  elude  the  gloomy  grave, 
Which  claims  no  less  the  fearful  than  the 
brave, 

For  lust  of  fame  I should  not  vainly  dare 
In  fighting  fields,  nor  urge  thy  soul  to  war 
But  since,  alas!  ignoble  age  must  come,  3gx 
Disease,  and  death’s  inexorable  doom; 

The  life  which  others  pay,  let  us  bestow, 
And  give  to  Fame  what  we  to  Nature  owe; 


I 


394 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


Brave  tho’  we  fall,  and  honour’d  if  we  live, 
Or  let  us  glory  gain,  or  glory  give!  ’ 

He  said:  his  words  the* list’ning  Chief 
inspire 

With  equal  warmth,  and  rouse  the  war- 
rior’s fire; 

The  troops  pursue  their  leaders  with  de- 
light, 

Rush  to  the  foe,  and  claim  the  promis’d 
fight.  400 

Menestheus  from  on  high  the  storm  beheld, 
Threat’ning  the  fort,  and  black’ning  in  the 
field; 

Around  the  walls  he  gazed,  to  view  from 
far 

What  aid  appear’d  t’  avert  th’  approaching 
war, 

And  saw  where  Teucer  with  th’  Ajaces 
stood, 

Of  fight  insatiate,  prodigal  of  blood. 

In  vain  he  calls;  the  din  of  helms  and 
shields 

Rings  to  the  skies,  and  echoes  thro’  the 
fields; 

The  brazen  hinges  fly,  the  walls  resound, 
Heav’n  trembles,  roar  the  mountains,  thun- 
ders all  the  ground.  410 

Then  thus  to  Thoos:  — ‘Hence  with 
speed  ’ (he  said), 

‘ And  urge  the  bold  Ajaces  to  our  aid ; 
Their  strength  united  best  may  help  to  bear 
The  bloody  labours  of  the  doubtful  war: 
Hither  the  Lycian  princes  bend  their 
course, 

The  best  and  bravest  of  the  hostile  force. 
But  if  too  fiercely  there  the  foes  contend, 
Let  Telamon,  at  least,  our  towers  defend, 
And  Teucer  haste  with  his  unerring  bow, 
To  share  the  danger,  and  repel  the  foe.’  420 
Swift  as  the  word,  the  herald  speeds 
along 

The  lofty  ramparts,  thro’  the  martial 
throng; 

And  finds  the  heroes,  bathed  in  sweat  and 
gore, 

Opposed  in  combat  on  the  dusty  shore. 

‘ Ye  valiant  leaders  of  our  warlike  bands! 
Your  aid,’  (said  Thoos),  ‘ Peleus’  son  de- 
mands. 

Your  strength,  united,  best  may  help  to 
bear 

The  bloody  labours  of  the  doubtful  war: 
Thither  the  Lycian  princes  bend  their 
course,  429 

The  best  and  bravest  of  the  hostile  force. 


But  if  too  fiercely  here  the  foes  contend, 

At  least  let  Telamon  these  towers  defend, 
Aud  Teucer  haste  with  his  unerring  bow, 
To  share  the  danger,  and  repel  the  foe.’ 

Straight  to  the  fort  great  Ajax  turn’d  his 
care, 

And  thus  bespoke  his  brothers  of  the  war: 
‘Now,  valiant  Lyeomede!  exert  your  might, 
And,  brave  Oileus,  prove  your  force  in 
fight: 

To  you  I trust  the  fortune  of  the  field, 

Till  by  this  arm  the  foe  shall  be  repell’d:  44o 
That  done,  expect  me  to  complete  the 
day  — ’ 

Then,  with  his  sev’n-fold  shield,  he  strode 
away. 

With  equal  steps  bold  Teucer  press’d  the 
shore, 

Whose  fatal  bow  the  strong  Pandion  bore. 

High  on  the  walls  appear’d  the  Lycian 
powers, 

Like  some  black  tempest  gath’ring  round 
the  towers; 

The  Greeks,  oppress’d,  their  utmost  force 
unite, 

Prepared  to  labour  in  th’  unequal  fight; 
The  war  renews,  mix’d  shouts  and  groans 
arise ; 

Tumultuous  clamour  mounts,  and  thickens 
in  the  skies.  450 

Fierce  Ajax  first  th’  advancing  host  in- 
vades, 

And  sends  the  brave  Epicles  to  the  shades, 
Sarpedon’s  friend;  across  the  warrior’s 
way, 

Rent  from  the  walls  a rocky  fragment 
lay; 

In  modern  ages  not  the  strongest  swain 
Could  heave  th’  unwieldy  burthen  from  the 
plain. 

He  pois’d,  and  swung  it  round;  then  toss’d 
on  high; 

It  flew  with  force,  and  labour’d  up  the  sky: 
Full  on  the  Lycian’s  helmet  thund’ring 
down, 

The  pond’rous  ruin  crush’d  his  batter’d 
crown.  460 

As  skilful  divers  from  some  airy  steep 
Headlong  descend,  and  shoot  into  the  deep, 
So  falls  Epicles;  then  in  groans  expires, 
And  murm’ring  to  the  shades  the  soul 
retires. 

While  to  the  ramparts  daring  Glaucus 
drew, 

From  Teucer’s  hand  a winged  arrow  flew; 


THE  ILIAD 


395 


The  bearded  shaft  the  destin’d  passage 
found  ; 

And  on  his  naked  arm  inflicts  a wound. 

The  Chief,  who  fear’d  some  foe’s  insulting 
boast 

Might  stop  the  progress  of  his  warlike 
host,  470 

Conceal’d  the  wound,  and,  leaping  from  his 
height, 

Retired  reluctant  from  tb’  unfinish’d  fight. 
Divine  Sarpedon  with  regret  beheld 
Disabled  Glaucus  slowly  quit  the  field: 

His  beating  breast  with  gen’rous  ardour 
glows, 

He  springs  to  fight,  and  flies  upon  the  foes. 
Alcmaon  first  was  doom’d  his  force  to  feel: 
Deep  in  his  breast  he  plunged  the  pointed 
steel; 

Then,  from  the  yawning  wound  with  fury 
tore 

The  spear,  pursued  by  gushing  streams  of 
gore:  480 

Down  sinks  the  warrior  with  a thund’ring 
sound, 

His  brazen  armour  rings  against  the 
ground. 

Swift  to  the  battlement  the  victor  flies, 
Tugs  with  full  force,  and  ev’ry  nerve  ap- 
plies; 

It  shakes;  the  pond’rous  stones  disjointed 
yield: 

The  rolling  ruins  smoke  along  the  field. 

A mighty  breach  appears:  the  walls  lie 
bare, 

A.nd,  like  a deluge,  rushes  in  the  war. 

At  once  bold  Teucer  draws  the  twanging 
bow, 

\nd  Ajax  sends  his  jav’lin  at  the  foe:  49o 
<?ix’d  in  his  belt  the  feather’d  weapon 
stood, 

And  thro’  his  buckler  drove  the  trembling 
wood; 

3ut  Jove  was  present  in  the  dire  debate, 

To  shield  his  offspring,  and  avert  his  fate. 
The  Prince  gave  back,  not  meditating  flight, 
Jut  urging  vengeance  and  severer  fight; 
Then,  rais’d  with  hope,  and  fired  with 

glory’s  charms, 

lis  fainting  squadrons  to  new  fury  warms: 
O where,  ye  Lycians!  is  the  strength  you 
I boast  ? 

Tour  former  fame,  and  ancient  virtue  lost! 

The  breach  lies  open,  but  your  Chief  in 
‘ vain  Soi 

Attempts  alone  the  guarded  pass  to  gain: 


Unite,  and  soon  that  hostile  fleet  shall 
fall; 

The  force  of  powerful  union  conquers  all.’ 

This  just  rebuke  inflamed  the  Lycian 
ore  w, 

They  join,  they  thicken,  and  th’  assault  re- 
new: 

Unmov’d  th’  embodied  Greeks  their  fury 
dare, 

And  fix’d  support  the  weight  of  all  the  war! 
Nor  could  the  Greeks  repel  the  Lycian 
powers, 

Nor  the  bold  Lycians  force  the  Grecian 
towers.  510 

As  on  the  confines  of  adjoining  grounds, 
Two  stubborn  swains  with  blows  dispute 
their  bounds; 

They  tug,  they  sweat:  but  neither  gain,  nor 
yield, 

One  foot,  one  inch,  of  the  contended  field: 
Thus  obstinate  to  death,  they  fiodit,  they 
fall:  7 

Nor  these  can  keep,  nor  those  can  win,  the 
wall. 

Their  manly  breasts  are  pierc’d  with  many 
a wound, 

Loud  strokes  are  heard,  and  rattling  arms 
resound; 

The  copious  slaughter  covers  all  the  shore, 
And  the  high  ramparts  drop  with  human 
gore.  -20 

As  when  two  scales  are  charged  with 
doubtful  loads, 

Irom  side  to  side  the  trembling  balance 
nods 

(While  some  laborious  matron,  just  and 
poor, 

With  nice  exactness  weighs  her  woolly 
store,) 

Till,  pois’d  aloft,  the  resting  beam  suspends 
Each  equal  weight;  nor  this  nor  that  de- 
scends: 

So  stood  the  war,  till  Hector’s  matchless 
might, 

With  fates  prevailing,  turn’d  the  scale  of 
fight. 

Fierce  as  a whirlwind  up  the  walls  he  flies, 
And  fires  his  host  with  loud  repeated  cries: 
‘Advance,  ye  Trojans!  lend  your  valiant 
hands,  * 53I 

Haste  to  the  fleet,  and  toss  the  blazing 
brands!  ’ 

They  hear,  they  run,  and,  gath’ring  at  his 
call, 

Raise  scaling  engines,  and  ascend  the  wall: 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


396 


Around  the  works  a wood  of  glitt’ring 
spears 

Shoots  up,  and  all  the  rising  host  appears. 
A pond’rous  stone  bold  Hector  heav’d  to 
throw, 

Pointed  above,  and  rough  and  gross  below: 
Not  two  strong  men  tli’  enormous  weight 
could  raise, 

Such  men  as  live  in  these  degen’rate  days. 
Yet  this,  as  easy  as  a swain  could  bear  541 
The  snowy  fleece,  he  toss’d  and  shook  in 
air: 

For  Jove  upheld,  and  lighten’d  of  its  load 
Th’  unwieldy  rock,  the  labour  of  a God. 
Thus  arm’d,  before  the  folded  gates  he 
came, 

Of  massy  substance,  and  stupendous  frame; 
With  iron  bars  and  brazen  hinges  strong, 
On  lofty  beams  of  solid  timber  hung: 

Then  thund’ring  thro’  the  planks,  with 
forceful  sway, 

Drives  the  sharp  rock:  the  solid  beams 
give  way;  550 

The  folds  are  shatter’d ; from  the  crackling 
door 

Lead  the  resounding  bars,  the  flying  hinges 
roar. 

Now,  rushing  in,  the  furious  Chief  appears, 
Gloomy  as  night!  and  shakes  two  shining 
spears: 

A dreadful  gleam  from  his  bright  armour 
came, 

And  from  his  eye-balls  flash’d  the  living 
flame. 

He  moves  a God,  resistless  in  his  course, 
And  seems  a match  for  more  than  mortal 
force. 

Then,  pouring  after,  thro’  the  gaping  space, 
A tide  of  Trojans  flows,  and  fills  the  place; 
The  Greeks  behold,  they  tremble,  and  they 
fly:  561 

The  shore  is  heap’d  with  death,  and  tumult 
rends  the  sky. 


BOOK  XIII 

THE  FOURTH  BATTLE  CONTINUED,  IN  WHICH 
NEPTUNE  ASSISTS  THE  GREEKS.  THE  ACTS 
OF  IDOMENEUS 

THE  ARGUMENT 

Neptune,  concerned  for  the  loss  of  the  Grecians, 
upon  seeing  the  fortification  forced  by  Hector 
(who  had  entered  the  gate  near  the  station 


of  the  Ajaces),  assumes  the  shape  of  Calchas, 
and  inspires  those  heroes  to  oppose  him ; 
then,  in  the  form  of  one  of  the  generals,  en- 
courages the  other  Greeks  who  had  retired, 
to  their  vessels.  The  Ajaces  form  their 
troops  into  a close  phalanx,  and  put  a stop 
to  Hector  and  the  Trojans.  Several  deeds! 
of  valour  are  performed  ; Meriones,  losing 
his  spear  in  the  encounter,  repairs  to  seek 
another  at  the  tent  of  Idomeneus  : this  oc- 
casions a conversation  between  these  two 
warriors,  who  return  together  to  the  battle. 
Idomeneus  signalizes  his  courage  above  the 
rest ; he  kills  Othryoneus,  Asius,  and  Alca- 
thous  : Deiphobus  and  .JEneas  march  against 
him,  and  at  length  Idomeneus  retires. 
Menelaus  wounds  Helenus,  and  kills  Pi- 
sander.  The  Trojans  are  repulsed  in  the 
left  wing.  Hector  still  keeps  his  ground 
against  the  Ajaces,  till,  being  galled  by  the 
Locrian  slingers  and  archers,  Polydamas 
advises  to  call  a council  of  war  : Hector  ap- 
proves his  advice,  but  goes  first  to  rally  the 
Trojans  ; upbraids  Paris,  rejoins  Polydamas, 
meets  Ajax  again,  and  renews  the  attack. 
The  eight-and-twentieth  day  still  continues. 
The  scene  is  between  the  Grecian  wall  and 
the  sea-shore. 

When  now  the  Thund’rer  on  the  sea- 
beat  coast 

Had  fix’d  great  Hector  and  his  conquering 
host, 

He  left  them  to  the  fates,  in  bloody  fray 
To  toil  and  struggle  thro’  the  well-fought 
day. 

Then  turned  to  Thracia  from  the  field  of 
fight 

Those  eyes  that  shed  insufferable  light, 

To  where  the  Mysians  prove  their  martial 
force, 

And  hardy  Thracians  tame  the  savage 
horse; 

And  where  the  far-famed  Hippemolgian 
strays, 

Renown’d  for  justice  and  for  length  of 
days.  ic 

Thrice  happy  race!  that,  innocent  of  blood, 
From  milk  innoxious  seek  their  simple  food: 
Jove  sees  delighted;  and  avoids  the  scene 
Of  guilty  Troy,  of  arms,  and  dying  men: 
No  aid,  he  deems,  to  either  host  is  giv’n, 
While  his  high  law  suspends  the  Powers 
of  Heav’n. 

Meantime  the  Monarch  of  the  wat’r} 
main 

Observ’d  the  Thund’rer,  nor  observ’d  in  vain 
I11  Samothracia,  on  a mountain’s  brow, 


THE  ILIAD 


397 


tVhose  waving  woods  o’erhung  the  deeps 
below,  20 

3e  sat;  and  round  him  cast  his  azure 
eyes, 

inhere  Ida’s  misty  tops  confusedly  rise; 
3elow,  fair  Ilion’s  glitt’ring  spires  were 
seen; 

The  crowded  ships,  and  sable  seas  between. 
There,  from  the  crystal  chambers  of  the 
main 

Cmerged,  he  sat;  and  mourn’d  his  Argives 
[!  slain. 

it  Jove  incens’d,  with  grief  and  fury 
stung, 

l*rone  down  the  rocky  steep  he  rush’d 
along; 

ierce  as  he  pass’d,  the  lofty  mountains ' 
nod, 

’he  forests  shake;  earth  trembled  as  he 
; trod,  3o  “ 

ind  felt  tli’  footsteps  of  the  immortal 
God. 

rom  realm  to  realm  three  ample  strides 
he  took, 

nd,  at  the  fourth,  the  distant  JEgse 
shook. 

Far  in  the  bay  his  shining  palace  stands, 
ternal  frame!  not  rais’d  by  mortal  hands: 
his  having  reach’d,  his  brass-hoof ’d  steeds 
’ he  reins, 

leet  as  the  winds,  and  deck’d  with  golden 
manes. 

efulgent  arms  his  mighty  limbs  infold, 
nmortal  arms  of  adamant  and  gold, 
e mounts  the  car,  the  golden  scourge 
applies,  40 

f sits  superior,  and  the  chariot  flies: 
is  whirling  wheels  the  glassy  surface 
sweep; 

T enormous  monsters,  rolling1  o’er  the 
deep, 

imbol  around  him  on  the  wat’ry  way; 
id  heavy  whales  in  awkward  measures 
play: 

j>e  sea  subsiding  spreads  a level,  plain, 

.ults,  and  owns  the  monarch  of  the  main; 

;ie  parting  waves  before  his  coursers  fly ; ’ 
e w ond ’ring  waters  leave  his  axle  dry. 
Deep  in  the  liquid  regions  lies  a cave,  *50 ") 
itween  where  Tenedos  the  surges  lave,  1 
id  rocky  Imbrus  breaks  the  rolling  [ 
wave: 

lere  the  great  ruler  of  the  azure  round 
3pp’d  his  swift  chariot,  and  his  steeds 
unbound,  [ 


Fed  with  ambrosial  herbage  from  his  hand, 
And  link’d  their  fetlocks  with  a golden 
band, 

Infrangible,  immortal:  there  they  stay; 
The  Father  of  the  Floods  pursues  his  way, 
Where,  like  a tempest  dark’ning  Heav’n 
around, 

Or  fiery  deluge  that  devours  the  ground,  60 
Th’  impatient  Trojans,  in  a gloomy  throng, 
Embattled  roll’d,  as  Hector  rush’d  along: 
To  the  loud  tumult  and  the  barb’rous  cry, 
The  Heav’ns  re-echo,  and  the  shores  reply; 
They  vow  destruction  to  the  Grecian  name, 
And  in  their  hopes  the  fleets  already  flame. 

But  Neptune,  rising  from  the  seas  pro- 
found, 

The  God  whose  earthquakes  rock  the  solid 
ground, 

Now  wears  a mortal  form ; like  Calchas  seen, 
Such  his  loud  voice,  and  such  his  manly 
mien;  jQ 

His  shouts  incessant  every  Greek  inspire, 
But  most  th’  Ajaces,  adding  fire  to  fire: 

‘ ’T  is  yours,  O warriors,  all  our  hopes  to 
raise; 

Oh  recollect  your  ancient  worth  and  praise! 
’T  is  yours  to  save  us  if  you  cease  to  fear; 
Flight,  more  than  shameful,  is  destructive 
here. 

O11  other  works  tho’  Troy  with  fury  fall, 
And  pour  her  armies  o’er  our  batter’d 
wall ; 

There,  Greece  has  strength:  but  this,  this 
part  o’erthrown, 

Her  strength  were  vain;  I dread  for  you 
alone.  8o 

Here  Hector  rages  like  the  force  of  fire, 
Vaunts  of  his  Gods,  and  calls  high  Jove  his 
sire. 

If  yet  some  heav’nly  power  your  breast 
excite, 

Breathe  in  your  hearts  and  string  your 
arms  to  fight, 

Greece  yet  may  live,  her  threaten’d  fleet 
maintain, 

And  Hector’s  force,  and  Jove’s  own  aid,  be 
vain.’ 

Then  with  his  sceptre  that  the  deep  con- 
trols, 

He  touch’d  the  Chiefs,  and  steel’d  their 
manly  souls: 

Strength,  not  their  own,  the  touch  divine 
imparts, 

Prompts  their  light  limbs,  and  swells  their 
daring  hearts.  9Q 


39s 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


Then,  as  a falcon  from  the  rocky  height, 
Her  quarry  seen,  impetuous  at  the  sight, 
Forth-springing  instant,  darts  herself  from 
high, 

Shoots  on  the  wing,  and  skims  along  the 
sky: 

Such,  and  so  swift,  the  power  of  ocean 
flew; 

The  wide  horizon  shut  him  from  their 
view. 

Tli’  inspiring  God  Odens’  active  son 
Perceiv’d  the  first,  and  thus  to  Telamon: 

‘ Some  God,  my  friend,  some  God  in 
human  form, 

Fav’ring  descends,  and  wills  to  stand  the 
storm ; ioo 

Not  Calchas  this,  the  venerable  seer; 

Short  as  he  turn’d,  I saw  the  Power  ap- 
pear: 

I mark’d  his  parting,  and  the  steps  he 
trod, 

His  own  bright  evidence  reveals  a God. 
Ev’n  now  some  energy  divine  I share, 

And  seem  to  walk  on  wings,  and  tread  in 
air ! ’ 

‘With  equal  ardour  ’ (Telamon  returns), 
‘ My  soul  is  kindled,  and  my  bosom 
burns; 

New  rising  spirits  all  my  force  alarm, 

Lift  each  impatient  limb,  and  brace  my 
arm.  no 

This  ready  arm,  unthinking,  shakes  the 
dart; 

The  blood  pours  back,  and  fortifies  my 
heart; 

Singly,  methinks,  yon  tow’ring  Chief  I 
meet, 

And  stretch  the  dreadful  Hector  at  my 
feet.’ 

Full  of  the  God  that  urged  their  burning 
breast, 

The  heroes  thus  their  mutual  warmth  ex- 
press’d. 

Neptune  meanwhile  the  routed  Greeks  in- 
spired; 

Who,  breathless,  pale,  with  length  of  la- 
bours tired, 

Pant  in  the  ships;  while  Troy  to  conquest 
calls, 

And  swarms  victorious  o’er  their  yielding 
walls:  120 

Trembling  before  th’  impending  storm 
they  lie, 

While  tears  of  rage  stand  burning  in  their 
eye. 


Greece  sunk  they  thought,  and  this  thei 
fatal  hour; 

But  breathe  new  courage  as  they  feel  th 
power. 

Teucer  and  Leitus  first  his  words  excite; 
Then  stern  Peneleus  rises  to  the  fight; 
Thoas,  Deipyrus,  in  arms  renown’d, 

And  Merion  next,  th’  impulsive  fury  found 
Last  Nestor’s  son  the  same  bold  ardou 
takes, 

While  thus  the  God  the  martial  fir 
awakes:  i3 

‘ Oh  lasting  infamy,  oh  dire  disgrace 
To  Chiefs  of  vig’rous  youth,  and  man! 
race! 

I trusted  in  the  Gods,  and  you,  to  see 
Brave  Greece  victorious,  and  her  nav 
free: 

Ah  no  — the  glorious  combat  you  disdain 
And  one  black  day  clouds  all  her  forme 
fame. 

Heav’ns!  what  a prodigy  these  eyes  sui 

vey, 

Unseen,  unthought,  till  this  amazing  day! 
Fly  we  at  length  from  Troy’s  oft-cor 
quer’d  bands  ? 

And  falls  our  fleet  by  such  ingloriou 
hands  ? ii 

A rout  undisciplin’d,  a straggling  train, 
Not  born  to  glories  of  the  dusty  plain; 
Like  frighted  fawns  from  hill  to  hill  pui 
sued, 

A prey  to  every  savage  of  the  wood; 

Shall  these,  so  late  who  trembled  at  you 
name, 

Invade  your  camps,  involve  your  ships  i 
flame  ? 

A change  so  shameful,  say,  what  cause  hf 
wrought  ? 

The  soldier’s  baseness,  or  the  gen’ral 
fault  ? 

Fools!  will  ye  perish  for  your  leader 
vice  ? i4 

The  purchase  infamy,  and  life  the  price! 
’T  is  not  your  cause,  Achilles’  injur’ 
fame: 

Another’s  is  the  crime,  but  yours  tli 
shame. 

Grant  that  our  Chief  offend  thro’  rage  c 
lust, 

Must  you  be  cowards  if  your  king’s  ut 
just? 

Prevent  this  evil,  and  your  country  save: 
Small  thought  retrieves  the  spirits  of  th 
brave. 


THE  ILIAD 


3 99 


Think,  and  subdue,'  on  dastards  dead  to 
fame 

[ waste  no  anger,  for  they  feel  no  shame: 
But  you,  the  pride,  the  flower  of  all  our 
host, 

My  heart  weeps  blood  to  see  your  glory 
lost!  160 

Nor  deem  this  day,  this  battle,  all  you  lose: 
A day  more  black,  a fate  more  vile,  en- 
sues. 

Let  each  reflect,  who  prizes  fame  or 
breath, 

3n  endless  infamy,  on  instant  death. 
rFor  lo!  the  fated  time,  th’  appointed  shore; 
Hark!  the  gates  burst,  the  brazen  barriers 
roar! 

Impetuous  Hector  thunders  at  the  wall; 

The  hour,  the  spot,  to  conquer  or  to  fall.’ 

These  words  the  Grecians’  fainting  hearts 
inspire, 

And  list’ning  armies  catch  the  godlike 
k fire.  170 

Fix’d  at  his  post  was  each  bold  Ajax  found, 
With  well-ranged  squadrons  strongly  cir- 
cled round: 

So  close  their  order,  so  disposed  their  fight, 
As  Pallas’  self  might  view  with  fix’d  de- 
light; 

Dr  had  the  God  of  War  inclin’d  his  eyes, 
The  God  of  War  had  own’d  a just  sur- 
prise. 

A chosen  phalanx,  firm,  resolv’d  as  Fate, 
Descending  Hector  and  his  battle  wait. 

An  iron  scene  gleams  dreadful  o’er  the 
fields, 

Armour  in  armour  lock’d,  and  shields  in 
shields,  180 

Spears  lean  on  spears,  on  targets  targets 
throng, 

Helms  stuck  to  helms,  and  man  drove  man 
along. 

The  floating  plumes  unnumber’d  wave 
above, 

As  when  an  earthquake  stirs  the  nodding 
grove ; 

And,  levell’d  at  the  skies  with  pointing 
it  rays, 

Their  brandish’d  lances  at  each  motion 
blaze. 

Thus  breathing  death,  in  terrible  array, 
The  close-compacted  legions  urged  their 
way: 

Fierce  they  drove  on,  impatient  to  destroy; 
rl’roy  charged  the  first,  and  Hector  first  of 
Troy,  190 


As  from  some  mountain’s  craggy  forehead 
torn, 

A rock’s  round  fragment  flies  with  fury 
borne, 

(Which  from  the  stubborn  stone  a torrent 
rends,) 

Precipitate  the  pond’rous  mass  descends: 

From  steep  to  steep  the  rolling  ruin 
bounds; 

At  every  shock  the  crackling  wood  re- 
sounds; 

Still  gath’ring  force,  it  smokes;  and,  urged 
amain, 

Whirls,  leaps,  and  thunders  down,  impetu- 
ous to  the  plain: 

There  stops  — So  Hector.  Their  whole 
force  he  prov’d, 

Resistless  when  he  raged,  and,  when  he 
stopp’d,  unmov’d.  200 

On  him  the  war  is  bent,  the  darts  are 
shed, 

And  all  their  faulchions  wave  around  his 
head: 

Repuls’d  he  stands,  nor  from  his  stand  re- 
tires ; 

But  with  repeated  shouts  his  army  fires. 

‘Trojans!  be  firm;  this  arm  shall  make 
your  way 

Thro’  yon  square  body,  and  that  black 
array ; 

Stand,  and  my  spear  shall  rout  their  scat- 
t’ring  power, 

Strong  as  they  seem,  embattled  like  a 
tower. 

For  he  that  Juno’s  heav’nly  bosom  warms, 

The  first  of  Gods,  this  day  inspires  our 
arms.’  210 

He  said,  and  rous’d  the  soul  in  ev’ry 
breast; 

Urged  with  desire  of  fame,  beyond  the  rest, 

Forth  march’d  Dei'phobus  ; but  marching 
held 

Before  his  wary  steps  his  ample  shield. 

Bold  Merion  aim’d  a stroke,  nor  aim’d  it 
wide; 

The  glitt’ring  jav’lin  pierc’d  the  tough 
bull-hide; 

But  pierc’d  not  thro’  : unfaithful  to  his 
hand, 

The  point  broke  short,  and  sparkled  in  the 
sand. 

The  Trojan  warrior,  touch’d  with  timely 
fear. 

On  the  rais’d  orb  to  distance  bore  the 
spear: 


220 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


400 


The  Greek  retreating  mourn’d  his  frustrate 
blow, 

And  curs’d  the  treach’rous  lance  that  spared 
a foe; 

Then  to  the  ships  with  surly  speed  he  went, 
To  seek  a surer  jav’lin  in  his  tent. 

Meanwhile  with  rising  rage  the  battle 
glows, 

The  tumult  thickens,  and  the  clamour 
grows. 

By  Teucer’s  arm  the  warlike  Imbrius 
bleeds, 

The  son  of  Mentor,  rich  in  gen’rous  steeds. 
Ere  yet  to  Troy  the  sons  of  Greece  were 
led, 

In  fair  Pedseus’  verdant  pastures  bred,  230 
The  youth  had  dwelt;  remote  from  war’s 
alarms, 

And  bless’d  in  bright  Medesicaste’s  arms: 
(This  nymph,  the  fruit  of  Priam’s  ravish’d 

j°.y> 

Allied  the  warrior  to  the  house  of  Troy.) 

To  Troy,  when  glory  call’d  his  arms,  he 
came : 

And  match’d  the  bravest  of  her  Chiefs  in 
fame: 

With  Priam’s  sons,  a guardian  of  the 
throne, 

He  liv’d,  belov’d  and  honour’d  as  his  own. 
Him  Teucer  pierc’d  between  the  throat  and 
ear: 

He  groans  beneath  the  Telamonian  spear. 
As  from  some  far-seen  mountain’s  airy 
crown,  241 

Subdued  by  steel,  a tall  ash  tumbles 
down, 

And  soils  its  verdant  tresses  on  the  ground: 
So  falls  the  youth;  his  arms  the  fall  re- 
sound. 

Then,  Teucer  rushing  to  despoil  the  dead, 
From  Hector’s  hand  a shining  jav’lin  fled: 
He  saw,  and  shunn’d  the  death;  the  force- 
ful dart 

Sung  on,  and  pierc’d  Amphimachus’s  heart, 
Cteatus’  son,  of  Neptune’s  forceful  line; 
Vain  was  his  courage,  and  his  race  divine! 
Prostrate  he  falls;  his  clanging  arms  re- 
sound, 251 

And  his  broad  buckler  thunders  on  the 
ground. 

To  seize  his  beamy  helm  the  victor  flies, 
And  just  had  fasten’d  on  the  dazzling  prize, 
When  Ajax’  manly  arm  a jav’lin  flung; 
Full  on  the  shield's  round  boss  the  weapon 
rung; 


He  felt  the  shock,  nor  more  was  doom’d 
to  feel, 

Secure  in  mail,  and  sheathed  in  shining 
steel. 

Repuls’d  he  yields;  the  victor  Greeks  ob- 
tain 259 

The  spoils  contested,  and  bear  off  the  slain. 
Between  the  leaders  of  th’  Athenian  line, 
(Stichius  the  brave,  Menestheus  the  di- 
vine,) 

Deplor’d  Amphimachus,  sad  object!  lies; 
Imbrius  remains  the  fierce  Ajaces’  prize. 

As  two  grim  lions  bear  across  the  lawn, 
Snatch’d  from  devouring  hounds,  a slaugh- 
ter’d fawn 

In  their  fell  jaws  high  lifting  thro’  the 
wood, 

And  sprinkling  all  the  shrubs  with  drops  of 
blood ; 

So  these  the  Chief:  great  Ajax  from  the 
dead 

Strips  his  bright  arms,  Oi'leus  lops  his 
head:  270 

Toss’d  like  a ball,  and  whirl’d  in  air  away, 
At  Hector’s  feet  the  gory  visage  lay. 

The  God  of  Ocean,  fired  with  stern  dis- 
dain, 

And  pierc’d  with  sorrow  for  his  grandson 
slain, 

Inspires  the  Grecian  hearts,  confirms  their 
hands, 

And  breathes  destruction  to  the  Trojan 
bands. 

Swift  as  a whirlwind  rushing  to  the  fleet, 
He  finds  the  lance-famed  Idomen  of  Crete : 
His  pensive  brow  the  gen’rous  care  ex- 
press’d 

With  which  a wounded  soldier  touch’d  his 
breast,  28c 

Whom  in  the  chance  of  war  a jav’lin  tore, 
And  his  sad  comrades  from  the  battle  bore 
Him  to  the  surgeons  of  the  camp  he  sent; 
That  office  paid,  he  issued  from  his  tent, 
Fierce  for  the  fight:  to  him  the  God  begun 
In  Thoas’  voice,  Andrsemon’s  valiant  son, 
Who  ruled  where  Calydon’s  white  rock: 
arise, 

And  Pleuron’s  chalky  cliffs  emblaze  th< 
skies: 

‘ Where ’s  now  th’  impetuous  vaunt,  tin 
daring  boast, 

Of  Greece  victorious,  and  proud  Ilioi 
lost  ? ’ 2<) 

To  whom  the  King:  1 On  Greece  no  blaun 
be  thrown, 


THE  ILIAD 


401 


lTuis  are  her  trade,  and  war  is  all  her 
own. 

ler  hardy  heroes  from  the  well-fought 
plains 

Tor  Fear  withholds,  nor  shameful  Sloth 
detains. 

T is  Heav’n,  alas!  and  Jove’s  all-powerful 
doom, 

'hat  far,  far  distant  from  our  native  home 
ifills  us  to  fall,  inglorious!  Oh,  my 
friend! 

!nce  foremost  in  the  fight,  still  prone  to 
lend 

r arms,  or  counsels;  now  perform  thy 
best, 

nd  what  thou  canst  not  singly,  urge  the 
rest.’  300 

Thus  he;  and  thus  the  God  whose  force 
can  make 

he  solid  globe’s  eternal  basis  shake: 

^h!  never  may  he  see  his  native  land, 
ut  feed  the  vultures  on  this  hateful 
strand, 

^ho  seeks  ignobly  in  his  ships  to  stay, 
or  dares  to  combat  on  this  signal  day! 
or  this,  behold!  in  horrid  arms  I shine, 
nd  urge  thy  soul  to  rival  acts  with  mine; 
ogether  let  us  battle  on  the  plain; 
wo,  not  the  worst;  nor  ev’n  this  succour 
vain:  3IO 

ot  vain  the  weakest,  if  their  force  unite; 
ut  ours,  the  bravest  have  confess’d  in 
fight.’ 

This  said,  he  rushes  where  the  combat 
burns; 

vift  to  his  tent  the  Cretan  King  returns, 
■om  thence,  two  jav’lins  glitt’ring  in  his 
hand, 

nd  clad  in  arms  that  lighten’d  all  the 
! strand, 

erce  on  the  foe  th’  impetuous  hero  drove; 
ke  lightning  bursting  from  the  arm  of 
Jove, 

hich  to  pale  man  the  wrath  of  Heav’n 
^ declares,  3i9 

terrifies  th’  offending  world  with  wars; 
j streamy  sparkles,  kindling  all  the  skies, 
om  pole  to  pole  the  trail  of  glory  flies, 
jius  his  bright  armour  o’er  the  dazzled 
throng 

earn’d  dreadful  as  the  Monarch  flash’d 
, along. 

Him,  near  his  tent,  Meriones  attends; 
horn  thus  he  questions:  ‘Ever  best  of 
friends! 


0 say,  in  every  art  of  battle  skill’d, 

What  holds  thy  courage  from  so  brave  a 
field  ? 

On  some  important  message  art  thou 
bound, 

Or  bleeds  my  friend  by  some  unhappy 
wound  ? 33o 

Inglorious  here,  my  soul  abhors  to  stay, 
And  glows  with  prospects  of  th’  approach- 
ing day.’ 

‘O  Prince!’  (Meriones  replies),  ‘whose 
care 

Leads  forth  th’  embattled  sons  of  Crete  to 
war; 

This  speaks  my  grief:  this  headless  lance  I 
wield; 

The  rest  lies  rooted  in  a Trojan  shield.’ 

To  whom  the  Cretan:  ‘Enter,  and  re- 
ceive 

The  wanted  weapons;  those  my  tent  can 
give; 

Spears  I have  store  (and  Trojan  lances 
all), 

That  shed  a lustre  round  th’  illumin’d  wall. 
Tho’  I,  disdainful  of  the  distant  war,  34i 
Nor  trust  the  dart,  nor  aim  th’  uncertain 
spear, 

Yet  hand  to  hand  I fight,  and  spoil  the 
slain; 

And  thence  these  trophies,  and  these  arms 
I gain. 

Enter,  and  see  on  heaps  the  helmets  roll’d, 
And  high-hung  spears,  and  shields  that 
flame  with  gold.’ 

‘ Nor  vain  ’ (said  Merion)  ‘ are  our  mar- 
tial toils; 

We  too  can  boast  of  no  ignoble  spoils. 

But  those  my  ship  contains,  whence  dis- 
tant far, 

I fight  conspicuous  in  the  van  of  war.  35o 
What  need  I more  ? If  any  Greek  there 
be 

Who  knows  not  Merion,  I appeal  to  thee.’ 

To  this  Idomeneus  : ‘ The  fields  of  fight 
Have  prov’d  thy  valour,  and  unconquer’d 
might: 

And  were  some  ambush  for  the  foes  de- 
sign’d, 

Ev’n  there  thy  courage  would  not  lag  be- 
hind. 

In  that  sharp  service,  singled  from  the  rest, 
The  fear  of  each,  or  valour,  stands  con- 
fess’d. 

No  force,  no  firmness,  the  pale  coword 
shews; 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


He  shifts  his  place;  his  colour  comes  and 
goes;  360 

A dropping  sweat  creeps  cold  on  ev’ry 
part; 

Against  his  bosom  beats  his  quiv’ring 
heart; 

Terror  and  death  in  his  wild  eye-balls'! 
stare ; 

With  chatt’ring  teeth  he  stands,  and  > 
stiff’ning  hair, 

And  looks  a bloodless  image  of  despair!  J 
Not  so  the  brave;  still  dauntless,  still  the 
same, 

Unchanged  his  colour,  and  unmov’d  his 
frame; 

Composed  his  thought,  determin’d  is  his 

eye,  # 

And  fix’d  his  soul,  to  conquer  or  to  die: 

If  aught  disturb  the  tenor  of  his  breast,  370 
:Tis  but  the  wish  to  strike  before  the  rest. 

‘ In  such  assays  thy  blameless  worth  is 
known, 

And  ev’ry  art  of  dangerous  war  thy  own. 
By  chance  of  fight  whatever  wounds  you 
bore, 

Those  wounds  were  glorious  all,  and  all 
before: 

Such  as  may  teach,  ’twas  still  thy  brave 
delight 

T’  oppose  thy  bosom  where  the  foremost 
fight. 

But  why,  like  infants,  cold  to  honour’s 
charms, 

Stand  we  to  talk,  when  glory  calls  to  arms  ? 
Go  — from  my  conquer’d  spears  the  choi- 
cest take,  380 

And  to  their  owners  send  them  nobly 
back.’ 

Swift  as  the  word  bold  Merion  snatch’d 
a spear, 

And,  breathing  slaughter,  follow’d  to  the 
war. 

So  Mars  armipotent  invades  the  plain, 

(The  wide  destroyer  of  the  race  of  man;) 
Terror,  his  best-lov’d  son,  attends  his 
course, 

Arm’d  with  stern  boldness,  and  enormous 
force; 

The  pride  of  haughty  warriors  to  confound, 
And  lay  the  strength  of  tyrants  on  the 
ground. 

From  Thrace  they  fly,  call’d  to  the  dire 
alarms  390 

Of  warring  Phlegians,  and  Ephyrian 
arms: 


Invoked  by  both,  relentless  they  dispose 
To  these  glad  conquest,  murd’rous  rout  t( 
those. 

So  march’d  the  leaders  of  the  Cretan  train 
And  their  bright  arms  shot  horror  o’er  th( 
plain. 

Then  first  spake  Merion:  ‘ Shall  we  joii 
the  right, 

Or  combat  in  the  centre  of  the  fight  ? 

Or  to  the  left  our  wanted  succour  lend  ? 
Hazard  and  Fame  all  parts  alike  attend.’ 

‘ Not  in  the  centre  ’ (Idomen  replied), 

‘ Our  ablest  Chieftains  the  main  batth 
guide;  40 

Each  godlike  Ajax  makes  that  post  hi; 
care, 

And  gallant  Teucer  deals  destruction  there 
Skill’d,  or  with  shafts  to  gall  the  distam 
field 

Or  bear  close  battle  on  the  sounding  shield 
These  can  the  rage  of  haughty  Hectoi 
tame ; 

Safe  in  their  arms,  the  navy  fears  no  flame 
Till  Jove  himself  descends,  his  bolts  t< 
shed, 

And  hurl  the  blazing  ruin  at  our  head. 
Great  must  he  be,  of  more  than  humai 
birth,  41' 

Nor  feed  like  mortals  on  the  fruits  o 
earth, 

Him  neither  rocks  can  crush,  nor  steel  cai 
wound, 

Whom  Ajax  fells  not  on  th’  ensanguin’t 
ground. 

I11  standing  fight  he  mates  Achilles’  force, 
Excell’d  alone  in  swiftness  in  the  course. 
Then  to  the  left  our  ready  arms  apply, 
And  live  with  glory,  or  with  glory  die.’ 

He  said:  and  Merion  to  th’  appointee 
place, 

Fierce  as  the  God  of  Battles,  urged  hi. 

pace.  41 

Soon  as  the  foe  the  shining  chiefs  beheld 
Rush  like  a fiery  torrent  round  the  field, 
Their  force  embodied  in  a tide  they  pour; 
The  rising  combat  sounds  along  the  shore: 
As  warring  winds,  in  Sirius’  sultry  reign, 
From  diff’rent  quarters  sweep  the  sandj 
plain; 

On  every  side  the  dusty  whirlwinds  rise, 
And  the  dry  fields  are  lifted  to  the  skies: 
Thus,  by  despair,  hope,  rage,  togethei 
driv’n, 

Met  the  black  hosts,  and,  meeting,  darken’c 
Heav’n. 


THE  ILIAD 


403 


\11  dreadful  glared  the  iron  face  of  war,  430 
; Bristled  with  upright  spears,  that  flash’d 
afar; 

i Dire  was  the  gleam  of  breast-plates,  helms, 

1 and  shields, 

Lid  polish’d  arms  emblazed  the  flaming 
1 fields: 

Tremendous  scene!  that  gen’ral  horror 
I gave, 

lut  touch’d  with  joy  the  bosoms  of  the 
r brave. 

Saturn’s  great  sons  in  fierce  contention 
I vied, 

tnd  crowds  of  heroes  in  their  anger  died. 
The  Sire  of  Earth  and  Heav’11,  by  Thetis 
won 

to  crown  with  glory  Peleus’  godlike  son, 
Till’d  not  destruction  to  the  Grecian 
powers,  440 

>ut  spared  awhile  the  destin’d  Trojan 
) towers: 

Vdiile  Neptune,  rising  from  his  azure' 

1 main, 

Varr’d  on  the  King  of  Heav’n  with  stern 
disdain,  [ 

.nd  breathed  revenge,  and  fired  the  Gre- 
1 cian  train. 

rods  of  one  source,  of  one  ethereal  race, 
Hike  divine,  and  Heav’n  their  native  place; 
;ut  Jove  the  greater;  first-born  of  the 
t skies, 

.nd  more  than  men,  or  Gods,  supremely 
wise. 

or  this,  of  Jove’s  superior  might  afraid, 
e eptune  in  human  form  conceal’d  his  aid. 
hese  Powers  infold  the  Greek  and  Trojan 
train  45I 

1 War  and  Discord’s  adamantine  chain; 
jidissolubly  strong,  the  fatal  tie 
( stretch’d  on  both,  and  close-compell’d 
they  die. 

Dreadful  in  arms,  and  grown  in  combat 
grey, 

he  bold  Idomeneus  controls  the  day. 

;irst  by  his  hand  Othryoneus  was  slain, 
veil’d  with  false  hopes,  with  mad  ambi- 
tion vain; 

Ail’d  by  the  voice  of  war  to  martial  fame, 

■ om  high  Cabesus’  distant  walls  he  came; 
issandra’s  love  he  sought,  with  boasts  of 
.!  power,  46i 

jud  promis’d  conquest  was  the  proffer’d 
dower. 

sie  King  consented,  by  his  vaunts  abused; 
le  King  consented,  but  the  Fates  refused. 


Proud  of  himself,  and  of  th’  imagin’d 
bride, 

The  field  he  measured  with  a larger  stride. 
Him,  as  he  stalk’d,  the  Cretan  jav’lin  found  ; 
Vain  was  his  breast  - plate  to  repel  the 
wound : 

His  dream  of  glory  lost,  he  plunged  to 
Hell; 

The  plains  resounded  as  the  boaster  fell.  470 
The  great  Idomeneus  bestrides  the  dead; 
‘ And  thus  ’ (he  cries)  ‘ behold  thy  promise 
sped  ! ’ 

‘ Such  is  the  help  thy  arms  to  Ilion  bring, 
And  such  the  contract  of  the  Phrygian 
King! 

Our  offers  now,  illustrious  Prince!  receive; 
For  such  an  aid  what  will  not  Argos  give  ? 
To  conquer  Troy,  with  ours  thy  forces  join, 
And  count  Atrides’  fairest  daughter  thine. 
Meantime,  on  farther  methods  to  advise, 
Come,  follow  to  the  fleet  thy  new  allies;  480 
There  hear  what  Greece  has  on  her  part  to 
say.’ 

He  spoke,  and  dragg’d  the  gory  corse  away. 

This  Asins  view’d,  unable  to  contain, 
Before  his  chariot  warring  on  the  plain; 
(His  valued  coursers,  to  his  squire  con- 
sign’d, 

Impatient  panted  on  his  neck  behind): 

To  vengeance  rising  with  a sudden  spring, 
He  hoped  the  conquest  of  the  Cretan  King. 
The  wary  Cretan,  as  his  foe  drew  near, 

Full  on  his  throat  discharged  the  forceful 
spear:  49Q 

Beneath  the  chin  the  point  was  seen  to 
glide, 

And,  glitter’d,  extant,  at  the  farther  side. 

As  when  the  mountain  oak,  or  poplar  tall, 
Or  pine,  fit  mast  for  some  great  admiral, 
Groans  to  the  oft-heav’d  axe,  with  many 
a wound, 

Then  spreads  a length  of  ruin  o’er  the 
ground: 

So  sunk  proud  Asius  in  that  dreadful  day, 
And  stretch’d  before  his  much  - lov’d 
coursers  lay. 

He  grinds  the  dust  distain’d  with  stream 
ing  gore, 

And,  fierce  in  death,  lies  foaming  on  the 
shore.  soo 

Deprived  of  motion,  stiff  with  stupid  fear, 
Stands  all  aghast  his  trembling  charioteer, 
Nor  shuns  the  foe,  nor  turns  the  steeds 
away, 

But  falls  transfix’d,  an  unresisting  prey: 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


404 


Pierc’d  by  Antilochus,  he  pants  beneath 
The  stately  car,  and  labours  out  his  breath. 
Thus  Asius’  steeds  (their  mighty  master 
gone) 

Remain  the  prize  of  Nestor’s  youthful  son. 

Stabb’d  at  the  sight,  Deiphobus  drew 
nigh, 

And  made,  with  force,  the  vengeful  weapon 
fly:  510 

The  Cretan  saw;  and,  stooping,  caus’d  to 
glance, 

From  his  slope  shield,  the  disappointed 
lance. 

Beneath  the  spacious  targe  (a  blazing 
round, 

Thick  with  bull-hides,  and  brazen  orbits 
bound, 

O11  his  rais’d  arm  by  two  strong  braces 
stay’d), 

He  lay  collected  in  defensive  shade; 

O’er  his  safe  head  the  jav’lin  idly  sung, 
And  on  the  tinkling  verge  more  faintly 
rung. 

Ev’n  then,  the  spear  the  vig’rous  arm  con- 
fess’d, 

And  pierc’d,  obliquely,  King  Hypsenor’s 
breast;  520 

Warm’d  in  his  liver,  to  the  ground  it  bore 
The  Chief,  his  people’s  guardian  now  no 
more! 

‘Not  unattended’  (the  proud  Trojan 
cries) 

‘ Nor  unrevenged,  lamented  Asius  lies: 

For  thee,  tho’  Hell’s  black  portals  stand 
display’d, 

This  mate  shall  joy  thy  melancholy  shade.’ 

Heart-piercing  anguish,  at  the  haughty 
boast, 

Touch’d  every  Greek,  but  Nestor’s  son  the 
most: 

Griev’d  as  he  was,  his  pious  arms  attend, 
And  his  broad  buckler  shields  his  slaugh- 
ter’d friend:  530 

Till  sad  Mecistheus  and  Alastor  bore 
His  honour’d  body  to  the  tented  shore. 

Nor  yet  from  fight  Idomeneus  with- 
draws; 

Resolv’d  to  perish  in  his  country’s  cause, 

Or  find  some  foe,  whom  Heav’n  and  he 
shall  doom 

To  wail  his  fate  in  death’s  eternal  gloom. 
He  sees  Alcatlioiis  in  the  front  aspire: 
Great  iEsyetes  was  the  hero’s  sire: 

His  spouse  Hippodaine,  divinely  fair, 
Anehises’ eldest  hope,  and  darling  care:  540 


Who  charm’d  her  parent’s  and  her  hus-i 
band’s  heart, 

With  beauty,  sense,  and  every  work  of  art:. 
He,  once,  of  Ilion’s  youth  the  loveliest  boy, 
The  fairest  she,  of  all  the  fair  of  Troy.  , 
By  Neptune  now  the  hapless  hero  dies, 
Who  covers  with  a cloud  those  beauteous 
eyes, 

And  fetters  every  limb:  yet  bent  to  meet 
His  fate,  he  stands;  nor  shuns  the  lance  of 
Crete. 

Fix’d  as  some  column,  or  deep-rooted  oak,  j 
(While  the  winds  sleep,)  his  breast  receiv’d 
the  stroke.  55o 

Before  the  pond’rous  stroke  his  corslet 
yields, 

Long  used  to  ward  the  death  in  fighting 
fields. 

The  riven  armour  sends  a jarring  sound:) 
His  lab’ring  heart  heaves  with  so  strong 
a bound,  V 

The  long  lance  shakes,  and  vibrates  in 
the  wound:  J 

Fast  flowing  from  its  source,  as  prone  he 

lay, 

Life’s  purple  tide  impetuous  gush’d  away.  , 
Then  Idomen,  insulting  o’er  the  slain: 

‘ Behold,  Deiphobus!  nor  vaunt  in  vain: 
See!  on  one  Greek  three  Trojan  ghosts  at- 
tend, 560 

This,  my  third  victim,  to  the  shades  I send. 
Approaching  now,  thy  boasted  might  ap- 
prove, 

And  try  the  prowess  of  the  seed  of  Jove. 
From  Jove,  enamour’d  on  a mortal  dame, 
Great  Minos,  guardian  of  his  country, 
came; 

Deucalion,  blameless  Prince!  was  Minos’ 
heir; 

His  first-born  I,  the  third  from  Jupiter: 
O’er  spacious  Crete  and  her  bold  sons  I 
reign, 

And  thence  my  ships  transport  me  thro’ 
the  main: 

Lord  of  a host,  o’er  all  my  host  I shine,  570 
A scourge  to  thee,  thy  father,  and  thy  line.’ 

The  Trojan  heard;  uncertain,  or  to  meet 
Alone,  with  venturous  arms,  the  King  of 
Crete; 

Or  seek  auxiliar  force;  at  length  decreed 
To  call  some  hero  to  partake  the  deed. 
Forthwith  iEneas  rises  to  his  thought; 

For  him,  in  Troy’s  remotest  lines  he  sought, 
Where  he,  incens’d  at  partial  Priam,  stands, 
And  sees  superior  posts  in  meaner  hands. 


THE  ILIAD 


405 


0 him,  ambitious  of  so  great  an  aid,  580 
he  bold  Deiphobus  approach’d,  and  said: 
‘Now,  Trojan  Prince,  employ  thy  pious 

arms, 

e’er  thy  bosom  felt  fair  honour’s  charms, 
lcathous  dies,  thy  brother  and  thy  friend, 
ome,  and  the  warrior’s  lov’d  remains  de- 

1 fend. 

sneath  his  cares  thy  early  youth  was 
train’d, 

:ie  table  fed  you,  and  one  roof  contain’d. 
iis  deed  to  fierce  Idomeneus  we  owe; 
>aste,  and  revenge  it  on  th’  insulting  foe.’ 

' ■zEneas  heard,  and  for  a space  resign’d  590 
) tender  pity  all  his  manly  mind; 
jien,  rising  in  his  rage,  he  burns  to  fight: 
le  Greek  awaits  him,  with  collected 
might. 

i the  fell  boar  on  some  rough  mountain’s 
head, 

*m’d  with  wild  terrors,  and  to  slaughter 
bred, 

hen  the  loud  rustics  rise,  and  shout  from 
far, 

tends  the  tumult,  and  expects  the  war; 
er  his  bent  back  the  bristly  horrors  rise, 
res  stream  in  lightning  from  his  sanguine 
eyes; 

s foaming  tusks  both  dogs  and  men  en- 

600 

t most  his  hunters  rouse  his  mighty  rage: 
stood  Idomeneus,  his  jav’lin  shook, 

'id  met  the  Trojan  with  a low’ring  look, 
filochus,  Deipyrus,  were  near, 
e youthful  offspring  of  the  God  of  War; 
irion,  and  Aphareus,  in  field  renown’d: 

1 these  the  warrior  sent  his  voice  around: 
ellows  in  arms!  your  timely  aid  unite: 

\ great  iEneas  rushes  to  the  fight: 
rung  from  a God,  and  more  than  mortal 
bold:  6IO 

fresh  in  youth,  and  I in  arms  grown 
old. 

cie  should  this  hand,  this  hour,  decide  the 
strife, 

e great  dispute,  of  glory,  or  of  life.’ 

Je  spoke,  and  all  as  with  one  soul 
obey’d; 

W lifted  bucklers  cast  a dreadful  shade 
Hind  the  Chief.  zEneas  too  demands 
assisting  forces  of  his  native  bands: 

•is,  Deiphobus,  Agenor  join; 

>-aids  and  captains  of  the  Trojan  line;) 
order  follow  all  th’  embodied  train;  620 
he  Ida’s  flocks  proceeding  o’er  the  plain: 


Before  his  fleecy  care,  erect  and  bold, 
Stalks  the  proud  ram,  the  father  of  the 
fold : 

With  joy  the  swain  surveys  them,  as  he 
leads 

To  the  cool  fountains  thro’  the  well-known 
meads: 

So  joys  zEneas,  as  his  native  band 
Moves  on  in  rank,  and  stretches  o’er  the 
land. 

Round  dead  Alcathoiis  now  the  battle 
rose ; 

On  ev’ry  side  the  steely  circle  grows  ; 

Now  batter’d  breast-plates  and  hack’d  hel- 
mets ring,  630 

And  o’er  their  heads  unheeded  jav’lins 
sing. 

Above  the  rest,  two  tow’ring  Chiefs  ap- 
pear, 

There  great  Idomeneus,  iEneas  here. 

Like  Gods  of  War,  dispensing  fate,  they 
stood, 

And  burn’d  to  drench  the  ground  with 
mutual  blood. 

The  Trojan  weapon  whizz’d  along  in  air: 
The  Cretan  saw,  and  shunn’d  the  brazen 
spear, 

Sent  from  an  arm  so  strong,  the  missive 
wood 

Stuck  deep  in  earth,  and  quiver’d  where  it 
stood.  639 

But  CEnomas  receiv’d  the  Cretan’s  stroke; 
The  forceful  spear  his  hollow  corslet  broke; 
It  ripp’d  his  belly  with  a ghastly  wound, 
And  roll’d  the  smoking  entrails  to  the 
ground. 

Stretch’d  on  the  plain,  he  sobs  awav  his 
breath, 

And  furious  grasps  the  bloody  dust  in 
death. 

The  victor  from  his  breast  the  weapon 
tears 

(His  spoils  he  could  not,  for  the  shower  of 
spears); 

Tho’  now  unfit  an  active  war  to  wage, 

Heavy  with  cumbrous  arms,  stiff  with  cold 
age, 

His  listless  limbs  unable  for  the  course;  650 
In  standing  fight  he  yet  maintains  his 
force : 

Till,  faint  with  labour,  and  by  foes  repell’cl, 
His  tired  slow  steps  he  drags  along  the 
field. 

Deiphobus  beheld  him  as  he  pass’d, 

And,  fired  with  bate,  a parting  jav’lin  cast: 


406 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


The  jav’lin  err’d,  but  held  its  course  .along, 
And  pierc’d  Ascalaphus,  the  brave  and 
young: 

The  son  of  Mars  fell  gasping  on  the 
ground, 

And  gnash’d  the  dust  all  bloody  with  his 
wound. 

Nor  knew  the  furious  father  of  his  fall; 
High-throned  amidst  the  great  Olympian 
hall,  66* 

On  golden  clouds  th’  immortal  synod  sat; 
Detain’d  from  bloody  war  by  Jove  and 
Fate. 

Now,  where  in  dust  the  breathless  hero 
lay, 

For  slain  Ascalaphus  commenc’d  the  fray. 
Deiphobus  to  seize  his  helmet  flies, 

And  from  his  temples  rends  the  glitt’ring 
prize: 

Valiant  as  Mars,  Meriones  drew  near, 

And  on  his  loaded  arm  discharged  his  spear. 
He  drops  the  weight,  disabled  with  the 
pain ; 670 

The  hollow  helmet  rings  against  the  plain. 
Swift  as  a vulture  leaping  on  his  prey, 
From  his  torn  arm  the  Grecian  rent  away 
The  reeking  jav’lin,  and  rejoin’d  his  friends. 
His  wounded  brother  good  Polites  tends; 
Around  his  waist  his  pious  arms  he  threw, 
And  from  the  rage  of  combat  gently  drew: 
Him  his  swift  coursers,  on  his  splendid  car, 


Rapt  from  the  less’ning  thunder  of  the 
war; 

To  Troy  they  drove  him,  groaning,  from 
the  shore,  680 

And  sprinkling,  as  he  pass’d,  the  sands  with 
gore. 

Meanwhile  fresh  slaughter  bathes  the 
sanguine  ground, 

Heaps  fall  on  heaps,  and  Heav’n  and  Earth 
resound. 

Bold  Aphareus  by  great  JEneas  bled ; 

As  toward  the  Chief  he  turn’d  his  daring 


head, 

He  pierc’d  his  throat;  the  bending  head, 
depress’d 

Beneath  his  helmet,  nods  upon  his  breast; 

His  shield  revers’d  o’er  the  fall’11  warrior 
lies; 

And  everlasting  slumber  seals  his  eyes. 

Antiloclius,  as  Thoon  turn’d  him  round,  690 

Transpierc’d  his  back  with  a dishonest 
wound : 

The  hollow  vein  that  to  the  neck  extends 

Along  the  chine,  his  eager  jav’lin  rends: 


Supine  he  falls,  and  to  his  social  train 
Spreads  his  imploring  arms,  but  spreads  i 
vain. 

Th’  exulting  victor,  leaping  where  he  lay, 
From  his  broad  shoulders  tore  the  spoi 
away ; 

His  time  observ’d  ; for,  closed  by  fot 
around, 

On  all  sides  thick,  the  peals  of  arms  r< 
sound. 

His  shield,  emboss’d,  the  ringing  storm  suj 
tains,  71 

But  he  impervious  and  untouch’d  remains 
(Great  Neptune’s  care  preserv’d  from  lio: 
tile  rage 

This  youth,  the  joy  of  Nestor’s  glorioi 
age.) 

In  arms  intrepid  with  the  first  he  fought, 
Faced  ev’ry  foe,  and  ev’ry  danger  sought 
His  winged  lance,  resistless  as  the  wind, 
Obeys  each  motion  of  the  master’s  mind: 
Restless  it  flies,  impatient  to  be  free, 

And  meditates  the  distant  enemy. 

The  son  of  Asius,  Adamas,  drew  near,,  7 
And  struck  his  target  with  the  brazi 
spear, 

Fierce  in  his  front;  but  Neptune  wards  tlj 
blow, 

And  blunts  the  jav’lin  of  th’  eluded  foe. 
In  the  broad  buckler  half  the  weapon  stoo< 
Splinter’d  on  earth  flew  half  the  brok( 
wood. 

Disarm’d,  he  mingled  in  the  Trojan  crew 
But  Merion’s  spear  o’ertook  him  as  he  fle’ 
Deep  in  the  belly’s  rim  an  entrance  found, 
Where  sharp  the  pang,  and  mortal  is  the 


wound. 

Bending  he  fell,  and,  doubled  to  the 
ground,  720 

Lay  panting.  Thus  an  ox,  in  fetters  tiec} 

While  death’s  strong  pangs  distend  his  1 
b’ring  side, 

His  bulk  enormous  on  the  field  displays; 

His  heaving  heart  beats  thick,  as  ebbii 
life  decays. 

The  spear  the  conqueror  from  his  bo 
drew, 

And  death’s  dim  shadows  swam  before  1 


view. 

Next  brave  Del'pyrus  in  dust  was  laid: 
King  Helenus  waved  high  the  Thraci 
blade, 

And  smote  his  temples  with  an  arm  so  strot 
The  helm  fell  off,  and  roll’d  amid  t 
throng ; 


THE  ILIAD 


407 


lere,  for  some  luckier  Greek  it  rests  a 
prize, 

>r  dark  in  death  the  godlike  owner  lies  I 
ith  raging  grief  great  Menelaus  burns, 
id,  fraught  with  vengeance,  to  the  victor 
turns; 

lat  shook  the  pond’rous  lance,  in  act  to 
throw, 

id  this  stood  adverse  with  the  bended 
bow: 

ill  on  his  breast  the  Trojan  arrow  fell, 
it  harmless  bounded  from  the  plated 
steel. 

1 on  some  ample  barn’s  well-harden’d 
floor,  739 

'he  winds  collected  at  each  open  door,) 
hile  the  broad  fan  with  force  is  whirl’d 
around, 

ght  leaps  the  golden  grain,  resulting  from 
the  ground: 

from  the  steel  that  guards  Atrides’ 
heart, 

ipell’d  to  distance  flies  the  bounding  dart, 
rides,  watchful  of  tli’  unwary  foe, 
s3rc’d  with  his  lance  the  hand  that  grasp’d 
the  bow, 

id  nail’d  it  to  the  yew:  the  wounded 
hand 

ail’d  the  long  lance  that  mark’d  with 

I blood  the  sand; 

I I good  Agenor  gently  from  the  wound 

e spear  solicits,  and  the  bandage  bound; 

1 sling’s  soft  wool,  snatch’d  from  a sol- 
| dier’s  side,  751 

once  the  tent  and  ligature  supplied. 
Behold!  Pisander,  urged  by  Fate’s  de- 
cree, 

-rings  thro’  the  ranks  to  fall,  and  fall  by 
1 thee, 

eat  Menelaus!  to  enhance  thy  fame; 

gli  tow’ring  in  the  front,  the  warrior 

came. 

'•st  the  sharp  lance  was  by  Atrides 

! thrown ; 

e lance  far  distant  by  the  winds  was 
3 blown. 

r pierc’d  Pisander  thro’  Atrides’  shield; 
lander’s  spear  fell  shiver’d  on  the 
field.  760 

t so  discouraged,  to  the  future  blind, 
in  dreams  of  conquest  swell  his  haughty 
mind; 

untless  he  rushes  where  the  Spartan  lord 
ce  lightning  brandish’d  his  far-beaming 
sword. 


His  left  arm  high  opposed  the  shining 
shield; 

His  right,  beneath,  the  cover’d  pole-axe 
held; 

(An  olive’s  cloudy  grain  the  handle  made, 
Distinct  with  studs;  and  brazen  was  the 
blade); 

This  on  the  helm  discharged  a noble  blow; 
The  plume  dropp’d  nodding  to  the  plain 
below,  770 

Shorn  from  the  crest.  Atrides  waved  his 
steel; 

Deep  thro’  his  front  the  weighty  falchion 
fell; 

The  crashing  bones  before  its  force  gave 
way; 

In  dust  and  blood  the  groaning  hero  lay; 
Forc’d  from  their  ghastly  orbs,  and  spout- 
ing gore, 

The  clotted  eye-balls  tumble  on  the  shore. 
The  fierce  Atrides  spurn’d  him  as  he  bled, 
Tore  off  his  arms,  and  loud  exulting  said: 

‘ Thus,  Trojans,  thus,  at  length  be  taught 
to  fear; 

O race  perfidious,  who  delight  in  war!  780 
Already  noble  deeds  ye  have  perform’d, 

A Princess  raped  transcends  a navy 
storm’d: 

In  such  bold  feats  your  impious  might  ap- 
prove, 

Without  th’  assistance  or  the  fear  of  Jove. 
The  violated  rites,  the  ravish’d  dame, 

Our  heroes  slaughter’d,  and  our  ships  on 
flame, 

Crimes  heap’d  on  crimes,  shall  bend  your 
glory  down, 

And  whelm  in  ruins  yon  flagitious  town. 

O thou,  great  Father,  lord  of  earth  and 
skies, 

Above  the  thought  of  man,  supremely 
wise!  79o 

If  from  thy  hand  the  fates  of  mortals 
flow, 

From  whence  this  favour  to  an  impious 
foe, 

A godless  crew,  abandon’d  and  unjust, 

Still  breathing  rapine,  violence,  and  lust  ? 
The  best  of  things,  beyond  their  measure, 
cloy; 

Sleep’s  balmy  blessing,  love’s  endearing 

j°y; 

The  feast,  the  dance;  whate’er  mankind 
desire, 

Ev’n  the  sweet  charms  of  sacred  numbers 
tire. 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


408 


But  Troy  for  ever  reaps  a dire  delight 
I11  thirst  of  slaughter,  and  in  lust  of 

fight.’  800 

This  said,  he  seiz’d  (while  yet  the  car- 
cass heav’d) 

The  bloody  armour,  which  his  train  re- 
ceiv’d: 

Then  sudden  mix’d  among  the  warring  crew, 
And  the  bold  son  of  PylsemeneS  slew. 
Harpalion  had  thro’  Asia  travell’d  far, 
Following  his  martial  father  to  the  war; 
Thro’  filial  love  he  left  his  native  shore, 
Never,  ah  never,  to  behold  it  more! 

His  unsuccessful  spear  he  chanc’d  to  fling 
Against  the  target  of  the  Spartan  king;  810 
Thus  of  his  lance  disarm’d,  from  death  he 
flies, 

And  turns  around  his  apprehensive  eyes. 
Him,  thro’  the  hip  transpiercing  as  he  fled, 
The  shaft  of  Merion  mingled  with  the 
dead. 

Beneath  the  bone  the  glancing  point  de- 
scends, 

And,  driving  down,  the  swelling  bladder 
rends: 

Sunk  in  his  sad  companions’  arms  he  lay, 
And  in  short  pantings  sobb’d  his  soul  away 
(Like  some  vile  worm  extended  on  the 
ground), 

While  life’s  red  torrent  gush’d  from  out 
the  wound.  820 

Him  011  his  car  the  Paplilagonian  train 
In  slow  procession  bore  from  off  the  plain. 
The  pensive  father,  father  now  no  more! 
Attends  the  mournful  pomp  along  the 
shore; 

And  unavailing  tears  profusely  shed, 

And  unrevenged  deplor’d  his  offspring 
dead. 

Paris  from  far  the  moving  sight  beheld, 
With  pity  soften’d,  and  with  fury  swell’d: 
His  honour’d  host,  a youth  of  matchless 
grace, 

And  lov’d  of  all  the  Paphlagonian  race!  830 
With  his  full  strength  he  bent  his  angry 
bow, 

And  wing’d  the  feather’d  vengeance  at  the 
foe. 

A Chief  there  was,  the  brave  Euchenor 
named, 

For  riches  much,  and  more  for  virtue, 
famed, 

Who  held  his  seat  in  Corinth’s  stately 
town; 

Polydus’  son,  a seer  of  old  renown. 


Oft  had  the  father  told  his  early  doom, 

By  arms  abroad,  or  slow  disease  at  home: 
He  climb’d  his  vessel,  prodigal  of  breath, 
And  chose  the  certain  glorious  path  to 
death.  84c 

Beneath  his  ear  the  pointed  arrow  went; 
The  soul  came  issuing  at  the  narrow  vent; 
His  limbs,  unnerv’d,  drop  useless  on  the 
ground, 

And  everlasting  darkness  shades  him 
round. 

Nor  knew  great  Hector  how  his  legions 
yield 

(Wrapp’d  in  the  cloud  and  tumult  of  the 
field); 

Wide  on  the  left  the  force  of  Greece  com- 
mands, 

And  conquest  hovers  o’er  th’  Achaian 
bands: 

With  such  a tide  superior  virtue  sway’d, 
And  he  that  shakes  the  solid  earth,  gave 
aid.  85c 

But  in  the  centre  Hector  fix’d  remain’d, 
Where  first  the  gates  were  forc’d,  and  bul- 
warks gain’d; 

There,  on  the  margin  of  the  hoary  deep 
(Their  naval  station  where  th’  Ajacea 
keep, 

And  where  low  walls  confine  the  beating 
tides, 

Whose  humble  barrier  scarce  the  foe  di- 
vides; 

Where  late  in  fight  both  foot  and  horse 
engaged, 

And  all  the  thunder  of  the  battle  raged), 
There  join’d,  the  whole  Boeotian  strength 
remains, 

The  proud  Ionians  with  their  sweeping 
trains,  86c 

Locrians  and  Phtliians,  and  th’  Epeiau 
force ; 

But,  join’d,  repel  not  Hector’s  fiery  course 
The  flower  of  Athens,  Sticliius,  Phidas  led. 
Bias  and  great  Menestheus  at  their  head. 
Meges  the  strong  th’  Epeian  bands  con- 
troll’d, 

And  Dracius  prudent,  and  Amphion  bold; 
The  Phthians  Medon,  famed  for  martial 
might, 

And  brave  Podarces,  active  in  the  fight. 
This  drew  from  Phylacus  his  noble  line, 
Iphiclus’  son;  and  that,  Oileus,  thine  87^ 
(Young  Ajax’  brother,  by  a stol’n  em- 
brace ; 

He  dwelt  far  distant  from  hi*  native  place 


THE  ILIAD 


409 


r his  fierce  stepdame  from  liis  father’s 
reign 

:pell’d  and  exiled  for  her  brother  slain): 
'iese  rule  the  Phthians,  and  their  arms 
employ, 

ix’d  with  Boeotians,  on  the  shores  of 
! Troy. 

Now  side  by  side,  with  like  unwearied 
i care, 

hell  Ajax  labour’d  thro’  the  field  of 

war. 

when  two  lordly  bulls,  with  equal  toil, 
>rce  the  bright  ploughshare  thro’  the  fal- 
low soil,  880 

fin’d  to  one  yoke,  the  stubborn  earth  they 
! tear,  . 

id  trace  large  furrows  with  the  shining 
r share: 

er  their  huge  limbs  the  foam  descends  in 
snow, 

id  streams  of  sweat  down  their  sour  fore- 
heads flow. 

train  of  heroes  follow’d  thro’  the  field, 
ho  bore  by  turns  great  Ajax’  seven-fold 
shield; 

hene’er  he  breathed,  remissive  of  his 
might, 

red  with  th’  incessant  slaughters  of  the 
' fight. 

) foil’ wing  troops  his  brave  associate 
grace  ; 889 

close  engagement  an  unpractis’d  race, 
he  Locrian  squadrons  nor  the  jav’lin 
wield, 

ir  bear  the  helm,  nor  lift  the  moony 
| shield; 

it  skill’d  from  far  the  flying  shaft  to 
wing, 

* whirl  the  sounding  pebble  from  the 

L sling; 

ixt’rous  with  these  they  aim  a certain 

■ wound, 

■ fell  the  distant  warrior  to  the  ground, 
mis  in  the  van,  the  Telamonian  train, 
■irong’d  in  bright  arms,  a pressing  fight 

* maintain; 

r in  the  rear  the  Locrian  archers  lie, 
%ose  stones  and  arrows  intercept  the 
sky:  9o0 

ie  mingled  tempest  on  the  foes  they 
pour; 

oy’s  scatt’ring  orders  open  to  the  shower. 
pNow  had  the  Greeks  eternal  fame 
1 acquired, 

id  the  gall’d  Ilians  to  their  walls  retired; 


But  sage  Polydamas,  discreetly  brave, 
Address’d  great  Hector,  and  this  counsel 
gave: 

‘ Tho’  great  in  all,  thou  seem’st  averse  to 
lend 

Impartial  audience  to  a faithful  friend: 

To  Gods  and  men  thy  matchless  worth  is 
known, 

And  ev’ry  art  of  glorious  war  thy  own;  910 
But  in  cool  thought  and  counsel  to  excel, 
How  widely  differs  this  from  warring  well! 
Content  with  what  the  bounteous  Gods  have 
giv’n, 

Seek  not  alone  t’  engross  the  gifts  of 
Heav’n. 

To  some  the  powers  of  bloody  war  belong, 
To  some,  sweet  music,  and  the  charm  of 
song; 

To  few,  and  wondrous  few,  has  Jove  as- 
sign’d 

A wise,  extensive,  all-consid’ring  mind; 
Their  guardians  these  the  nations  round 
confess, 

And  towns  and  empires  for  their  safety 
bless.  920 

If  Heav’n  have  lodg’d  this  virtue  in  my 
breast, 

Attend,  O Hector,  what  I judge  the  best. 
See,  as  thou  mov’st,  on  dangers  dangers 
spread, 

And  war’s  whole  fury  burns  around  thy  head : 
Behold!  distress’d  within  yon  hostile  wall, 
How  many  Trojans  yield,  disperse,  or  fall! 
What  troops,  out-number’d,  scarce  the  war 
maintain! 

And  what  brave  heroes  at  the  ships  lie  slain! 
Here  cease  thy  fury;  and,  the  Chiefs  and 
Kings 

Convoked  to  council,  weigh  the  sum  of 
things.  930 

Whether  (the  Gods  succeeding  our  desires) 
To  yon  tall  ships  to  bear  the  Trojan  fires; 
Or  quit  the  fleet,  and  pass  unhurt  away, 
Contented  with  the  conquest  of  the  day. 

I fear,  I fear,  lest  Greece  (not  yet  undone) 
Pay  the  large  debt  of  last  revolving  sun. 
Achilles,  great  Achilles,  yet  remains 
On  yonder  decks,  and  yet  o’erlooks  the 
plains ! ’ 

The  counsel  pleas’d;  and  Hector,  with) 
a bound, 

Leap’d  from  his  chariot  on  the  trembling  i 
ground ; 94c  j 

Swift  as  he  leap’d,  his  clanging  arms  re-  j 
sound.  J 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


410 


‘ To  guard  this  post’  (he  cried)  ‘ thy  art 
employ, 

And  here  detain  the  scatter’d  youth  of 
Troy; 

Where  yonder  heroes  faint,  I bend  my  way, 
And  hasten  back  to  end  the  doubtful  day.’ 

This  said,  the  tow ’ring  Chief  prepares' 
to  go, 

Shakes  his  white  plumes  that  to  the 
breezes  flow, 

And  seems  a moving  mountain  topp’d 
with  snow. 

Thro’  all  his  host  inspiring  force,  he  flies, 
And  bids  anew  the  martial  thunder 
rise.  950 

To  Panthus’  son,  at  Hector’s  high  com- 
mand, 

Haste  the  bold  leaders  of  the  Trojan  band : 
But  round  the  battlements,  and  round  the 
plain, 

For  many  a Chief  he  look’d,  but  look’d  in 
vain; 

Dei'phobus,  nor  Helenus  the  seer, 

Nor  Asius’  son,  nor  Asius’  self  appear. 

For  these  were  pierc’d  with  many  a ghastly 
wound, 

Some  cold  in  death,  some  groaning  on  the 
ground ; 

Some  low  in  dust  (a  mournful  object)  lay, 
High  on  the  wall  some  breathed  their  souls 
away.  960 

Far  on  the  left,  amidst  the  throng  he 
found 

(Cheering  the  troops,  and  dealing  deaths 
around), 

The  graceful  Paris:  whom,  with  fury 
mov’d, 

Opprobrious,  thus  th’  impatient  Chief  re- 
prov’d: 

‘Ill-fated  Paris!  slave  to  womankind, 

As  smooth  of  face  as  fraudulent  of  mind! 
Where  is  Dei'phobus,  where  Asius  gone  ? 
The  godlike  father,  and  th’  intrepid  son  ? 
The  force  of  Helenus,  dispensing  fate,  969 
And  great  Othryoneus,  so  fear’d  of  late  ? 
Black  fate  hangs  o’er  thee  from  th’  aveng- 
ing Gods, 

Imperial  Troy  from  her  foundation  nods; 
Whelm’d  in  thy  country’s  ruins  shalt  thou 
fall, 

Anri  one  devouring  vengeance  swallow  all.’ 

When  Paris  thus:  ‘My  brother  and  my 
friend, 

Thy  warm  impatience  makes  thy  tongue 
offend. 


In  other  battles  I deserv’d  thy  blame, 
Tho’  then  not  deedless,  nor  unknown 
Fame: 

But  since  yon  rampart  by  thy  arms  1 
low, 

I scatter’d  slaughter  from  my  fatal  bow. 
The  Chiefs  you  seek  on  yonder  shore 
slain; 

Of  all  those  heroes,  two  alone  remain; 
Dei'phobus,  and  Helenus  the  seer: 

Each  now  disabled  by  a hostile  spear. 

Go  then,  successful,  where  thy  soul  inspire 
This  heart  and  hand  shall  second  all  t. 
fires: 

What  with  this  arm  I can,  prepare 
know, 

Till  death  for  death  be  paid,  and  blow  f 
blow. 

But ’t  is  not  ours,  with  forces  not  our  ow: 
To  combat;  strength  is  of  the  Go' 
alone.’  c 

These  words  the  hero’s  angry  mind  a 
suage : 

Then  fierce  they  mingle  where  the  thicke 
rage. 

Around  Polydamas,  distain’d  with  blood, 
Cebrion,  Phalces,  stern  Orthseus,  stood; 
Palmus,  with  Polypcetes  the  divine, 

And  two  bold  brothers  of  Hippotion’s  lin 
(Who  reach’d  fair  Ilion,  from  Ascania  fa 
The  former  day;  the  next,  engaged 
war). 

As  when  from  gloomy  clouds  a whirlwir 
springs, 

That  bears  Jove’s  thunder  on  its  dreadf 
wings,  ic 

Wide  o’er  the  blasted  fields  the  tempe 
sweeps, 

Then,  gather’d,  settles  on  the  hoary  deep 
Th’  afflicted  deeps  tumultuous  mix  and 
roar; 

The  waves  behind  impel  the  waves  before, 
Wide-rolling,  foaming  high,  and  tum- 
bling to  the  shore: 

Thus  rank  on  rank  the  chief  battalio 
throng, 

Chief  urged  on  Chief,  and  man  drove  mi 
along: 

Far  o’er  the  plains  in  dreadful  ord 
bright, 

The  brazen  arms  reflect  a beamy  light. 
Full  in  the  blazing  van  great  Hect 
shined,  ic 

Like  Mars  commission’d  to  confound  ma 
kind. 


THE  ILIAD 


before  him  flaming,  his  enormous  shield, 
dke  the  broad  sun,  illumin’d  all  the  field; 
lis  nodding  helm  emits  a streamy  ray; 
lis  piercing  eyes  thro’  all  the  battle  stray, 
bid,  while  beneath  his  targe  he  flash’d 
along, 

>hot  terrors  round,  that  wither’d  ev’n  the 
strong. 

Thus  stalk’d  he  dreadful;  death  was  in 
his  look; 

Vhole  nations  fear’d;  but  not  an  Argive 
\ shook.  1019 

Dhe  tow’ring  Ajax,  with  an  ample  stride, 
Advanc’d  the  first,  and  thus  the  Chief  de- 
fied: 

‘Hector!  come  on,  thy  empty  threats 
forbear: 

T is  not  thy  arm,  ’t  is  thundering  Jove,  we 
f fear: 

Che  skill  of  war  to  us  not  idly  giv’n, 
jo!  Greece  is  humbled,  not  by  Troy,  but 
Heav’n. 

fain  are  the  hopes  that  haughty  mind  im- 
j parts 

Co  force  our  fleet:  the  Greeks  have  hands 
and  hearts. 

uong  ere  in  flames  our  lofty  navy  fall, 
four  boasted  city,  and  your  god-built  wall, 
Shall  sink  beneath  us,  smoking  on  the 
) ground;  1030 

And  spread  a long  unmeasured  ruin  round. 
Che  time  shall  come,  when,  chased  along 
the  plain, 

Sv’n  thou  shalt  call  on  Jove,  and  call  in 
| vain ; 

,3v’n  thou  shalt  wish,  to  aid  thy  desp’rate 
( course, 

The  wings  of  falcons  for  thy  flying  horse; 
.Shalt  run,  forgetful  of  a warrior’s  fame, 
jVVhile  clouds  of  friendly  dust  conceal  thy 
shame.’ 

< As  thus  he  spoke,  behold,  in  open  view, 
,3n  sounding  wings  a dexter  eagle  flew. 

To  Jove’s  glad  omen  all  the  Grecians 
rise,  1040 

And  hail,  with  shouts,  his  progress  thro’ 
the  skies. 

Far-echoing  clamours  bound  from  side  to 
) side ; 

They  ceas’d;  and  thus  the  Chief  of  Troy 
replied: 

‘ From  whence  this  menace,  this  insult- 
! ing  strain  ? 

Enormous  boaster!  doom’d  to  vaunt  in 
vain. 


411 


So  may  the  Gods  on  Hector  life  bestow 

(Not  that  short  life  which  mortals  lead 
below, 

But  such  as  those  of  Jove’s  high  lineage 
born, 

The  Blue-eyed  Maid,  or  He  that  gilds  the 
morn), 

As  this  decisive  day  shall  end  the  fame  1050 

Of  Greece,  and  Algos  be  no  more  a name. 

And  thou,  imperious!  if  thy  madness  wait 

The  lance  of  Hector,  thou  shalt  meet  thy 
fate: 

That  giant-corpse,  extended  on  the  shore, 

Shall  largely  feast  the  fowls  with  fat  and 
gore.’ 

He  said,  and  like  a lion  stalk’d  along: 

With  shouts  incessant  earth  and  ocean 
rung, 

Sent  from  his  foil’ wing  host.  The  Grecian 
train 

With  answering  thunders  fill’d  the  echoing 
plain ; 

A shout  that  tore  Heav’n’s  concave,  and 
above  1060 

Shook  the  fix’d  splendours  of  the  throne  of 
Jove. 

BOOK  XIV 

JUNO  DECEIVES  JUPITER  BY  THE  GIRDLE  OF 
VENUS 

THE  ARGUMENT 

Nestor,  sitting  at  the  table  with  Machaon,  is 
alarmed  with  the  increasing  clamour  of  the 
war,  and  hastens  to  Agamemnon  : on  his 
way  he  meets  that  Prince  with  Diomed  and 
Ulysses,  whom  he  informs  of  the  extremity 
of  the  danger.  Agamemnon  proposes  to 
make  their  escape  by  night,  which  Ulysses 
withstands ; to  which  Diomed  adds  his  ad- 
vice, that,  wounded  as  they  were,  they 
should  go  forth  and  encoiirage  the  army 
with  their  presence ; which  advice  is  pur- 
sued. Juno  seeing  the  partiality  of  Jupiter 
to  the  Trojans,  forms  a design  to  overreach 
him  ; she  sets  off  her  charms  with  the  ut- 
most care,  and  (the  more  surely  to  enchant 
him)  obtains  the  magic  girdle  of  Venus.  She 
then  applies  herself  to  the  God  of  Sleep,  and 
with  some  difficulty  persuades  him  to  seal 
the  eyes  of  Jupiter  ; this  done,  she  goes  to 
Mount  Ida,  where  the  God.  at  first  sight,  is 
ravished  with  her  beauty,  sinks  in  her  em- 
braces, and  is  laid  asleep.  Neptune  takes 
advantage  of  his  slumber,  and  succours  the 


412 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


Greeks ; Hector  is  struck  to  the  ground  with 
a prodigious  stone  by  Ajax,  and  carried  off 
from  the  battle  : several  actions  succeed ; 
till  the  Trojans,  much  distressed,  are  obliged 
to  give  way  ; the  lesser  Ajax  signalizes  him- 
self in  a particular  manner. 

But  nor  the  genial  feast,  nor  flowing 
bowl, 

Could  charm  the  cares  of  Nestor’s  watch- 
ful soul; 

His  startled  ears  th’  increasing  cries  at- 
tend; 

Then  thus,  impatient,  to  his  wounded 
friend: 

‘ What  new  alarms,  divine  Machaon,  say, 

What  mix’d  events  attend  this  mightv 
day  ? 

Hark!  how  the  shouts  divide,  and  how  they 
meet, 

And  now  come  full,  and  thicken  to  the 
fleet! 

Here,  with  the  cordial  draught  dispel  thy 
care, 

Let  Hecamede  the  strength’ning  bath  pre- 
pare, 

Refresh  thy  wound,  and  cleanse  the  clotted 
gore, 

While  I th’  adventures  of  the  day  explore.’ 
He  said:  and,  seizing  Thrasymedes’ 
shield 

(His  valiant  offspring),  hasten’d  to  the  field 

(That  day,  the  son  his  father’s  buckler 
bore) ; 

Then  snatch’d  a lance,  and  issued  from  the 
door. 

Soon  as  the  prospect  open’d  to  his  view, 

His  wounded  eyes  the  scene  of  sorrow 
knew; 

Dire  disarray!  the  tumult  of  the  fight, 

The  wall  in  ruins,  and  the  Greeks  in 
flight.  20 

As  when  old  Ocean’s  silent  surface  sleeps, 

The  waves  just  heaving  on  the  purple 
deeps; 

While  yet  th’  expected  tempest  hangs  on 
high, 

Weighs  down  the  cloud,  and  blackens  in 
the  sky, 

The  mass  of  waters  will  no  wind  obey; 

Jove  sends  one  gust,  and  bids  them  roll 
away. 

While  wav’ring  counsels  thus  his  mind  en- 
gage, 

Fluctuates  in  doubtful  thought  the  Pylian 
sage; 


To  join  the  host,  or  to  the  Gen’ral  haste; 
Debating  long,  he  fixes  on  the  last:  30 

Yet,  as  he  moves,  the  fight  his  bosom  warms; 
The  field  rings  dreadful  with  the  clang  of 
arms; 

The  gleaming  falchions  flash,  the  jav’lins 

fly; 

Blows  echo  blows,  and  all  or  kill  or  die. 

Him,  in  his  march,  the  wounded  Princes 
meet, 

By  tardy  steps  ascending  from  the  fleet; 
The  King  of  Men,  Ulysses  the  divine, 

And  who  to  Tydeus  owes  his  noble  line. 
(Their  ships  at  distance  from  the  battle 
stand, 

In  lines  advanc’d  along  the  shelving  strand ; 
Whose  bay  the  fleet  unable  to  contain  4i 
At  length,  beside  the  margin  of  the  main, 
Rank  above  rank,  the  crowded  ships  they 
moor: 

Who  landed  first,  lay  highest  on  the  shore.) 
Supported  on  their  spears  they  took  their 
way, 

Unfit  to  fight,  but  anxious  for  the  day. 
Nestor’s  approach  alarm’d  each  Grecian 
breast, 

Whom  thus  the  Gen’ral  of  the  host  ad- 
dress’d: 

‘ O grace  and  glory  of  th’  Acliaian  name  ! 
What  drives  thee,  Nestor,  from  the  Field 
of  Fame  ? so 

Shall  then  proud  Hector  see  his  boast  ful- 
fill’d, 

Our  fleets  in  ashes,  and  our  heroes  kill’d  ? 
Such  was  his  threat,  ah  ! now  too  soon 
made  good, 

On  many  a Grecian  bosom  writ  in  blood. 

Is  every  heart  inflamed  with  equal  rage 
Against  your  King,  nor  will  one  Chief  en- 
gage? 

And  have  I liv’d  to  see  with  mournful 

eyes 

In  ev’ry  Greek  a new  Achilles  rise  ? ’ 

Gerenian  Nestor  then  : ‘ So  Fate  has 
will’d;  59 

And  all  confirming  time  has  Fate  fulfill’d, 
Not  he  that  thunders  from  th’  aerial  bower, 
Not  Jove  himself,  upon  the  past  has  power. 
The  wall,  our  late  inviolable  bound, 

And  best  defence,  lies  smoking  on  the 
ground: 

Ev’n  to  the  ships  their  conquering  arms  ex- 
tend, 

And  groans  of  slaughter’d  Greeks  to 
Heav’n  ascend. 


THE  ILIAD 


4i3 


On  speedy  measures  then  employ  your 
thought; 

In  such  distress  if  counsel  profit  aught; 

Arms  cannot  much:  tho’  Mars  our  souls 
incite, 

These  gaping  wounds  withhold  us  from  the 
fight.’  70 

To  him  the  Monarch:  ‘ That  our  army 
bends, 

That  Troy  triumphant  our  high  fleet  as- 
cends, 

■And  that  the  rampart,  late  our  surest  trust, 
And  best  defence,  lies  smoking  in  the  dust: 
All  this,  from  Jove’s  afflictive  hand  we  hear, 

1 Who,  far  from  Argos,  wills  our  ruin  here, 
Past  are  the  days  when  happier  Greece  was 
bless’d, 

And  all  his  favour,  all  his  aid,  confess’d; 
Now  Heav’11,  averse,  our  hands  from  bat- 
tle ties, 

And  lifts  the  Trojan  glory  to  the  skies.  80 
Cease  we  at  length  to  waste  our  blood  in 
vain, 

And  launch  what  ships  lie  nearest  to  the 
main ; 

Leave  these  at  anchor  till  the  coming') 
night ; | 

Then,  if  impetuous  Troy  forbear  the  fight,  > 
Brins:  all  to  sea,  and  hoist  each  sail  for 

flight.  J 

Better  from  evils,  well  foreseen,  to  run, 

1 Than  perish  in  the  danger  we  may  shun.’ 

Thus  he.  The  sage  Ulysses  thus  replies, 
While  anger  flash’d  from  his  disdainful 
eyes: 

1 ‘ What  shameful  words  (unkingly  as  thou 
art)  9° 

Fall  from  that  trembling  tongue  and  tinT- 
rous  heart  ! 

Oh  were  thy  sway  the  curse  of  meaner 
powers, 

! And  thou  the  shame  of  any  host  but  ours  ! 
A host,  by  Jove  endued  with  martial  might, 
And  taught  to  conquer,  or  to  fall  in  fight: 
Adventurous  combats  and  bold  wars  to 
wage, 

Employ’d  our  youth,  and  yet  employs  our 
' age. 

And  wilt  thou  thus  desert  the  Trojan  plain  ? 
And  have  whole  streams  of  blood  been 
spilt  in  vain  ? 

In  such  base  sentence  if  thou  couch  thy 
fear,  100 

Speak  it  in  whispers,  lest  a Greek  should 
hear. 


Lives  there  a man  so  dead  to  fame,  who 
dares 

To  think  such  meanness,  or  the  thought  de- 
clares ? 

And  comes  it  ev’n  from  him  whose  sov’- 
reign  sway 

The  banded  legions  of  all  Greece  obey  ? 

Is  this  a Gen’ral’s  voice,  that  calls  to  flight  ? 
While  war  hangs  doubtful,  while  his  sol- 
diers fight  ? 

What  more  could  Troy  ? What  yet  their 
fate  denies 

Thou  giv’st  the  foe  : all  Greece  becomes 
their  prize. 

No  more  the  troops  (our  hoisted  sails  in 
view,  110 

Themselves  abandon’d)  shall  the  fight  pur- 
sue; 

But  thy  ships  flying  with  despair  shall  see, 
And  owe  destruction  to  a Prince  like  thee.’ 
‘Thy  just  reproofs’  (Atrides  calm  re- 
plies) 

‘ Like  arrows  pierce  me,  for  thy  words  are 
wise. 

Unwilling  as  I am  to  lose  the  host, 

I force  not  Greece  to  quit  this  hateful 
coast. 

Glad  I submit,  whoe’er,  or  young  or  old, 
Aught,  more  conducive  to  our  weal,  un- 
fold.’ IX9 

Tydides  cut  him  short,  and  thus  began: 

‘ Such  counsel  if  ye  seek,  behold  the  man 
Who  boldly  gives  it,  and  what  he  shall  say, 
Young  tho’  he  be,  disdain  not  to  obey: 

A youth,  who  from  the  mighty  Tydeus 
springs, 

May  speak  to  councils  and  assembled 
Kings. 

Hear  then  in  me  the  great  CEnides’  son, 
Whose  honour’d  dust  (his  race  of  glory 
run) 

Lies  whelm’d  in  ruins  of  the  Theban  wall; 
Brave  in  his  life,  and  glorious  in  his  fall. 
With  three  bold  sons  was  gen’rous  Pro- 
thous  bless’d,  130 

Who  Pleuron’s  walls  and  Calydon  possess’d: 
Melas  and  Agrius,  but  (who  far  surpass’d 
The  rest  in  courage)  CEneus  was  the  last: 
From  him,  my  sire.  From  Calydon  ex- 
peil’d, 

He  pass’d  to  Argos,  and  in  exile  dwell’d; 
The  Monarch’s  daughter  there  (so  Jove 
ordain’d) 

He  won,  and  flourish’d  where  Adrastus 
reign’d: 


4'4  TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


There,  rich  in  fortune’s  gifts,  his  acres') 
till’d, 

Beheld  his  vines  their  liquid  harvest  yield,  l 
And  numerous  flocks  that  whiten’d  all  I 
the  field.  ,40J 

Such  Tydeus  was,  the  foremost  once  in 
fame  ! 

Nor  lives  in  Greece  a stranger  to  his  name. 
-Wien,  what  for  common  good  my  thoughts 
inspire, 

Attend,  and  in  the  son  respect  the  sire. 

Tho  sore  of  battle,  tho’  with  wounds  op- 
prest, 

Let  each  go  forth,  and  animate  the  rest, 
Advance  the  glory  which  he  cannot  share, 
Tho’  not  partaker,  witness  of  the  war. 

But  lest  new  wounds  on  wounds  o’erpower 
us  quite,  I49 

Beyond  the  missile  jav’lin’s  sounding  flight, 
Safe  let  us  stand ; and,  from  the  tumult 
far, 

Inspire  the  ranks,  and  rule  the  distant  war.’ 

He  added  not:  the  list’ning  Kings  obey, 
Slow  moving  on;  Atrides  leads  the  way. 

The  God  of  Ocean  (to  inflame  their  rage) 
Appears  a warrior  furrow’d  o’er  with  age; 
Press’d  in  his  own,  the  Gen’ral’s  hand  lie 
took, 

And  thus  the  venerable  hero  spoke: 

‘ Atrides,  lo  ! with  what  disdainful  eye 
Achilles  sees  his  country’s  forces  fly:  160 

Blind  impious  man  ! whose  anger  is  his 
guide, 

Who  glories  in  unutterable  pride. 

So  may  he  perish,  so  may  Jove  disclaim 
The  wretch  relentless,  and  o’erwhelm  with 
shame  ! 

But  Heav’n  forsakes  not  thee:  o’er  yonder 
sands 

Soon  shalt  thou  viewr  the  scatter’d  Troian 
bands 

Fly  diverse;  while  proud  Kings,  and  Chiefs 
renown’d, 

Driv  n heaps  on  heaps,  with  clouds  involv’d 
around 

Of  rolling  dust,  their  winged  wheels  em- 
ploy 

To  hide  their  ignominious  heads  in  Troy.’ 

He  spoke,  then  rush’d  among  the  war- 
rior crew:  I?I 

And  sent  his  voice  before  him  as  he  flew, 
Loud,  as  the  shout  encount’ring  armies 
yield, 

When  twice  ten  thousand  shake  the  la- 
b’ring  field; 


Such  was  the  voice,  and  such  the  thun- 
d’ring  sound 

Of  him  whose  trident  rends  the  solid 
ground. 

Each  Argive  bosom  beats  to  meet  the  fight, 
And  grisly  war  appears  a pleasing  sight. 

Meantime  Saturnia  from  Olympus’ brow, 
High-throned  in  gold,  beheld  the  fields  be- 
low; l8o 

With  joy  the  glorious  conflict  she  survey’d, 
W here  her  great  brother  gave  the  Grecians 
aid. 


But  placed  aloft,  on  Ida’s  shady  height 

She  sees  her  Jove,  and  trembles  at  the 
sight. 

Jove  to  deceive,  what  methods  shall  she 

try, 

What  arts,  to  blind  his  all-beholding  eye  ? 

At  length  she  trusts  her  power;  resolv’d 
to  prove 

The  old,  yet  still  successful,  cheat  of  love; 

Against  his  wisdom  to  oppose  her  charms’ 

And  lull  the  Lord  of  Thunders  in  her 
arms.  igo 

Swift  to  her  bright  apartment  she  re- 
pairs, 

Sacred  to  dress,  and  beauty’s  pleasing 
cares : 

With  skill  divine  had  Vulcan  form’d  the 
bower, 

Safe  from  access  of  each  intruding  power. 

Touch’d  with  her  secret  key,  the  doors  un- 
fold 


Self-closed,  behind  her  shut  the  valves  of 
gold. 

Here  first  she  bathes;  and  round  her  body 
pours 

Soft  oils  of  fragrance,  and  ambrosial 
showers: 

The  winds,  perfumed,  the  balmy  gale  con- 
vey 


J-hro  rieav  n,  thro5  Garth,  and  all  th*  aerial 
c ■ . T*?'’ 

Spirit  divine  ! whose  exhalation  greets 
The  sense  of  Gods  with  more  than  mortal 
sweets. 

Thus  while  she  breathed  of  Heav’n,  with 
decent  pride 

Her  artful  hands  the  radiant  tresses  tied; 
Part  on  her  head  in  shining  ringlets  roll’d, 
Part  o’er  her  shoulders  waved  like  melted 
gold. 

Around  her  next  a heav’nly  mantle  flow’d, 
That  rich  with  Pallas’  labour’d  colours 
glow’d; 


THE  ILIAD 


4^5 


irge  clasps  of  gold  the  foldings  gather’d 
round,  2°9 

golden  zone  her  swelling  bosom  bound, 
ir-beaming  pendants  tremble  in  her  ear, 
ach  gem  illumin’d  with  a triple  star, 
lien  o’er  her  head  she  cast  a veil  more 
white 

han  new-fall’11  snow,  and  dazzling  as  the 
light. 

ast  her  fair  feet  celestial  sandals  grace, 
bus  issuing  radiant,  with  majestic  pace, 
orth  from  the  dome  th’  imperial  Goddess 
moves, 

nd  calls  the  mother  of  the  smiles  and  loves. 
‘How  long’  (to  Venus  thus  apart  she 
cried) 

Shall  human  strife  celestial  minds  divide  ? 
h yet,  will  Venus  aid  Saturnia’s  joy,  221 
.nd  set  aside  the  cause  of  Greece  and 
Troy  ? ’ 

Let  Heav’n’s  dread  Empress’  (Cytherea 
said) 

Speak  her  request,  and  deem  her  will 
obey’d.’ 

* Then  grant  me  ’ (said  the  Queen)  ‘ those 
conquering  charms, 

.’hat  Power,  which  mortals  and  immortals 
warms, 

?hat  love,  which  melts  mankind  in  fierce 
desires, 

Lnd  burns  the  sons  of  Heav’n  with  sacred 
fires  ! 

’or  lo  ! I haste  to  those  remote  abodes, 
Vhere  the  great  parents  (sacred  source  of 
Gods  !)  230 

)cean  and  Tethvs  their  old  empire  keep, 

)n  the  last  limits  of  the  land  and  deep, 
n their  kind  arms  my  tender  years  were 
pass’d ; 

Vhat  time  old  Saturn,  from  Olympus  cast, 
)f  upper  Heav’n  to  Jove  resign  d the 
reign, 

Vhelm’d  under  the  huge  mass  of  earth  and 
main. 

Tor  strife,  I hear,  has  made  the  union 
cease, 

Which  held  so  long  that  ancient  pair  in 
peace. 

tVhat  honour,  and  what  love,  shall  I ob- 
tain, 

[f  I compose  those  fatal  feuds  again  ? 240 

Jnce  more  their  minds  in  mutual  ties  en- 
gage, 

A.nd  what  my  youth  has  owed,  repay  their 
age.’ 


She  said.  With  awe  divine  the  Queen 
of  Love 

Obey’d  the  sister  and  the  wife  of  Jove; 

And  from  her  fragrant  breast  the  zone  un- 
braced, 

With  various  skill  and  high  embroid’ry 
graced. 

In  this  was  ev’ry  art,  and  ev’ry  charm, 

To  win  the  wisest,  and  the  coldest  warm : 

Fond  love,  the  gentle  vow,  the  gay  desire, 

The  kind  deceit,  the  still  reviving  fire;  250 

Persuasive  speech,  and  more  persuasive 
sighs, 

Silence  that  spoke,  and  eloquence  of  eyes. 

This  on  her  hand  the  Cyprian  Goddess  laid; 

‘ Take  this,  and  with  it  all  thy  wish,’  she 
said: 

With  smiles  she  took  the  charm;  and  smil- 
ing press’d 

The  powerful  cestus  to  her  snowy  breast. 

Then  Venus  to  the  courts  of  Jove  with- 
drew; 

Whilst  from  Olympus  pleas’d  Saturnia 
flew. 

O’er  high  Pieria  thence  her  course  she  bore, 

O’er  fa?r  Emathia’s  ever-pleasing  shore,  260 

O’er  Hsemus’  hills  with  snows  eternal 


crown’d: 

Nor  once  her  flying  foot  approach’d  the 
ground. 

Then  taking  wing  from  Athos’  lofty  steep, 
She  speeds  to  Lemnos  o’er  the  rolling  1 
deep,  r 

And  seeks  the  cave  of  Death’s  half- 
brother,  Sleep.  J 

* Sweet  pleasing  Sleep  ! ’ (Saturnia  thus 


< Who  spread’st  thy  empire  o’er  each  God 
and  man; 

If  e’er  obsequious  to  thy  J uno’s  will, 

O Power  of  Slumbers  ! hear,  and  favour  still. 

Shed  thy  soft  dews  on  Jove’s  immortal 
eyes,  27° 

While  sunk  in  love’s  entrancing  joys  he 
lies. 

A splendid  footstool,  and  a throne,  that 
shine 

With  gold  unfading,  Somnus,  shall  be  thine; 

The  work  of  Vulcan,  to  indulge  thy  ease, 

When  wine  and  feasts  thy  golden  humours 
please.’ 

* Imperial  Dame  * (the  balmy  Power  re- 
plies), 

‘ Great  Saturn’s  heir,  and  Empress  of  the 
Skies  ! 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


4i6  TRANSLATION! 

3 FROM  HOMER 

O’er  other  Gods  I spread  my  easy  chain;') 
The  sire  of  all,  old  Ocean,  owns  my  reign,  1 
And  his  hush’d  waves  lie  silent  on  the*  f 
main.  2goJ 

Gut  how,  unbidden,  shall  I dare  to  steep 
Jove’s  awful  temples  in  the  dew  of  sleep  ? 
Long  since,  too  venturous,  at  thy  bold  com- 
mand, 

On  those  eternal  lids  I laid  my  hand; 

What  time,  deserting  Ilion’s  wasted  plain, 
His  conquering  son,  Alcides,  plough’d  the 
main : 

When  lo  ! the  deeps  arise,  the  tempests 
roar, 

And  drive  the  hero  to  the  Coan  shore; 

Great  Jove,  awaking,  shook  the  bless’d 
abodes 

With  rising  wrath,  and  tumbled  Gods  on 

290 

Me  chief  he  sought,  and  from  the  realms 
on  high 

Had  hurl’d  indignant  to  the  nether  sky, 

But  gentle  Night,  to  whom  I fled  for  aid 
(The  friend  of  Earth  and  Heav’n),  her 
wings  display’d; 

Empower’d  the  wrath  of  Gods  and  men  to 
tame, 

Ev’n  Jove  revered  the  venerable  dame.’ 
‘Vain  are  thy  fears  ’ (the  Queen  of 
Heav’n  replies, 

And,  speaking,  rolls  her  large  majestic 
eyes); 

‘ Think’st  thou  that  Troy  has  Jove’s  high 
favour  won,  zg9 

Like  great  Alcides,  his  all-conquering  son  ? 
Hear,  and  obey  the  Mistress  of  the  Skies, 
Nor  for  the  deed  expect  a vulgar  prize: 

Eor  know,  thy  lov’d-one  shall  be  ever 
thine, 

The  youngest  Grace,  Pasithae  the  divine.’ 
‘Swear  then’  (he  said)  ‘by  those  tre- 
mendous floods, 

That  roar  thro’  Hell,  and  bind  th’  invoking 
Gods: 

Let  the  great  parent  earth  one  hand  sustain, 
And  stretch  the  other  o’er  the  sacred  main: 
Call  the  black  Titans  that  with  Cronos 
dwell, 

To  hear  and  witness  from  the  depths  of 
^ Hel1; 

That  she,  my  lov’d-one,  shall  be  ever  mine, 
The  youngest  Grace,  Pasithae  the  divine.’ 
The  Queen  assents,  and  from  th’  infernal 
bowers 

Invokes  the  sable  subtartarean  powers, 

And  those  who  rule  th’  inviolable  floods, 
Whom  mortals  name  the  dread  Titaniar 
Gods. 

Then,  swift  as  wind,  o’er  Lemnos’  smok\ 
isle,  J 

They  wing  their  way,  and  Imbrus’  sea- 
beat  soil, 

Thro’  air,  unseen,  involv’d  in  darkness 

. £lide’  31c 

And  light  on  Lectos,  on  the  point  of  Ide 
(Mother  of  savages,  whose  echoing  hills 
Are  heard  resounding  with  a hundred  rills); 
Fair  Ida  trembles  underneath  the  God; 
Hush’d  are  her  mountains,  and  her  forests 
nod. 

There,  on  a fir,  whose  spiry  branches  rise 
To  join  its  summit  to  the  neighb’ring  skies, 
Hark  in  embow’ring  shade,  conceal’d  from 
sight, 

Sat  Sleep,  in  likeness  of  the  bird  of  night 
(Chalcis  his  name  with  those  of  heav’nlv 
birth, 

But  called  Cymindis  by  the  race  of  earth). 

To  Ida’s  top  successful  Juno  flies;  33i 

Great  Jove  surveys  her  with  desiring  eyes: 
The  God,  whose  lightning  sets  the  Heav’ns 
on  fire, 

Thro  all  his  bosom  feels  the  fierce  desire; 
Fierce  as  when  first  by  stealth  he  seiz’d  her 
charms, 

Mix’d  with  her  soul,  and  melted  in  her 
arms. 

Fix’d  on  her  eyes  he  fed  his  eager  look, 
Then  press’d  her  hand,  and  then  with  trans- 
port spoke : 

‘ Why  comes  my  Goddess  from  th’  ethereal 
sky, 

And  not  her  steeds  and  flaming  chariot 

nigh  ! ’ 34o 

Then  she  — ‘ I haste  to  those  remote 
abodes, 

Where  the  great  parents  of  the  deathless 
Gods, 

The  rev’rend  Ocean  and  great  Tethys, 
reign, 

On  the  last  limits  of  the  land  and  main. 

I visit  these,  to  whose  indulgent  cares 

I owe  the  nursing  of  my  tender  years. 

For  strife,  I hear,  has  made  that  union 
cease, 

Which  held  so  long  this  ancient  pair  in 

peace. 

The  steeds,  prepared  my  chariot  to  convey 
O’er  earth  and  seas,  and  thro’  th’  aerial 
way>  350 

THE  ILIAD 


417 


Vait  under  Ide:  of  thy  superior  power 
[\>  ask  consent,  I leave  th’  Olympian 
bower; 

lor  seek,  unknown  to  thee,  the  sacred  cells 
Jeep  under  seas,  where  hoary  Ocean 
dwells.’ 

‘For  that’  (said  Jove)  ‘suffice  another 
day; 

>ut  eager  love  denies  the  least  delay. 

»et  softer  cares  the  present  hour  employ, 
ind  be  these  moments  sacred  all  to  joy. 
le’er  did  my  soul  so  strong  a passion 
prove, 

>r  for  an  earthly,  or  a heav’nly  love ; 360 

lot  when  I press’d  Ixion’s  matchless  dame, 
Thence  rose  Pirithous,  like  the  Gods  in 
fame. 

Tot  when  fair  Danae  felt  the  shower  of 
gold 

tream  into  life,  whence  Perseus  brave  and 
bold. 

(lot  thus  I burn’d  for  either  Theban  dame 
Bacchus  from  this,  from  that  Alcides 
( came), 

Tot  PhcBiiix’  daughter,  beautiful  and 
young, 

Alienee  Godlike  Rhadamanth  and  Minos 
sprung; 

ot  thus  I burn’d  for  fair  Latona’s  face, 
for  comelier  Ceres’  more  majestic  grace, 
ot  thus  ev’n  for  thyself  I felt  desire,  371 
s now  my  veins  receive  the  pleasing 
} fire.’ 

He  spoke;  the  Goddess  with  the  charm - 
! ing  eyes 

lows  with  celestial  red,  and  thus  replies: 
its  this  a scene  for  love  ? On  Ida’s  height, 
jxposed  to  mortal  and  immortal  sight; 
sur  joys  profaned  by  each  familiar  eye; 
he  sport  of  Heav’11,  and  fable  of  the  sky  ! 
sow  shall  I e’er  review  the  bless’d  abodes, 
r mix  among  the  Senate  of  the  Gods  ? 380 
, lall  I not  think,  that,  with  disorder’d 
charms, 

11  Heav’n  beholds  me  recent  from  thy 
arms  ? 

rith  skill  divine  has  Vulcan  form’d  thy 
1 bower, 

icred  to  love  and  to  the  genial  hour; 

1 such  thy  will,  to  that  recess  retire, 
nd  secret  there  indulge  thy  soft  desire.’ 
She  ceas’d:  and  smiling  with  superior 
1 love, 

aus  answer’d  mild  the  cloud-compelling 
Jove: 


‘ Not  God  nor  mortal  shall  our  joys  be- 
hold, 

Shaded  with  clouds,  and  circumfused  in 

gold;  39o 

Not  ev’n  the  sun,  who  darts  thro’  Heav’n 
his  rays, 

And  whose  broad  eye  th’  extended  earth 
surveys.’ 

Gazing  he  spoke,  and,  kindling  at  the 
view, 

His  eager  arms  around  the  Goddess  threw. 
Glad  Earth  perceives,  and  from  her  bosom 
pours 

Unbidden  herbs,  and  voluntary  flowers; 
Thick  new-born  violets  a soft  carpet 
spread, 

And  clust’ring  lotos  swell’d  the  rising  bed, 
And  sudden  hyacinths  the  turf  bestrow, 
And  flamy  crocus  made  the  mountain 
glow.  400 

There  golden  clouds  conceal  the  heav’nly 
pair, 

Steep’d  in  soft  joys,  and  circumfused  with 
air; 

Celestial  dews,  descending  o’er  the  ground, 
Perfume  the  mount,  and  breathe  ambrosia 
round. 

At  length  with  Love  and  Sleep’s  soft  power 
oppress’d, 

The  panting  Thund’rer  nods,  and  sinks  to 

rest. 

Now  to  the  navy  borne  on  silent  wings, 
To  Neptune’s  ear  soft  Sleep  his  message 
brings; 

Beside  him  sudden,  unperceiv’d  he  stood, 
And  thus  with  gentle  words  address’d  the 
God:  410 

‘ Now,  Neptune  ! now,  th’  important  hour 
employ, 

To  check  awhile  the  haughty  hopes  of 
Troy: 

While  Jove  yet  rests,  while  yet  my  va- 
pours shed 

The  golden  vision  round  his  sacred  head; 
For  Juno’s  love,  and  Somnus’  pleasing  ties, 
Have  closed  those  awful  and  eternal  eyes.’ 

Thus  having  said,  the  Power  of  Slumber 
flew, 

On  human  lids  to  drop  the  balmy  dew. 
Neptune,  with  zeal  increas’d,  renews  his 
care, 

And  tow’ring  in  the  foremost  ranks  of 
war,  420 

Indignant  thus:  ‘Oh  once  of  martial  fame! 
O Greeks!  if  yet  ye  can  deserve  the  name! 


418 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


This  half-recover’d  day  shall  Troy  obtain  ? 

Shall  Hector  thunder  at  your  ships  again  ? 

Lo,  still  lie  vaunts,  and  threats  the  fleet 
with  fires, 

While  stern  Achilles  in  his  wrath  retires. 

One  hero’s  loss  too  tamely  you  deplore, 

Be  still  yourselves,  and  we  shall  need  no 
more. 

Oh  yet,  if  glory  any  bosom  warms, 

Brace  on  your  firmest  helms,  and  stand  to 
arms:  430 

His  strongest  spear  each  valiant  Grecian 
wield, 

Each  valiant  Grecian  seize  his  broadest 
shield; 

Let  to  the  weak  the  lighter  arms  belong, 

The  pond’rous  targe  be  wielded  by  the 
strong. 

Thus  arm’d,  not  Hector  shall  our  presence 
stay; 

Myself,  ye  Greeks!  myself  will  lead  the 
way.’ 

The  troops  assent;  their  martial  arms 
they  change, 

The  busy  chiefs  their  banded  legions  range. 

The  Kings,  tho’  wounded,  and  oppress’d 
with  pain, 

With  helpful  hands  themselves  assist  the 
train.  44° 

The  strong  and  cumbrous  arms  the  valiant 
wield, 

The  weaker  warrior  takes  a lighter  shield. 

Thus  sheathed  in  shining  brass,  in  bright 
array 

The  legions  march,  and  Neptune  leads  the 
way: 

His  brandish’d  falchion  flames  before  their 
eyes, 

Like  lightning  flashing  thro’  the  frighted 
skies. 

Clad  in  his  might  th’  earth-shaking  Power 
appears; 

Pale  mortals  tremble,  and  confess  their 
fears. 

Troy’s  great  defender  stands  alone  un- 
aw’d, 

Arms  his  proud  host,  and  dares  oppose  a 
God:  45c 

And  lo  ! the  God  and  wondrous  man  ap- 
pear; 

The  sea’s  stern  ruler  there,  and  Hector  here. 

The  roaring  main,  at  her  great  master’s 
call, 

Rose  in  huge  ranks,  and  form’d  a wat’ry 
wall 


Around  the  ships,  seas  hanging  o’er  th 
shores; 

Both  armies  join;  earth  thunders,  ocea 
roars. 

Not  half  so  loud  the  bell’wing  deeps  r< 
sound, 

When  stormy  winds  disclose  the  dark  pr< 
found ; 

Less  loud  the  winds  that  from  th’  iEolia 
hall 

Roar  thro’  the  woods,  and  make  who’ 
forests  fall;  4 

Less  loud  the  woods,  when  flames  in  to 
rents  pour, 

Catch  the  dry  mountain  and  its  shades  d 
vour. 

With  such  a rage  the  meeting  hosts  a; 
driv’n, 

And  such  a clamour  shakes  the  soundir 
Heav’n. 

The  first  bold  jav’lin,  urged  by  Hector 
force, 

Direct  at  Ajax’  bosom  wing’d  its  course;  | 
But  there  no  pass  the  crossing  belts  affor* 
(One  braced  his  shield,  and  one  sustain 
his  sword). 

Then  back  the  disappointed  Trojan  drew. 
And  curs’d  the  lance  that  unavailing  flew:  4 
But  ’scaped  not  Ajax;  his  tempestnoi 
hand 

A pond’rous  stone  up-heaving  from  tl 
sand 

(Where  heaps,  laid  loose  beneath  the  wa 
rior’s  feet, 

Or  serv’d  to  ballast,  or  to  prop  the  fleet), 
Toss’d  round  and  round,  the  missive  ma 
ble  flings; 

On  the  rais’d  shield  the  falling  ruin  rings 
Full  on  his  breast  and  throat  with  force  d 
scends ; 

Nor  deaden’d  there  its  giddy  fury  spends 
But,  whirling  on,  with  many  a fiery  routi 
Smokes  in  the  dust,  and  ploughs  into  tl 
ground.  4 

As  when  the  bolt,  red-hissing  from  above 
Darts  on  the  consecrated  plant  of  Jove, 
The  mountain-oak  in  flaming  ruin  lies, 
Black  from  the  blow,  and  smokes  of  sulph 
rise  : 

Stiff  with  amaze  the  pale  beholders  stanc 
And  own  the  terrors  of  th’  almighty  ham 
So  lies  great  Hector  prostrate  on  t 
shore ; 

His  slacken’d  hand  deserts  the  lance 
bore; 


THE  ILIAD 


419 


His  foll’wing  shield  the  fallen  chief  o’er- 
spread ; 

Beneath  his  helmet  dropp’d  his  fainting 
head;  49o 

His  load  of  armour,  sinking  to  the  ground, 
Clanks  on  the  field:  a dead  and  hollow 
sound. 

Loud  shouts  of  triumph  fill  the  crowded 
plain ; 

Greece  sees,  in  hope,  Troy’s  great  defender 
■ slain: 

All  spring  to  seize  him:  storms  of  arrows 

fly; 

And  thicker  jav’lins  intercept  the  sky. 

In  vain  an  iron  tempest  hisses  round: 

He  lies  protected  and  without  a wound. 
Polydamas,  Agenor  the  divine, 

The  pious  warrior  of  Anchises’  line,  500 
And  each  bold  leader  of  the  Lysian  band. 
With  cov’ring  shields  (a  friendly  circle) 
stand. 

His  mournful  foll’wers,  with  assistant  care, 
The  groaning  hero  to  his  chariot  bear; 

His  foaming  coursers,  swifter  than  the 
wind 

Speed  to  the  town,  and  leave  the  war  be- 
f hind. 

When  now  they  touch’d  the  mead’s 
enamell’d  side, 

Where  gentle  Xanthus  rolls  his  easy  tide, 
[With  wat’ry  drops  the  chief  they  sprinkle 
round, 

Placed  on  the  margin  of  the  flowery 
ground.  510 

jRais’d  on  his  knees,  he  now  ejects  the  gore; 
Now  faints  anew,  low  sinking  on  the  shore: 
By  fits  he  breathes,  half  views  the  fleeting 
skies, 

And  seals  again,  by  fits,  his  swimming 
eyes. 

( Soon  as  the  Greeks  the  chief’s  retreat 
, beheld, 

(With  double  fury  each  invades  the  field. 
Tilean  Ajax  first  his  jav’lin  sped, 

Pierc’d  bv  whose  point  the  son  of  Enops 
bled 

'Satnius  the  brave,  whom  beauteous  Nei's 
(|  bore 

Amidst  her  flocks,  on  Satnio’s  silver 
( shore).  520 

Struck  thro’  the  belly’s  rim,  the  warrior  lies 
j Supine,  and  shades  eternal  veil  his  eyes. 

An  arduous  battle  rose  around  the  dead; 
,By  turns  the  Greeks,  by  turns  the  Trojans, 
bled. 


Fired  with  revenge,  Polydamas  drew 
near, 

And  at  Prothcenor  shook  the  trembling 
spear: 

The  driving  jav’lin  thro’  his  shoulder  thrust, 
He  sinks  to  earth,  and  grasps  the  bloody 
dust. 

‘ Lo  ! thus  ’ (the  Victor  cries)  ‘ we  rule 
the  field, 

And  thus  their  arms  the  race  of  Panthus 
wield:  530 

From  this  unerring  hand  there  flies  no 
dart, 

But  bathes  its  point  within  a Grecian  heart. 
Propp’d  on  that  spear  to  which  thou  ow’st 
thy  fall, 

Go,  guide  thy  darksome  steps  to  Pluto’s 
dreary  hall.’ 

He  said,  and  sorrow  touch’d  each  Argive 
breast; 

The  soul  of  Ajax  burn’d  above  the  rest. 

As  by  his  side  the  groaning  warrior  fell, 

At  the  fierce  foe  he  lanc’d  his  piercing 
steel ; 

The  foe,  reclining,  shunn’d  the  flying  death ; 
But  Fate,  Archilochus,  demands  thy 
breath ; 540 

Thy  lofty  birth  no  succour  could  impart, 
The  wings  of  death  o’ertook  thee  on  the 
dart: 

Swift  to  perform  Heav’n’s  fatal  will  it  fled, 
Full  on  the  juncture  of  the  neck  and  head, 
And  took  the  joint,  and  cut  the  nerves  in 
twain ; 

The  drooping  head  first  tumbled  to  the 
plain: 

So  just  the  stroke,  that  yet  the  body  stood 
Erect,  then  roll’d  along  the  sands  in  blood. 

‘ Here,  proud  Polydamas,  here  turn  thy 
eyes  ! ’ 

The  tow’ring  Ajax  loud-insulting  cries:  550 
‘ Say,  is  this  chief,  extended  on  the  plain, 

A worthy  vengeance  for  Prothcenor  slain  ? 
Mark  well  his  port  ! his  figure  and  his  face 
Nor  speak  him  vulgar,  nor  of  vulgar  race; 
Some  lines,  methinks,  may  make  his  lineage 
known, 

Antenor’s  brother,  or  perhaps  his  son.’ 

He  spake,  and  smil’d  severe,  for  well  he 
knew 

The  bleeding  youth:  Troy  sadden’d  at  the 
view. 

But  furious  Acamas  avenged  his  cause; 

As  Promachus  his  slaughter’d  brother 
draws,  560 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


420 


He  pierc’d  his  heart  — ‘ Such  fate  attends 
you  all, 

Proud  Argives  ! destin’d  by  our  arms  to 
fall. 

Not  Troy  alone,  but  haughty  Greece,  shall 
share 

The  toils,  the  sorrows,  and  the  wounds  of 
war. 

Behold  your  Promachus  deprived  of  breath, 
A victim  owed  to  my  brave  brother’s  death. 
Not  unappeas’d  he  enters  Pluto’s  gate, 

Who  leaves  a brother  to  revenge  his  fate.’ 

Heart-piercing  anguish  struck  the  Gre- 
cian host, 

But  touch’d  the  breast  of  bold  Peneleus 
most:  570 

At  the  proud  boaster  he  directs  his  course; 
The  boaster  flies,  and  shuns  superior  force. 
But  young  Ilioneus  receiv’d  the  spear; 
Ilioneus,  his  father’s  only  care 
(Phorbas  the  rich,  of  all  the  Trojan  train 
Whom  Hermes  lov’d,  and  taught  the  arts 
of  gain) : 

Full  in  his  eye  the  weapon  chanc’d  to  fall, 
And  from  the  fibres  scoop’d  the  rooted  ball, 
Drove  thro’  the  neck,  and  hurl’d  him  to 
the  plain: 

He  lifts  his  miserable  arms  in  vain  ! 580 

Swift  his  broad  falchion  fierce  Peneleus 
spread, 

And  from  the  spouting  shoulders  struck  his 
head; 

To  earth  at  once  the  head  and  helmet  fly: 
The  lance,  yet  sticking  thro’  the  bleeding 

. eye’ 

The  victor  seiz’d;  and  as  aloft  he  shook 
The  gory  visage,  thus  insulting  spoke: 

‘ Trojans  ! your  great  Ilioneus  beheld  ! 
Haste,  to  his  father  let  the  tale  be  told. 

Let  his  high  roofs  resound  with  frantic  woe, 
Such  as  the  house  of  Promachus  must 
know;  590 

Let  doleful  tidings  greet  his  mother’s  ear, 
Such  as  to  Promachus’  sad  spouse  we  bear; 
When  we  victorious  shall  to  Greece  return, 
And  the  pale  matron  in  our  triumphs 
mourn.’ 

Dreadful  he  spoke,  then  toss’d  the  head 
on  high; 

The  Trojans  hear,  they  tremble,  and  they  fly: 
Aghast  they  gaze  around  the  fleet  and  wall, 
And  dread  the  ruin  that  impends  on  all. 

Daughters  of  Jove  ! that  on  Olympus 
shine, 

Ye  all  beholding,  all-recording  Nine  ! 600 


O say,  when  Neptune  made  proud  Iiion 
yield, 

What  Chief,  what  hero,  first  imbrued  the 
field  ? 

Of  all  the  Grecians,  what  immortal  name, 

And  whose  bless’d  trophies,  will  ye  raise  to 
Fame  ? 

Thou  first,  great  Ajax  ! on  th’  ensan- 
guin’d plain 

Laid  Hyrtius,  leader  of  the  Mysian  train. 

Phalces  and  Mermer,  Nestor’s  son  o’er- 
tlirew, 

Bold  Merion,  Morys  and  Hippotion  slew. 

Strong  Periphsetes  and  Prothoon  bled, 

By  Teucer’s  arrows  mingled  with  the 
dead.  610 

Pierc’d  in  the  flank  by  Menelaus’  steel, 

His  people’s  pastor,  Hyperenor  fell; 

Eternal  darkness  wrapp’d  the  warrior 
round, 

And  the  fierce  soul  came  rushing  thro’  the 
wound. 

But  stretch’d  in  heaps  before  Oileus’  son, 

Fall  mighty  numbers,  mighty  numbers 
run, 

Ajax  the  less,  of  all  the  Grecian  race 

Skill’d  in  pursuit,  and  swiftest  in  the  chase. 

BOOK  XV 

THE  FIFTH  BATTLE,  AT  THE  SHIPS;  AND 
THE  ACTS  OF  AJAX 

THE  ARGUMENT 

Jupiter,  awaking,  sees  the  Trojans  repulsed 
from  the  trenches,  Hector  in  a swoon,  and 
Neptune  at  the  head  of  the  Greeks  ; he  is 
highly  incensed  at  the  artifice  of  Juno,  who 
appeases  him  by  her  submissions ; she  is 
then  sent  to  Iris  and  Apollo.  Juno,  repair- 
ing to  the  assembly  of  the  Gods,  attempts 
with  extraordinary  address  to  incense  them 
against  Jupiter ; in  particular  she  touches 
Mars  with  a violent  resentment ; he  is  ready] 
to  take  arms,  but  is  prevented  by  Minerva. 
Iris  and  Apollo  obey  the  orders  of  Jupiter; 
Iris  commands  Neptune  to  leave  the  battle, 
to  which,  after  much  reluctance  and  passion, 
he  consents.  Apollo  reinspires  Hector  with 
vigour,  brings  him  back  to  the  battle,, 
marches  before  him  with  his  aegis,  and  turns 
the  fortune  of  the  fight.  lie  breaks  down  a 
great  part  of  the  Grecian  wall ; the  Trojaii3 
rush  in,  and  attempt  to  fire  the  first  line  of 
the  fleet,  but  are  yet  repelled  by  the  greater 
Ajax  with  a prodigious  slaughter. 


THE  ILIAD 


THE  I 

LI  AD  421 

Now  in  swift  flight  they  pass  the  trench 
profound, 

And  many  a Chief  lay  gasping  on  the  ground ; 
Then  stopp’d  and  panted,  where  the  chariots 
lie; 

/Fear  on  their  cheek,  and  horror  in  their  eye. 
'Meanwhile,  awaken’d  from  his  dream  of 
love, 

On  Ida’s  summit  sat  imperial  Jove; 

Round  the  wide  fields  he  cast  a careful 
view, 

There  saw  the  Trojans  fly,  the  Greeks  pur- 
sue; 5 ? 

These  proud  in  arms,  those  scatter’d  o er 
the  plain; 

And,  midst  the  war,  the  Monarch  of  the 
Main.  10 

Not  far,  great  Hector  on  the  dust  he  spies 
(His  sad  associates  round  with  weeping 
eyes), 

Ejecting  blood,  and  panting  yet  for  breath, 
His  senses  waud’ring  to  the  verge  of  death. 
The  God  beheld  him  with  a pitying  look, 

; And  thus,  incens’d,  to  fraudful  Juno  spoke: 

‘ 0 thou,  still  adverse  to  th’  eternal  will, 
For  ever  studious  in  promoting  ill  ! 

Thy  arts  have  made  the  godlike  Hector 
yield, 

And  driv’11  his  conquering  squadrons  from 
the  field.  . 20 

Canst  thou,  unhappy  in  thy  wiles  ! with- 
stand 

Our  power  immense,  and  brave  th’  almighty 
hand  ? 

Hast  thou  forgot,  when,  bound  and  fix’d  on 
high, 

c From  the  vast  concave  of  the  spangled  sky, 

I hung  thee  trembling  in  a golden  chain; 
And  all  the  raging  Gods  opposed  in  vain  ? 
Headlong  I hurl’d  them  from  th’  Olympian 
hall, 

Stunn’d  in  the  whirl,  and  breathless  with 
the  fall. 

For  godlike  Hercules  these  deeds  were 
done, 

Nor  seem’d  the  vengeance  worthy  such  a 
son ; 30 

When,  by  thy  wiles  induced,  fierce  Boreas 
toss’d 

The  shipwreck’d  hero  on  the  Coan  coast: 
jj  Him  thro’  a thousand  forms  of  death  I bore, 
And  sent  to  Argos,  and  his  native  shore. 

* Hear  this,  remember,  and  our  fury  dread, 

\ Nor  pull  th’  unwilling  vengeance  on  thy 
head; 

Lest  arts  and  blandishments  successless 
prove, 

Thy  soft  deceits,  and  well-dissembled  love. 
The  Thund’rer  spoke  : imperial  J uno 
mourn’d, 

And,  trembling,  these  submissive  words  re- 
turn’d: # 40 

‘ By  ev’ry  oath  that  powers  immortal  ties, 
The  foodful  earth,  and  all  infolding  skies, 

By  thy  black  waves,  tremendous  Styx  ! that 
flow 

Thro’  the  drear  realms  of  gliding  ghosts 
below: 

By  the  dread  honours  of  thy  sacred  head, 

And  that  unbroken  vow,  our  virgin  bed  ! 

Not  bv  my  arts  the  ruler  of  the  main 

Steeps  Troy  in  blood,  and  ranges  round  the 
plain: 

By  his  own  ardour,  his  own  pity,  sway  d 

To  help  his  Greeks;  he  fought,  and  dis- 
obey’d: ? 50 

Else  had  thy  Juno  better  counsels  giv’n, 

And  taught  submission  to  the  Sire  of 
Heav’n.’ 

‘ Thinkst  thou  with  me  ? fair  Empress  of 
the  Skies  ! ’ 

Th’  immortal  Father  with  a smile  replies: 

< Then  soon  the  haughty  Sea-God  shall  obey, 
Nor  dare  to  act,  but  when  we  point  the  way. 

If  truth  inspires  thy  tongue,  proclaim  our 
will 

To  yon  bright  Synod  on  tli’  Olympian  Hill; 
Our  high  decree  let  various  Iris  know, 

And  call  the  God  that  bears  the  silver  bow. 
Let  her  descend,  and  from  th’  embattled 
plain  61 

Command  the  Sea-God  to  his  wat’ry  reign: 
While  Phoebus  hastes  great  Hector  to  pre- 
pare 

To  rise  afresh,  and  once  more  wake  the  war; 
His  lab’ring  bosom  re-inspires  with  breath, 
And  calls  his  senses  from  the  verge  of 
death. 

Greece,  chased  by  Troy  ev’n  to  Achilles’ 
fleet, 

Shall  fall  by  thousands  at  the  hero’s  feet. 
He,  not  untouch’d  with  pity,  to  the  plain 
Shall  send  Patroclus,  but  shall  send  in  vain. 
What  youths  he  slaughters  under  Ilion’s 
walls ! 71 

Ev’n  my  lov’d  son,  divine  Sarpedon,  falls  ! 
Vanquish’d  at  last  by  Hector’s  lance  he 
lies, 

Then,  not  till  then,  shall  great  Achilles 
rise : 

422 


translations  from  homer 


And  lo  ! that  instant,  godlike  Hector  dies. 
From  that  great  hour  the  war’s  whole  for- 
tune turns, 

Fallas  assists,  and  lofty  Ilion  burns. 

ISot  till  that  day  shall  Jove  relax  his  ra^e, 
Nor  one  of  all  the  heav’nly  host  engage 
In  aid  of  Greece.  The  promise  of  a God  80 
I gave,  and  seal’d  it  with  th’  almighty  nod, 
Achilles  glory  to  the  stars  to  raise; 

Such  was  our  word,  and  Fate  the  word 
obeys.’ 

The  trembling  Queen  (th’  almighty 
order  given) 

Swift  from  th’  Idsean  summit  shot  to 
Heav’n. 

As  some  wayfaring  man,  who  wanders 
oer, 

In  thought,  a length  of  lands  he  trod  be- 
fore, 

Sends  forth  his  active  mind  from  place  to 
place, 

Joins  hill  to  dale,  and  measures  space  with 
space : 

So  swift  flew  Juno  to  the  blest  abodes,  90 
If  thought  of  man  can  match  the  speed  of 
Gods. 

There  sat  the  Powers  in  awful  Synod 
placed: 

They  bow’d,  and  made  obeisance  as  she 
pass’d, 

Thro’  all  the  brazen  dome:  with  goblets 
crown’d 

They  hail  her  queen;  the  nectar  streams 
around. 

Fair  Themis  first  presents  the  golden  bowl, 
And  anxious  asks  what  cares  disturb  her 
soul  ? 

To  whom  the  white-arm’d  Goddess  thus 
replies: 

‘Enough  thou  know’st  the  Tyrant  of  the 
Skies; 

Severely  bent  his  purpose  to  fulfil,  xoo 
Unmov  d his  mind,  and  unrestrain’d  his 
will. 

Go  thou,  the  feasts  of  Heav’n  attend  thy 
call ; J 

Bid  the  crown’d  nectar  circle  round  the 
hall ; 

But  Jove  shall  thunder  thro’  th’  ethereal 
dome 

Such  stern  decrees,  such  threaten’d  woes  to 
come, 

As  soon  shall  freeze  mankind  with  dire  sur- 
prise, 

And  damp  th’  eternal  banquets  of  the  skies.’ 


The  Goddess  said,  and  sullen  took  her 
place: 

Blank  horror  sadden’d  each  celestial  face, 
lo  see  the  gath’ring  grudge  in  every 
Dr6Rstj 

“ on  her  lips  a spleenful  joy  express’d. 
While  on  her  wrinkled  front,  and  eyebrow 
bent, 

Sat  steadfast  care,  and  low’ring  discon- 
tent. 

Thus  she  proceeds:  ‘ Attend,  ye  Powers 
above! 

But  know,  ’t  is  madness  to  contest  with 
Jove: 

Supreme  he  sits;  and  sees,  in  pride  of 
sway, 

Tour  vassal  Godheads  grudgingly  obey; 
Fierce  in  the  majesty  of  power  controls, 
Shakes  all  the  thrones  of  Heav’n,  and  bends 
the  poles. 

Submiss,  immortals!  all  he  wills,  obey;  120 
And  thou,  great  Mars,  begin  and  show  the 
way. 

Behold  Ascalaphus!  behold  him  die, 

But  dare  not  murmur,  dare  not  vent  a sigh; 
Thy  own  lov’d  boasted  offspring  lies  o’er- 
tlirown, 

If  that  lov’d  boasted  offspring  be  thy  own.’ 

Stern  Mars,  with  anguish  for  his  slaugh- 
ter’d son, 

Smote  his  rebelling  breast,  and  fierce  be- 
gun: 

‘Thus  then,  Immortals!  thus  shall  Mars 
obey  ? 

Forgive  me,  Gods,  and  yield  my  vengeance 
way: 

Descending  first  to  yon  forbidden  plain,  130 
The  God  of  Battles  dares  avenge  the  slain; 
Dares,  tho  the  thunder  bursting  o’er  my 
head 

Should  hurl  me  blazing  on  those  heaps  of 
dead.’ 

With  that,  he  gives  command  to  Fear 
and  Flight 

To  join  his  rapid  coursers  for  the  fight: 

I hen  grim  in  arms,  with  hasty  vengeance 
flies; 

Arms,  that  reflect  a radiance  thro’  the 
skies. 

And  now  had  Jove,  by  bold  rebellion  driv’n, 
Discharged  his  wrath  on  half  the  host  of 
Heav’n;  I39 

But  Pallas  springing  thro’  the  bright  abode, 
Starts  from  her  azure  throne  to  calm  the 
God. 


THE  ILIAD 


423 


Struck  for  th’  immortal  race  with  timely 
fear, 

From  frantic  Mars  she  snatch’d  the  shield 
and  spear; 

Then  the  huge  helmet  lifting  from  his 
head, 

Thus  to  th’  impetuous  homicide  she  said: 

‘By  what  wild  passion,  furious!  art  thou 
toss’d  ? 

Strivest  thou  with  Jove?  thou  art  already 
lost. 

Shall  not  the  Thund’rer’s  dread  command 
restrain, 

And  was  imperial  Juno  heard  in  vain  ? 

Back  to  the  skies  would’st  thou  with  shame 
be  driv’n,  J50 

And  in  thy  guilt  involve  the  host  of  Heav’n? 

Iliou  and  Greece  no  more  shall  Jove  eii~ 
gage ; 

The  skies  would  yield  an  ampler  scene  of 


rage, 

Guilty  and  guiltless  find  an  equal  fate, 

And  one  vast  ruin  whelm  th’  Olympian 
state. 

Cease  then  thy  offspring’s  death  unjust  to 
call; 

Heroes  as  great  have  died,  and  yet  shall 

fan.  , v , 

Why  should  Heav’n’s  law  with  foolish  man 
comply,  . 5 

Exempted  from  the  race  ordain’d  to  die  ? 
This  menace  fix’d  the  warrior  to  his 
throne;  160 

Sullen  he  sat,  and  curb’d  the  rising  groan. 
Then  Juno  call’d  (Jove’s  orders  to  obey) 
The  winged  Iris,  and  the  God  of  Day. 

‘ Go  wait  the  Thund’rer’s  will  ’ (Saturma 


cried), 

‘ On  yon  tall  summit  of  the  fountful  Ide: 

There  in  the  Father’s  awful  presence  stand, 

Receive  and  execute  his  dread  command. 

She  said,  and  sat.  The  God  that  gilds 
the  day, 

And  various  Iris,  wing  their  airy  way. 

Swift  as  the  wind,  to  Ida’s  hills  they  came 

(Fair  nurse  of  fountains,  and  of  savage 
game);  *7* 

There  sat  th’  Eternal;  he  whose  nod  con- 
trols 

The  trembling  world,  and  shakes  the  steady 
poles. 

Veil’d  in  a mist  of  fragrance  him  they 


found, 

With  clouds  of  gold  and  purple  circled 
round. 


Well-pleas’d  the  Thund’rer  saw  their  ear- 
nest care, 

And  prompt  obedience  to  the  Queen  of 

Then  (while  a smile  serenes  his  awful  brow) 
Commands  the  Goddess  of  the  Showery 
Bow:  . 

‘ Iris!  descend,  and  what  we  here  ordain 
Report  to  yon  mad  tyrant  of  the  main,  181 
Bid  him  from  fight  to  his  own  deeps  repair, 
Or  breathe  from  slaughter  in  the  fields  of 
air. 

If  he  refuse,  then  let  him  timely  weigh 
Our  elder  birthright,  and  superior  sway. 
How  shall  his  rashness  stand  the  dire 


alarms, 

If  Heav’n’s  omnipotence  descend  in  arms  ? 
Strives  he  with  me,  by  whom  his  power 
was  giv’n,  ? ? 

And  is  there  equal  to  the  Lord  of  Heav  11  . 

Th’  Almighty  spoke;  the  Goddess  wing’d 
her  flight  19° 

To  sacred  Ilion  from  th’  Idsean  height. 
Swift  as  the  rattling  hail  or  fleecy  snows 
Drive  thro’  the  skies,  when  Boreas  fiercely 
blows; 

So  from  the  clouds  descending  Iris  falls; 
And  to  blue  Neptune  thus  the  Goddess 
calls : 

‘ Attend  the  mandate  of  the  Sire  above, 
In  me  behold  the  Messenger  of  Jove:  _ 

He  bids  thee  from  forbidden  wars  repair 
To  thy  own  deeps,  or  to  the  fields  of  air. 
This  if  refused,  he  bids  thee  timely  weigh 
His  elder  birthright,  and  superior  sway.'  201 
How  shall  thy  rashness  stand  the  dire 


alarms, 

If  Heav’n’s  omnipotence  descend  in  arms  ? 

Strivest  thou  with  him,  by  whom  all  power 
is  giv’n  ? 

And  art  thou  equal  to  the  lord  of  Heav  n . 

‘ What  means  the  haughty  Sov’reign  of 
the  Skies  ? ’ 

(The  King  of  Ocean  thus,  incens’d,  replies) : 

‘ Rule  as  he  will  his  portion’d  realms  on 
high, 

No  vassal  God,  nor  of  his  train,  am  I.  209 

Three  brother  deities  from  Saturn  came, 

And  ancient  Rhea,  earth’s  immortal  dame: 

Assign’d  by  lot,  our  triple  rule  we  know : 

Infernal  Pluto  sways  the  shades  below; 

O’er  the  wide  clouds,  and  o’er  the  starry 
plain, 

Ethereal  Jove  extends  his  high  domain; 

My  court  beneath  the  hoary  waves  I keep, 


424 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


And  hush  the  roarings  of  the  sacred  deep: 

Olympus,  and  this  earth,  in  common  lie; 

What  claim  has  here  the  Tyrant  of  the 

Sky  ? 

Far  in  the  distant  clouds  let  him  control, 

And  awe  the  younger  brothers  of  the  pole; 

There  to  his  children  his  commands  be 

gN’ll,  222 

The  trembling,  servile,  second  race  of 
Heav’n.’ 

‘ And  must  I then  ’ (said  she),  ‘ O Sire  of 
floods! 

Bear  this  fierce  answer  to  the  Kins1  of 
Gods  ? 


Correct  it  yet,  and  change  thy  rash  intent; 
A noble  mind  disdains  not  to  repent. 

To  elder  brothers  guardian  fiends  are  giv’n, 
To  scourge  the  wretch  insulting  them  and 
Heav’n.’ 

‘ Great  is  the  profit  ’ (thus  the  God  re- 

join’d.)’  23° 

When  ministers  are  bless’d  with  prudent 
mind : 

Warn’d  by  thy  words,  to  powerful  Jove  I 
yield, 

And  quit,  tho’  angry,  the  contended  field. 
Not  but  his  threats  with  justice  I disclaim, 
The  same  our  honours,  and  our  birth  the 
same. 


If  yet,  forgetful  of  his  promise  giv’n 

To  Hermes,  Pallas,  and  the  queen  of 
Heav’n, 

To  favour  Ilion,  that  perfidious  place, 

He  breaks  his  faith  with  half  th’  ethereal 
race;  239 

Give  him  to  know,  unless  the  Grecian  train 

Lay  yon  proud  structures  level  with  the 
plain, 

Howe’er  th’  offence  by  other  Gods  be 
pass’d, 

The  wrath  of  Neptune  shall  for  ever  last.’ 

Thus  speaking,  furious  from  the  field  he 
strode, 

And  plunged  into  the  bosom  of  the  flood. 

The  Lord  of  Thunders  from  his  lofty 
height 

Beheld,  and  thus  bespoke  the  source  of 
light: 

‘Behold!  the  God  whose  liquid  arms  are 
hurl’d  1 


Around  the  globe,  whose  earthquakes  rock 
the  world, 

Desists  at  length  his  rebel-war  to  wage,  250 
Seeks  his  own  seas,  and  trembles  at  our 
rage : 


Else  had  my  wrath,  Heav’n’s  thrones  all 
shaking  round, 

Burn’d  to  the  bottom  of  his  seas  profound- 
And  all  the  Gods  that  round  old  Saturn 
dwell, 

Had  heard  the  thunders  to  the  deeps  of 
Hell. 

Well  was  the  crime,  and  well  the  ven- 
geance spared, 

Ev’n  power  immense  had  found  such  battle 
hard. 

Go  thou,  my  son!  the  trembling  Greeks 
alarm, 

Shake  my  broad  aegis  on  thy  active  arm: 

Be  godlike  Hector  thy  peculiar  care,  260 
Swell  his  bold  heart,  and  urge  his  strength 
to  war: 

Let  Ilion  conquer,  till  the  Aehaian  train 
I ly  to  their  ships  and  Hellespont  again : 
Then  Greece  shall  breathe  from  toils.’  The 
Godhead  said; 

His  will  divine  the  Son  of  Jove  obey’d. 

Not  half  so  swift  the  sailing  falcon  flies, 
That  drives  a turtle  thro’  the  liquid  skies; 
As  Phoebus,  shooting  from  th’  Idaean  brow, 
Glides  down  the  mountain  to  the  plain 
below. 

There  Hector  seated  by  the  stream  he 
sees,  27Q 

His  sense  returning  with  the  coming  breeze; 
Again  his  pulses  beat,  his  spirits  rise; 

Again  his  lov’d  companions  meet  his  eyes; 
Jove  thinking  of  his  pains,  they  pass’d 
away. 

To  whom  the  God  who  gives  the  golden  day: 

‘ Why  sits  great  Hector  from  the  field 
so  far, 

What  grief,  what  wound,  withholds  him 
from  the  war  ? ’ 

The  fainting  hero,  as  the  vision  bright 
Stood  shining  o’er  him,  half  unseal’d  his 
sight  : 

‘ What  bless’d  immortal,  with  commanding 
breath,  2go 

Thus  wakens  Hector  from  the  sleep  of 
death  ? 

Has  fame  not  told,  how,  while  my  trusty 
sword 

Bathed  Greece  in  slaughter,  and  her  battle 
gored, 

The  mighty  Ajax  with  a deadly  blow 
Had  almost  sunk  me  to  the  shades  below  ? 
Ev’n  yet,  methinks,  the  gliding  ghosts  I spy, 
And  Hell’s  black  horrors  swim  before  m\ 
eye.’ 


THE  ILIAD 


425 


To  him  Apollo:  ‘ Be  no  more  dismay’d; 
See,  and  be  strong  ! the  Thund’rer  sends 
thee  aid : 

Behold  ! thy  Phoebus  shall  his  arms  em- 
ploy, 290 

Phoebus,  propitious  still  to  thee  and  Troy. 
Inspire  thy  warriors  then  with  manly 
force, 

And  to  the  ships  impel  thy  rapid  horse: 
Ev’n  I will  make  thy  fiery  coursers’  way, 
And  drive  the  Grecians  headlong  to  the 
sea.’ 

Thus  to  bold  Hector  spoke  the  Son  of 
Jove, 

And  breathed  immortal  ardour  from  above. 
As  when  the  pamper’d  steed,  with  reins 
unbound, 

Breaks  from  his  stall,  and  pours  along  the 
ground; 

With  ample  strokes  he  rushes  to  the 
flood,  200 

To  bathe  his  sides  and  cool  his  fiery  blood: 
His  head,  now  freed,  he  tosses  to  the  skies: 
His  mane  dishevell’d  o’er  his  shoulders 
flies: 

He  snuffs  the  females  in  the  well-known 
plain, 

And  springs,  exulting,  to  his  fields  again: 
Urged  by  the  voice  divine,  thus  Hector 
flew, 

Full  of  the  God;  and  all  his  hosts  pursue. 
As  when  the  force  of  men  and  dogs  com- 
bin’d 

Invade  the  mountain  - goat  or  branching 
hind ; 

Far  from  the  hunter’s  rage  secure  they 

U®  3IO 

Close  in  the  rock  (not  fated  yet  to  die); 
When  lo  ! a lion  shoots  across  the  way  1 
They  fly:  at  once  the  chasers  and  the  prey: 
So  Greece,  that  late  in  conquering  troops 
pursued, 

And  mark’d  their  progress  thro’  the  ranks 
in  blood, 

Soon  as  they  see  the  furious  Chief  appear, 
Forget  to  vanquish,  and  consent  to  fear. 

Thoas  with  grief  observ’d  his  dreadful 
course, 

Thoas,  the  bravest  of  th’  iEtolian  force;  319 
Skill’d  to  direct  the  jav’lin’s  distant  flight, 
And  bold  to  combat  in  the  standing  fight; 
Nor  more  in  counsels  famed  for  solid 
sense, 

Than  winning  words  and  heav’nly  elo- 
quence. 


‘Gods!  what  portent’  (he  cried)  ‘these 
eyes  invades  ? 

Lo,  Hector  rises  from  the  Stygian  shades  ! 

We  saw  him,  late,  by  Thund’ring  Ajax 
kill’d; 

What  God  restores  him  to  the  frighted 
field; 

And  not  content  that  half  of  Greece  lie 
slain, 

Pours  new  destruction  on  her  sons  again  ? 

He  comes  not,  Jove  ! without  thy  powerful 
will;  . 330 

Lo  ! still  he  lives,  pursues,  and  conquers 
still  ! 

Yet  hear  my  counsel,  and  his  worst  with- 
stand; 

The  Greek’s  main  body  to  the  fleet  com- 
mand : 

But  let  the  few  whom  brisker  spirits  warm, 

Stand  the  first  onset,  and  provoke  the 
storm : 

Thus  point  your  arms;  and  when  such  foes 
appear, 

Fierce  as  he  is,  let  Hector  learn  to  fear.’ 

The  warrior  spoke,  the  list’ning  Greeks 
obey, 

Thick’ning  their  ranks,  and  form  a deep 
array. 

Each  Ajax,  Teucer,  Merion  gave  com- 
mand, 34o 

The  valiant  leader  of  the  Cretan  band, 

And  Mars-like  Meges:  these  the  Chiefs 
excite, 

Approach  the  foe,  and  meet  the  coming 
fight. 

Behind,  unnumber’d  multitudes  attend 

To  flank  the  navy,  and  the  shores  defend. 

Full  on  the  front  the  pressing  Trojans 
bear, 

And  Hector  first  came  tow’ring  to  the  war. 

Phoebus  himself  the  rushing  battle  led; 

A veil  of  clouds  involv’d  his  radiant  head: 

High-held  before  him,  Jove’s  enormous 
shield  35o 

Portentous  shone,  and  shaded  all  the  field: 

Vulcan  to  Jove  th’  immortal  gift  con- 
sign’d, 

To  scatter  hosts,  and  terrify  mankind. 

The  Greeks  expect  the  shock;  the  clam- 
ours rise 

From  diff’rent  parts,  and  mingle  in  the 
skies. 

Dire  was  the  hiss  of  darts,  by  heroes  flung, 

And  arrows  leaping  from  the  bow-string 
sung; 


426 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


These  drink  the  life  of  gen’rous  warriors 
slain; 

Those  guiltless  fall,  and  thirst  for  blood  in 
vain. 

As  long  as  Phoebus  bore  unmov’d  the 
shield,  360 

Sat  doubtful  Conquest  hov’ringon  the  field; 
But  when  aloft  he  shakes  it  in  the  skies, 
Shouts  in  their  ears,  and  lightens  in  their 
eyes, 

Deep  horror  seizes  ev’ry  Grecian  breast, 
Their  force  is  humbled,  and  their  fear  con- 
fess’d. 

So  flies  a herd  of  oxen,  scatter’d  wide, 

No  swain  to  guard  them,  and  no  day  to 
guide, 

When  two  fell  lions  from  the  mountain 
come, 

And  spread  the  carnage  thro’  the  shady 
gloom. 

Impending  Phoebus  pours  around  them 
fear,  37° 

And  Troy  and  Hector  thunder  in  the  rear. 
Heaps  fall  on  heaps:  the  slaughter  Hector 
leads; 

First,  great  Arcesilas,  then  Stichius  bleeds; 
One  to  the  bold  Boeotians  ever  dear, 

And  one  Menestheus’  friend,  and  famed 
compeer. 

Medon  and  Iasus,  iEneas  sped; 

This  sprung  from  Phelns,  and  th’  Athe- 
nians led; 

But  hapless  Medon  from  Oileus  came; 

Him  Ajax  honour’d  with  a brother’s  name, 
Tho’  born  of  lawless  love:  from  home  ex- 
pell’d,  380 

A banish’d  man,  in  Phylace  he  dwell’d, 
Press’d  by  the  vengeance  of  an  angry  wife ; 
Troy  ends,  at  last,  his  labours  and  his  life. 
Mecystes  next,  Polydamas  o’erthrew; 

And  thee,  brave  Clonius  ! great  Agenor 
slew. 

By  Paris,  Deiochus  inglorious  dies, 

Pierc’d  thro’  the  shoulder  as  he  basely 
flies. 

Polites’  arm  laid  Echius  on  the  plain; 
Stretch’d  on  one  heap,  the  victors  spoil  the 
slain. 

The  Greeks  dismay’d,  confused,  disperse 
or  fall,  390 

Some  seek  the  trench,  some  skulk  behind 
the  wall; 

While  these  fly  trembling,  others  pant  for 
breath. 

And  o’er  the  slaughter  stalks  gigantic  death. 


On  rush’d  bold  Hector,  gloomy  as  the 
night, 

Forbids  to  plunder,  animates  the  fight- 
Points  to  the  fleet:  ‘ For,  by  the  Gods,  who 
flies, 

Who  dares  but  linger,  by  this  hand  he 
dies; 

No  weeping  sister  his  cold  eye  shall  close, 
No  friendly  hand  his  funeral  pyre  compose. 
Who  stops  to  plunder  at  this  signal 
hour,  400 

The  birds  shall  tear  him,  and  the  dogs  de- 
vour.’ 

Furious  he  said;  the  smarting  scourge 
resounds ; 

The  coursers  fly;  the  smoking  chariot 
bounds; 

The  hosts  rush  on;  loud  clamours  shake 
the  shore; 

The  horses  thunder,  earth  and  ocean  roar  ! 
Apollo,  planted  at  the  trench’s  bound, 
Push’d  at  the  bank;  down  sunk  th’  enor- 
mous mound: 

Roll’d  in  the  ditch  the  heapy  ruin  lay; 

A sudden  road  ! a long  and  ample  way. 
O’er  the  dread  fosse  (a  late  impervious 
space)  4ro 

Now  steeds,  and  men,  and  cars  tumultuous 
pass. 

The  w ond ’ring  crowds  the  downward  level 
trod; 

Before  them  flamed  the  shield,  and  march’d 
the  God. 

Then  with  his  hand  he  shook  the  mighty 
wall; 

And  lo  ! the  turrets  nod,  the  bulwarks  fall. 
Easy,  as  when  ashore  an  infant  stands. 

And  draws  imagin’d  houses  in  the  sands ; 
The  sportive  wanton,  pleas’d  with  some 
new  play, 

Sweeps  the  slight  works  and  fashion’d 
domes  away. 

Thus  vanish’d,  at  thy  touch,  the  towers 
and  walls;  42° 

The  toil  of  thousands  in  a moment  falls. 

The  Grecians  gaze  around  with  wild  de- 
spair, 

Confused,  and  weary  all  the  powers  with 
prayer; 

Exhort  their  men,  with  praises,  threats, 
commands; 

And  urge  the  Gods,  with  voices,  eyes,  and 
hands. 

Experienc’d  Nestor  chief  obtests  the  skies, 
And  weeps  his  country  with  a father’s  eyes: 


THE  ILIAD 


‘O  Jove  ! if  ever,  on  his  native  shore, 
3ne  Greek  enrich’d  thy  shrine  with  otter’d 
gore; 

[f  e’er  in  hope  our  country  to  behold,  430 
VVe  paid  the  fatted  firstlings  of  the  fold; 
if  e’er  thou  sign’st  our  wishes  with  thy 
nod; 

Perform  the  promise  of  a gracious  God  ! 
rhis  day  preserve  our  navies  from  the 
flame, 

bid  save  the  reliques  of  the  Grecian  name.’ 

Thus  pray’d  the  sage:  tli’  Eternal  gave 
consent, 

bid  peals  of  Thunder  shook  the  firmament. 
5resumptuous  Troy  mistook  tli’  accepting 
sign, 

bid  catch’d  new  fury  at  the  voice  divine, 
^.s,  when  black  tempests  mix  the  seas  and 
skies,  44o 

Che  roaring  deeps  in  wat’ry  mountains 
rise, 

Lbove  the  sides  of  some  tall  ship  ascend, 
ts  womb  they  deluge,  and  its  ribs  they 
rend : 

lius  loudly  roaring,  and  o’erpowering  all, 
lount  the  thick  Trojans  up  the  Grecian 
wall; 

regions  on  legions  from  each  side  arise: 
’hick  sound  the  keels;  the  storm  of  arrows 
flies: 

Cierce  on  the  ships  above,  the  cars  below, 
'hese  wield  the  mace,  and  those  the  jav’lin 
throw. 

While  thus  the  thunder  of  the  battle 
raged,  . 4So 

.nd  lab’ring  armies  rdund  the  works  en- 
gaged ; 

till  in  the  tent  Patroclus  sat,  to  tend 
'he  good  Eurypylus,  his  wounded  friend. 

[e  sprinkles  healing  balms,  to  anguish 
kind, 

nd  adds  discourse,  the  med’cine  of  the 
! mind. 

ut  when  he  saw,  ascending  up  the  fleet, 
ictorious  Troy;  then,  starting  from  his 
seat, 

•1th  bitter  groans  his  sorrows  he  express’d; 
ie  wrings  his  hands,  he  beats  his  manly 
breast. 

fho’  yet  thy  state  require  redress’  (he 
cries),  460 

i depart  I must:  what  horrors  strike  my 
eyes  ! 

(harged  with  Achilles’  high  commands  I go, 
mournful  witness  of  this  scene  of  woe: 


427 


I haste  to  urge  him,  by  his  country’s  care, 
To  rise  in  arms,  and  shine  again  in  war. 
Perhaps  some  fav’ring  God  his  soul  may 
bend : 

The  voice  is  powerful  of  a faithful  friend.’ 

He  spoke;  and,  speaking,  swifter  than 
the  wind 

Sprung  from  the  tent,  and  left  the  war  be- 
hind. 

Th’  embodied  Greeks  the  fierce  attack  sus- 
tain, 47o 

But  strive,  tho’  numerous,  to  repulse  in 
vain : 

Nor  could  the  Trojans,  thro’  that  firm  ar- 
ray, 

Force,  to  the  fleet  and  tents,  th’  impervious 
way. 

As  when  a shipwright,  with  Palladian  art, 
Smooths  the  rough  wood,  and  levels  ev’ry 
part: 

With  equal  hand  he  guides  his  whole  de- 
sign, 

By  the  just  rule,  and  the  directing  line: 

The  martial  leaders,  with  like  skill  and 
care, 

Preserv’d  their  line,  and  equal  kept  the 
war. 

Brave  deeds  of  arms  thro’  all  the  ranks 
were  tried,  4s0 

And  evTy  ship  sustain’d  an  equal  tide. 

At  one  proud  bark,  high-tow’ring  o’er  the 
fleet, 

Ajax  the  great  and  Godlike  Hector  meet: 
For  one  bright  prize  the  matchless  Chiefs 
contend, 

Nor  this  the  ships  can  fire,  nor  that  defend; 
One  kept  the  shore,  and  one  the  vessel 
trod; 

That  fix’d  as  fate,  this  acted  by  a God. 

The  son  of  Clytius  in  his  daring  hand. 

The  deck  approaching,  shakes  a flaming 
brand ; 

But  pierc’d  by  Telamon’s  huge  lance  ex- 
pires; 4go 

Thund’ring  he  falls,  and  drops  th’  extin- 
guish’d fires. 

Great  Hector  view’d  him  with  a sad  sur- 
vey, 

As  stretch’d  in  dust  before  the  stern  he 
lay. 

‘ Oh  ! all  of  Trojan,  all  of  Lycian  race  ! 
Stand  to  your  arms,  maintain  this  arduous 
space. 

Lo  ! where  the  son  of  royal  Clytius  lies, 

Ah,  save  his  arms,  secure  his  obsequies  ! ’ 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


428 


This  said,  his  eager  jav’lin  sought  the 
foe: 

But  Ajax  shunn’d  the  meditated  blow. 

Not  vainly  yet  the  forceful  lance  was 
thrown;  50° 

It  stretch’d  in  dust  unhappy  Lycophron: 

An  exile  long,  sustain’d  at  Ajax’  board, 

A faithful  servant  to  a foreign  lord ; 

In  peace,  in  war,  for  ever  at  his  side, 

Near  his  lov’d  master,  as  he  liv’d,  he  died. 
From  the  high  poop  he  tumbles  on  the 
sand, 

And  lies,  a lifeless  load,  along  the  land. 
With  anguish  Ajax  views  the  piercing 
sight, 

And  thus  inflames  his  brother  to  the  fight: 

‘ Teucer,  behold  ! extended  on  the 
shore,  5 10 

Our  friend,  our  lov’d  companion  ! now  no 
more! 

Dear  as  a parent,  with  a parent’s  care 
To  fight  our  wars,  he  left  his  native  air. 
This  death  deplor’d  to  Hector’s  rage  we 
owe; 

Revenge,  revenge  it  on  the  cruel  foe  ! 
Where  are  those  darts  on  which  the  fates 
attend  ? 

And  where  the  bow  which  Phcebus  taught 
to  bend  ? ’ 

Impatient  Teucer,  hast’ning  to  his  aid, 
Before  the  Chief  his  ample  bow  display’d; 
The  well-stored  quiver  on  his  shoulders 
hung:  520 

Then  hiss’d  his  arrow,  and  the  bow-string 
sung. 

Clytus,  Pisenor’s  son,  renown’d  in  fame 
(To  thee,  Polydamas  ! an  honour’d  name), 
Drove  thro’  the  thickest  of  th’  embattled 
plains 

The  startling  steeds,  and  shook  his  eager 
reins. 

As  all  on  glory  ran  his  ardent  mind, 

The  pointed  death  arrests  him  from  be- 
hind: 

Thro’  his  fair  neck  the  thrilling  arrow'  flies; 
In  youth’s  first  bloom  reluctantly  he  dies. 
Hurl’d  from  the  lofty  seat,  at  distance 
far,  530 

The  headlong  coursers  spurn  his  empty  car; 
Till  sad  Polydamas  the  steeds  restrain’d, 
And  gave,  Astynous,  to  thy  careful  hand; 
Then,  fired  to  vengeance,  rush’d  amidst  the 
foe; 

Rage  edg’d  his  sword,  and  strengthen’d 
ev’ry  blow. 


Once  more  bold  Teucer,  in  his  country’s 
cause, 

At  Hector’s  breast  a chosen  arrow  draws: 
And  had  the  weapon  found  the  destin’d 
way, 

Thy  fall,  great  Trojan  ! had  renown’d  that 
day. 

But  Hector  was  not  doom’d  to  perish 
then:  540 

Th’  all-wise  disposer  of  the  fates  of  men 
(Imperial  Jove)  his  present  death  with- 
stands; 

Nor  was  such  glory  due  to  Teucer’s  hands, 
At  his  full  stretch  as  the  tough  string  he 
drew, 

Struck  by  an  arm  unseen,  it  burst  in  two: 
Down  dropp’d  the  bow:  the  shaft  with 
brazen  head 

Fell  innocent,  and  on  the  dust  lay  dead. 

Th’  astonish’d  archer  to  great  Ajax  cries: 
‘ Some  God  prevents  our  destin’d  enter- 
prise: 

Some  God  propitious  to  the  Trojan  foe,  55c 
Has,  from  my  arm  unfailing,  struck  the 
bow, 

And  broke  the  nerve  my  hands  had  twined 
with  art, 

Strong  to  impel  the  flight  of  many  a dart.’ 

‘ Since  Heav’n  commands  it  ’ (Ajax  mad< 
reply), 

‘ Dismiss  the  bow,  and  lay  thy  arrows  by: 
Thy  arms  no  less  suffice  the  lance  to  wield 
And  quit  the  quiver  for  the  pond’rou: 
shield. 

In  the  first  ranks  indulge  thy  thirst  of  fame 
Thy  brave  example  shall  the  rest  inflame. 
Fierce  as  they  are,  by  long  successe: 

vain,  s6 

To  force  our  fleet,  or  ev’n  a ship  to  gain, 
Asks  toil,  and  sweat,  and  blood:  their  ut 
most  might 

Shall  find  its  match  — No  more;  ’t is  our 
to  fight.’ 

Then  Teucer  laid  his  faithless  bow  aside 
The  fourfold  buckler  o’er  his  shoulder  tied 
On  his  brave  head  a crested  helm  li 
placed, 

With  nodding  horsehair  formidably  graced 
A dart,  whose  point  with  brass  refulgen 
shines, 

The  warrior  wields;  and  his  great  brotho 
joins. 

This  Hector  saw,  and  thus  express’d  h 


]°y; 


Ye  troops  of  Lycia,  Dardanus,  and  Troy 


THE  ILIAD 


Be  mindful  of  yourselves,  your  ancient 
fame, 

And  spread  your  glory  with  the  navy’s 
flame. 

Jove  is  with  us;  I saw  his  hand,  but  now, 
From  the  proud  archer  strike  his  vaunted 
bow. 

Indulgent  Jove  ! how  plain  thy  favours 
shine, 

When  happy  nations  bear  the  marks  di- 
vine ! 

How  easy  then  to  see  the  sinking  state 
Of  realms  accurs’d,  deserted,  reprobate  ! 
Such  is  the  fate  of  Greece,  and  such  is 
ours:  580 

Behold,  ye  warriors,  and  exert  your  powers. 
Death  is  the  worst;  a fate  which  all  must 

fry; 

And  for  our  country ’t  is  a bliss  to  die. 

The  gallant  man,  tho’  slain  in  fight  he  be, 
Yet  leaves  his  nation  safe,  his  children  free; 
Entails  a debt  on  all  the  grateful  state; 

His  own  brave  friends  shall  glory  in  his  fate; 
His  wife  live  honour’d,  all  his  race  succeed, 
And  late  posterity  enjoy  the  deed  ! ’ 

This  rous’d  the  soul  in  ev’ry  Trojan 
breast.  590 

The  godlike  Ajax  next  his  Greeks  ad- 
dress’d: 

‘ How  long,  ye  warriors  of  the  Argive  race, 

' (To  gen’rous  Argos  what  a dire  disgrace  !) 
How  long  on  these  curs’d  confines  will  ye 
lie, 

Yet  undetermin’d,  or  to  live,  or  die  ? 

What  hopes  remain,  what  methods  to  re- 
tire, 

If  once  your  vessels  catch  the  Trojan  fire  ? 
Mark  how  the  flames  approach,  how  near 
they  fall, 

How  Hector  calls,  and  Troy  obeys  his 
call  ! 

Not  to  the  dance  that  dreadful  voice  in- 
vites; 600 

It  calls  to  death,  and  all  the  rage  of 
[ fights. 

’T is  now  no  time  for  wisdom  or  debates; 
To  your  own  hands  are  trusted  all  your 
fates: 

And  better  far,  in  one  decisive  strife, 

One  day  should  end  our  labour,  or  our 
life, 

I Than  keep  this  hard-got  inch  of  barren 
sands, 

Still  press’d,  and  press’d  by  such  inglori- 
ous hands.’ 


429 


The  list’ning  Grecians  feel  their  leader’s 
flame, 

And  ev’ry  kindling  bosom  pants  for  fame. 
Then  mutual  slaughters  spread  on  either 
side ; 610 

By  Hector  here  the  Phocian  Schedius 
died; 

There,  pierc’d  by  Ajax,  sank  Laodamas, 
Chief  of  the  foot,  of  old  Antenor’s  race. 
Polydamas  laid  Otus  on  the  sand, 

The  fierce  commander  of  th’  Epeian  band. 
His  lance  bold  Meges  at  the  victor  threw; 
The  victor  stooping,  from  the  death  with- 
drew 

(That  valued  life,  O Phoebus  ! was  thy 
care), 

But  Crcesmus’  bosom  took  the  flying  spear: 
His  corpse  fell  bleeding  on  the  slipp’ry 
shore : 620 

His  radiant  arms  triumphant  Meges  bore. 
Dolops,  the  son  of  Lampus,  rushes  on, 
Sprung  from  the  race  of  old  Laomedon, 
And  famed  for  prowess  in  a well-fought 
field; 

He  pierc’d  the  centre  of  his  sounding 
shield: 

But  Meges  Phyleus’  ample  breast-plate 
wore 

(Well  known  in  fight  on  Selles’  winding 
shore: 

For  King  Euphetes  gave  the  golden  mail, 
Compact,  and  firm  with  many  a jointed 
scale), 

Which  oft,  in  cities  storm’d,  and  battles 
won,  630 

Had  saved  the  father,  and  now  saves  the 
son. 

Full  at  the  Trojan’s  head  he  urged  his 
lance, 

Where  the  high  plumes  above  the  helmet 
dance, 

New-tinged  with  Tyrian  dye:  in  dust  be- 
low, 

Shorn  from  the  crest,  the  purple  honours 
glow; 

Meantime  their  fight  the  Spartan  King 
survey’d, 

And  stood  by  Meges’  side,  a sudden  aid, 
Thro’  Dolops’  shoulder  urged  his  forceful 
dart, 

Which  held  its  passage  thro’  the  panting 
heart, 

And  issued  at  his  breast.  With  thund’ring 
sound  640 

The  warrior  falls  extended  on  the  ground. 


430  TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


In  rush  the  conquering  Greeks  to  spoil  the 
slain ; 

But  Hector’s  voice  excites  his  kindred 
train ; 

The  hero  most  from  Hicetaon  sprung, 
Fierce  Melanippus,  gallant,  brave,  and 
young. 

He  (e’er  to  Troy  the  Grecians  cross’d  the 
main) 

Fed  his  large  oxen  on  Percote’s  plain; 

But  when  oppress’d,  his  country  claim’d 
his  care, 

Return’d  to  Ilion,  and  excell’d  in  war:  649 
For  this  in  Priam’s  court  he  held  his  place, 
Belov’d  no  less  than  Priam’s  royal  race. 
Him  Hector  singled,  as  his  troops  he  led, 
And  thus  inflamed  him,  pointing  to  the  dead: 

‘ Lo,  Melanippus  ! lo  where  Dolops  lies; 
And  is  it  thus  our  royal  kinsman  dies  ? 
O’ermatch’d  he  falls;  to  two  at  once  a prey, 
And  lo,  they  bear  the  bloody  arms  away  ! 
Come  on  — a distant  war  no  longer  wage, 
But  hand  to  hand  thy  country’s  foes  en- 
gage: 659 

Till  Greece  at  once,  and  all  her  glory,  end; 
Or  Ilion  from  her  tow’ry  height  descend, 
Heav’d  from  the  lowest  stone;  and  bury  all 
In  one  sad  sepulchre,  one  common  fall.’ 

Hector  (this  said)  rush’d  forward  on  the 
foes: 

With  equal  ardour  Melanippus  glows: 

Then  Ajax  thus:  ‘ O Greeks  ! respect  your 
fame, 

Respect  yourselves,  and  learn  an  honest 
shame: 

Let  mutual  rev’rence  mutual  warmth  in- 
spire, 

And  catch  from  breast  to  breast  the  noble 
fire. 

On  valour’s  side  the  odds  of  combat  lie,  670 
The  brave  live  glorious,  or  lamented  die; 
The  wretch  that  trembles  in  the  Field  of 
Fame, 

Meets  death,  and  worse  than  death,  eternal 
shame.’ 

His  gen’rous  sense  he  not  in  vain  im- 
parts ; 

It  sunk,  and  rooted  in  the  Grecian  hearts. 
They  join,  they  throng,  they  thicken  at  his 
call, 

And  flank  the  navy  with  a brazen  wall; 
Shields  touching  shields,  in  order  blaze 
above, 

And  stop  the  Trojans,  tho’  impell’d  by 
Jove.  679 


The  fiery  Spartan  first,  with  loud  applause, 
Warms  the  bold  son  of  Nestor  in  his  cause. 
‘ Is  there  ’ (he  said)  ‘ in  arms  a youth  like 
you, 

So  strong  to  fight,  so  active  to  pursue  ? 
Why  stand  you  distant,  nor  attempt  a 
deed  ? 

Lift  the  bold  lance,  and  make  some  Trojan 
bleed.’ 

He  said,  and  backwards  to  the  lines  re- 
tired; 

Forth  rush’d  the  youth,  with  martial  fury 
fired, 

Beyond  the  foremost  ranks;  his  lance  he 
threw 

And  round  the  black  battalions  cast  his 
view. 

The  troops  of  Troy  recede  with  sudden 
fear,  690 

While  the  swift  jav’lin  hiss’d  along  in  air. 
Advancing  Melanippus  met  the  dart 
With  his  bold  breast,  and  felt  it  in  his 
heart: 

Thund’ring  he  falls;  his  falling  arms  re- 
sound, 

And  his  broad  buckler  rings  against  the 
ground. 

The  victor  leaps  upon  his  prostrate  prize; 
Thus  on  a roe  the  well-breathed  beagle  flies, 
And  rends  his  side,  fresh-bleeding  with  the 
dart 

The  distant  hunter  sent  into  his  heart. 
Observing  Hector  to  the  rescue  flew;  700 
Bold  as  he  was,  Antiloehus  withdrew: 

So  when  a savage,  ranging  o’er  the  plain, 
Has  torn  the  shepherd’s  dog,  or  shepherd 
swain; 

While,  conscious  of  the  deed,  he  glares 
around, 

And  hears  the  gath’ring  multitude  resound, 
Timely  he  flies  the  yet  untasted  food, 

And  gains  the  friendly  shelter  of  the  wood. 
So  fears  the  youth;  all  Troy  with  shouts 
pursue, 

While  stones  and  darts  in  mingled  tem- 
pests flew; 

But,  enter’d  in  the  Grecian  ranks,  he 
turns  710 

His  manly  breast,  and  with  new  furv  burns. 

Now  on  the  fleet  the  tides  of  Trojans 
drove, 

Fierce  to  fulfil  the  stern  decrees  of  Jove: 
The  Sire  of  Gods,  confirming  Thetis’  prayer, 
The  Grecian  ardour  quench’d  in  deep  de- 
spair; 


THE  ILIAD 


43i 


But  lifts  to  glory  Troy’s  prevailing  bands, 
Swells  all  their  hearts,  and  strengthens  all 
their  hands. 

On  Ida’s  top  he  waits  with  longing  eyes, 
To  view  the  navy  blazing  to  the  skies; 
Then,  nor  till  then,  the  scale  of  war  shall 
turn,  720 

The  Trojans  fly,  and  conquer’d  Ilion  burn. 
These  fates  revolv’d  in  his  almighty  mind, 
He  raises  Hector  to  the  work  design’d, 
Bids  him  with  more  than  mortal  fury  glow, 
And  drives  him,  like  a lightning,  on  the  foe. 
So  Mars,  when  human  crimes  for  vengeance 
call, 

Shakes  his  huge  jav’lin,  and  whole  armies 
fall. 

Not  with  more  rage  a conflagration  rolls, 
Wraps  the  vast  mountains,  and  involves  the 
poles. 

He  foams  with  wrath;  beneath  his  gloomy 
brow  730 

Like  fiery  meteors  his  red  eye-balls  glow: 
The  radiant  helmet  on  his  temple  burns, 
Waves  when  he  nods,  and  lightens  as  he 
turns: 

For  Jove  his  splendour  round  the  Chief 
had  thrown, 

And  cast  the  blaze  of  both  the  hosts  on  one. 
Unhappy  glories  ! for  his  fate  was  near, 
Due  to  stern  Pallas,  and  Pelides’  spear: 
Yet  Jove  deferr’d  the  death  he  was  to 

Pay> 

And  gave  what  Fate  allow’d,  the  honours 
of  a day  ! 

Now  all  on  fire  for  fame,  his  breast,  his 
eyes  _ _ 740 

Burn  at  each  foe,  and  single  ev’ry  prize; 
Still  at  the  closest  ranks,  the  thickest  fight, 
He  points  his  ardour,  and  exerts  his  might. 
The  Grecian  phalanx,  moveless  as  a tower, 
On  all  sides  batter’d,  yet  resists  his  power: 
So  some  tall  rock  o’erhangs  the  hoary 
main, 

By  winds  assail’d,  by  billows  beat  in  vain; 
Unmov’d  it  hears,  above,  the  tempest  blow, 
And  sees  the  wat’ry  mountains  break  be- 
low. 

Girt  in  surrounding  flames,  he  seems  to 
fall  750 

Like  fire  from  Jove,  and  bursts  upon  them 
all; 

Bursts  as  a wave  that  from  the  clouds  im- 
pends, 

And  swell’d  with  tempests  on  the  ship  de- 
scends; 


White  are  the  decks  with  foam;  the  winds 
aloud 

Howl  o’er  the  masts,  and  sing  thro’  ev’ry 
shroud: 

Pale,  trembling,  tired,  the  sailors  freeze 
with  fears; 

And  instant  death  on  ev’ry  wave  appears. 
So  pale  the  Greeks  the  eyes  of  Hector 
meet, 

The  Chief  so  thunders,  and  so  shakes  the 
fleet. 

As  when  a lion  rushing  from  his  den,  760 
Amidst  the  plain  of  some  wide-water’d  fen 
(Where  numerous  oxen,  as  at  ease  they 
feed, 

At  large  expatiate  o’er  the  ranker  mead) , 
Leaps  on  the  herds  before  the  herdsman’s 
eyes: 

The  trembling  herdsman  far  to  distance 
flies: 

Some  lordly  bull  (the  rest  dispers’d  and  fled) 
He  singles  out;  arrests,  and  lays  him  dead. 
Thus  from  the  rage  of  Jove-like  Hector 
flew 

All  Greece  in  heaps;  but  one  he  seiz’d,  and 
slew. 

Mycenean  Periphes,  a mighty  name,  770 
In  wisdom  great,  in  arms  well-known  to 
fame: 

The  minister  of  stern  Eurystheus’  ire, 
Against  Alcides;  Copreus  was  his  sire: 

The  son  redeem’d  the  honours  of  the  race, 
A son  as  gen’rous  as  the  sire  was  base; 

O’er  all  his  country’s  youth  conspicuous  far 
In  ev’ry  virtue,  or  of  peace  or  war: 

But  doom’d  to  Hector’s  stronger  force  to 
yield  ! 

Against  the  margin  of  his  ample  shield 
He  struck  his  hasty  foot:  his  heels  up- 
sprung;  780 

Supine  he  fell,  his  brazen  helmet  rung. 

On  the  fall’n  Chief  th’  "invading  Trojan 
press’d, 

And  plunged  the  pointed  jav’lin  in  his 
breast. 

His  circling  friends,  who  strove  to  guard 
too  late 

Th’  unhappy  hero,  fled,  or  shared  his  fate. 

Chased  from  the  foremost  line,  the  Gre- 
cian train 

Now  man  the  next,  receding  toward  the 
main : 

Wedg’d  in  one  body  at  the  tents  they  stand, 
Wall’d  round  with  sterns,  a gloomy,  des< 
p’rate  band. 


43  2 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


Now  manly  shame  forbids  th’  inglorious 
flight;  790 

Now  fear  itself  confines  them  to  the  fight: 
Man  courage  breathes  in  man;  but  Nestor 
most 

(The  sage  preserver  of  the  Grecian  host) 
Exhorts,  adjures,  to  guard  these  utmost 
shores ; 

And  by  their  parents,  by  themselves,  im- 
plores: 

‘O  friends!  be  men:  your  gen’rous 
breasts  inflame 

With  mutual  honour,  and  with  mutual 
shame  ! 

Think  of  your  hopes,  your  fortunes;  all  the 
care 

Your  wives,  your  infants,  and  your  parents, 
share : 799 

Think  of  each  living  father’s  re v’rend  head; 
Think  of  each  ancestor  with  glory  dead ; 
Absent,  by  me  they  speak,  by  me  they  sue; 
They  ask  their  safety  and  their  fame  from 
you: 

The  Gods  their  fates  on  this  one  action  lay, 
And  all  are  lost  if  you  desert  the  day.’ 

He  spoke,  and  round  him  breathed  heroic 
fires; 

Minerva  seconds  what  the  sage  inspires. 
The  mist  of  darkness  Jove  around  them 
threw, 

She  clear’d,  restoring  all  the  war  to  view: 
A sudden  ray  shot  beaming  o’er  the  plain, 
And  shew’d  the  shores,  the  navy,  and  the 
main..  8n 

Hector  they  saw,  and  all  who  fly  or  fight, 
The  scene  wide  opening  to  the  blaze  of  light. 
First  of  the  field,  great  Ajax  strikes  their 
eyes, 

His  port  majestic,  and  his  ample  size: 

A pond’rous  mace,  with  studs  of  iron 
crown’d, 

Full  twenty  cubits  long,  he  swings  around. 
Nor  fights  like  others  fix’d  to  certain  stands, 
But  looks  a moving  tower  above  the  bands; 
High  on  the  decks,  with  vast  gigantic 
stride,  820 

The  godlike  hero  stalks  from  side  to  side. 
So  when  a horseman  from  the  wat’ry  mead 
(Skill’d  in  the  manage  of  the  bounding 
steed) 

Drives  four  fair  coursers,  practis’d  to  obey, 
To  some  great  city  thro’  the  public  way; 
Safe  in  his  art,  as  side  by  side  they  run, 

He  shifts  his  seat,  and  vaults  from  one  to 
one; 


And  now  to  this,  and  now  to  that  he 
flies; 

Admiring  numbers  follow  with  their  eyes. 
From  ship  to  ship  thus  Ajax  swiftly  flew, 
No  less  the  wonder  of  the  warring  crew. 
As  furious,  Hector  thunder’d  threats 
aloud,  832 

And  rush’d  enraged  before  the  Trojan 
crowd; 

Then  swift  invades  the  ships,  whose  beaky 
proves 

Lay  rank’d  contiguous  on  the  bending 
shores. 

So  the  strong  eagle  from  his  airy  height, 
Who  marks  the  swans’  or  cranes’  embodied 
flight, 

Stoops  down  impetuous,  while  they  light 
for  food, 

And  stooping  darkens  with  his  wings  the 
flood.  839 

Jove  leads  him  on  with  his  almighty  hand, 
And  breathes  fierce  spirits  in  his  foll’wing 
band. 

The  warring  nations  meet,  the  battle  roars, 
Thick  beats  the  combat  on  the  sounding 
prores. 

Thou  would’st  have  thought,  so  furious  was 
their  fire, 

No  force  could  tame  them,  and  no  toil 
could  tire; 

As  if  new  vigour  from  new  fights  they  won, 
And  the  long  battle  was  but  then  begun. 
Greece,  yet  unconquer’d,  kept  alive  the 
war, 

Secure  of  death,  confiding  in  despair; 

Troy  in  proud  hopes  already  view’d  the 
main  850 

Bright  with  the  blaze,  and  red  with  heroes 
slain: 

Like  strength  is  felt  from  hope,  and  from 
despair, 

And  each  contends,  as  his  were  all  the  war. 

’T  was  thou,  bold  Hector!  whose  resist- 
less hand 

First  seiz’d  a ship  on  that  contested  strand ; 
The  same  which  dead  Protesilaiis  bore, 

The  first  that  touch’d  th’  unhappy  Trojan 
shore. 

For  this  in  arms  the  warring  nations  stood, 
And  bathed  their  gen’rous  breasts  with 
mutual  blood. 

No  room  to  poise  the  lance,  or  bend  the 
bow;  860 

But  hand  to  hand,  and  man  to  man  they 
grow: 


THE  ILIAD 


433 


Wounded,  they  wound;  and  seek  each 
other’s  hearts 

With  falchions,  axes,  swords,  and  short- 
en’d darts. 

The  falchions  ring,  shields  rattle,  axes 
sound, 

Swords  flash  in  air,  or  glitter  on  the  ground : 
With  streaming  blood  the  slipp’ry  shores 
are  dyed, 

And  slaughter’d  heroes  swell  the  dreadful 
tide. 

Still  raging  Hector  with  his  ample  hand 
Grasps  the  high  stern,  and  gives  his  loud 
command: 

‘ Haste,  bring  the  flames!  the  toil  of  ten 
long  years  870 

Is  finish’d ; and  the  day  desired  appears ! 
This  happy  day  with  acclamations  greet, 
Bright  with  destruction  of  yon  hostile  fleet. 
The  coward  counsels  of  a tim’rous  throng 
Of  rev’rend  dotards,  check’d  our  glory 
long: 

Too  long  Jove  lull’d  us  with  lethargic 
charms, 

But  now  in  peals  of  thunder  calls  to  arms; 
In  this  great  day  he  crowns  our  full  de- 
sires, 

Wakes  all  our  force,  and  seconds  all  our 
fires.’ 

He  spoke.  The  warriors,  at  his  fierce 
command,  880 

Pour  a new  deluge  on  the  Grecian  band. 
Ev’n  Ajax  paus’d  (so  thick  the  jav’lins  fly), 
Stepp’d  back,  and  doubted  or  to  live,  or 
die. 

Yet  where  the  oars  are  placed,  he  stands  to 
wait 

What  Chief  approaching  dares  attempt  his 
fate: 

Ev’n  to  the  last  his  naval  charge  defends, 
Now  shakes  his  spear,  now  lifts,  and  now 
protends; 

Ev’n  yet,  the  Greeks  with  piercing  shouts 
inspires, 

Amidst  attacks,  and  deaths,  and  darts,  and 
fires: 

‘O  friends!  O heroes!  names  for  ever 
dear,  890 

Once  sons  of  Mars,  and  thunderbolts  of  war! 
Ah!  yet  be  mindful  of  your  old  renown, 
Your  great  forefathers’  virtues  and  your 
own. 

What  aids  expect  you  in  this  utmost  strait  ? 
What  bulwarks  rising  between  you  and 
fate  ? 


No  aids,  no  bulwarks,  your  retreat  attend, 

No  friends  to  help,  no  city  to  defend. 

This  spot  is  all  you  have,  to  lose  or  keep; 

There  stand  the  Trojans,  and  here  rolls 
the  deep. 

’T  is  hostile  ground  you  tread;  your  native 
lands  900 

Far,  far  from  hence:  your  fates  are  in  your 
hands.’ 

Raging  he  spoke;  nor  farther  wastes  his 
breath, 

But  turns  his  jav’lin  to  the  work  of  death. 

Whate’er  bold  Trojan  arm’d  his  daring 
bands 

Against  the  sable  ships  with  flaming 
brands, 

So  well  the  Chief  his  naval  weapon  sped, 

The  luckless  warrior  at  his  stern  lay  dead: 

Full  twelve,  the  boldest,  in  a moment  fell, 

Sent  by  great  Ajax  to  the  shades  of  hell. 


BOOK  XVI 

THE  SIXTH  BATTLE  : THE  ACTS  AND  DEATH 
OF  PATROCLUS 

THE  ARGUMENT 

Patroelus  (in  pursuance  of  the  request  of  Nes- 
tor in  the  eleventh  book)  entreats  Achilles 
to  suffer  him  to  go  to  the  assistance  of  the 
Greeks  with  Achilles’  troops  and  armour. 
He  agrees  to  it,  but  at  the  same  time  charges 
him  to  content  himself  with  rescuing  the 
fleet,  without  farther  pursuit  of  the  enemy. 
The  armour,  horses,  soldiers,  and  officers  of 
Achilles  are  described.  Achilles  offers  a 
libation  for  the  success  of  his  friend,  after 
which  Patroelus  leads  the  Myrmidons  to  bat- 
tle. The  Trojans,  at  the  sight  of  Patroelus 
in  Achilles’  armour,  taking  him  for  that 
hero,  are  cast  into  the  utmost  consternation : 
he  beats  them  off  from  the  vessels,  Hector 
himself  flies,  Sarpedon  is  killed,  though  Ju- 
piter was  averse  to  his  fate.  Several  other 
particulars  of  the  battle  are  described  ; in 
the  beat  of  which,  Patroelus,  neglecting  the 
orders  of  Achilles,  pursues  the  foe  to  the 
walls  of  Troy ; where  Apollo  repulses  and 
disarms  him.  Euphorbus  wounds  him,  and 
Hector  kills  him  : which  concludes  the  book. 

So  warr’d  both  armies  on  th’  ensanguin’d 
shore, 

While  the  black  vessels  smoked  with  hu- 
man gore. 

Meantime  Patroelus  to  Achilles  flies; 


434 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


The  streaming  tears  fall  copious  from  his 
eyes; 

Not  faster,  trickling  to  the  plains  below, 
From  the  tall  rock  the  sable  waters  flow. 
Divine  Pelides,  with  compassion  mov’d, 
Thus  spoke,  indulgent  to  his  best  belov’d: 

‘Patroclus,  say,  what  grief  thy  bosom 
bears,  9 

That  flows  so  fast  in  these  unmanly  tears  ? 
No  girl,  no  infant  whom  the  mother  keeps 
From  her  lov’d  breast,  with  fonder  passion 
weeps; 

Not  more  the  mother’s  soul  that  infant 
warms, 

Clung  to  her  knees,  and  reaching  at  her 
arms, 

Than  thou  hast  mine!  Oh  tell  me  to  what 
end 

Thy  melting  sorrows  thus  pursue  thy 
friend  ? 

‘Griev’st  thou  for  me,  or  for  my  martial 
band  ? 

Or  come  sad  tidings  from  our  native  land  ? 
Our  fathers  live  (our  first,  most  tender 
care,)  I9 

Thy  good  Mencetius  breathes  the  vital 
air, 

And  hoary  Peleus  yet  extends  his  days; 
Pleas’d  in  their  age  to  hear  their  children’s 
praise. 

‘Or  may  some  meaner  cause  thy  pity 
claim  ? 

Perhaps  yon  relics  of  the  Grecian  name, 
Doom’d  in  their  ships  to  sink  by  fire  and 
sword, 

And  pay  the  forfeit  of  their  haughty  lord  ? 
Whate'er  the  cause,  reveal  thy  secret 
care, 

And  speak  those  sorrows  which  a friend 
would  share.’ 

A sigh,  that  instant,  from  his  bosom 
broke, 

Another  follow’d,  and  Patroclus  spoke:  30 

‘Let  Greece  at  length  with  pity  touch 
thy  breast, 

Thyself  a Greek;  and,  once,  of  Greeks  the 
best! 

Lo!  ev’ry  Chief  that  might  her  fate  pre- 
vent, 

Lies  pierc’d  with  wounds,  and  bleeding  in 
his  tent: 

Eurypylus,  Tydides,  Atreus’  son,  ) 

And  wise  Ulysses,  at  the  navy  groan,  I 

More  for  their  country’s  wounds,  than  for  f 
their  own.  J 


Their  pain  soft  arts  of  pharmacy  can  ease; 
Thy  breast  alone  no  lenitives  appease. 

‘ May  never  rage  like  thine  my  soul  en- 
slave, 4 

O great  in  vain!  unprofitably  brave! 

Thy  country  slighted  in  her  last  distress, 
What  friend,  what  man,  from  thee  shall 
hope  redress  ? 

No:  men  unborn,  and  ages  yet  behind, 
Shall  curse  that  fierce,  that  unforgiving 
mind. 

‘O  man  unpitying!  if  of  man  thy  race; 
But  sure  thou  spring’st  not  from  a soft 
embrace, 

Nor  ever  am’rous  hero  caus’d  thy  birth, 
Nor  ever  tender  Goddess  brought  thee 
forth. 

Some  rugged  rock’s  hard  entrails  gave  thee 
form,  50 

And  raging  seas  produced  thee  in  a storm; 
A soul  well  suiting  that  tempestuous  kind, 
So  rough  thy  manners,  so  untamed  thy 
mind. 

* If  some  dire  oracle  thy  breast  alarm, 

If  aught  from  Jove,  or  Thetis,  stop  thy 
arm, 

Some  beam  of  comfort  yet  on  Greece  may 
shine, 

If  I but  lead  the  Mynnidonian  line: 

Clad  in  thy  dreadful  arms  if  I appear, 
Proud  Troy  shall  tremble  and  desert  the 
war: 

Without  thy  person  Greece  shall  win  the 
day,  60 

And  thy  mere  image  chase  her  foes  away. 
Press’d  by  fresh  forces,  her  o’erlabour’d 
train 

Shall  quit  the  ships,  and  Greece  respire 
again.’ 

Thus,  blind  to  fate  ! with  supplicating 
breath, 

Thou  begg’st  his  arms,  and  in  his  arms  thy 
death. 

Unfortunately  good  ! a boding  sigh 
Thy  friend  return’d;  and  with  it,  this  re- 

pbrJ 

‘ Patroclus  ! thy  Achilles  knows  no  fears; 
Nor  words  from  Jove,  nor  oracles,  he 
hears; 

Nor  aught  a mother’s  caution  can  sug- 
gest; 70 

The  t3rrant’s  pride  lies  rooted  in  my  breast. 
My  wrongs,  my  wrongs,  my  constant 
thought  engage, 

Those,  my  sole  oracles,  inspire  my  rage: 


THE  ILIAD 


435 


I made  him  tyrant;  gave  him  power  to 
wrong 

Ev’n  me:  I felt  it;  and  shall  feel  it  long. 
The  maid,  my  black-eyed  maid,  he  forc’d 
away. 

Due  to  the  toils  of  many  a well-fought  day; 
Due  to  my  conquest  of  her  father’s  reign; 
Due  to  the  votes  of  all  the  Grecian  train. 
From  me  he  forc’d  her,  me  the  bold  and 
brave ; 80 

Disgraced,  dishonour’d,  like  the  meanest 
slave. 

But  bear  we  this The  wrongs  I grieve 

are  past; 

’T  is  time  our  fury  should  relent  at  last: 

I fix’d  its  date;  the  day  I wish’d  appears; I 
Now  Hector  to  my  ships  his  battle  bears,  I 
The  flames  my  eyes,  the  shouts  invade  j 
my  ears.  J 

Go,  then,  Patroclus  ! court  fair  honour’s 
charms 

In  Troy’s  famed  fields,  and  in  Achilles’ 
arms : 

Lead  forth  my  martial  Myrmidons  to 
fight, 

Go,  save  the  fleets,  and  conquer  in  my 
right.  90 

See  the  thin  relics  of  their  baffled  band, 

At  the  last  edge  of  yon  deserted  land  ! 
Behold  all  Ilion  on  their  ships  descends; 
How  the  cloud  blackens,  how  the  storm 
impends ! 

It  was  not  thus,  when,  at  my  sight  amazed, 
Troy  saw  and  trembled  as  this  helmet 
blazed : 

Had  not  th’  injurious  king  our  friendship 
lost, 

Yon  ample  trench  had  buried  half  her 
host. 

No  camps,  no  bulwarks,  now  the  Trojans 
fear, 

Those  are  not  dreadful,  no  Achilles 
there:  100 

No  longer  flames  the  lance  of  Tydeus’  son; 
No  more. your  Gen’ral  calls  his  heroes  on: 
Hector  alone  I hear;  his  dreadful  breath 
Commands  your  slaughter,  or  proclaims 
your  death. 

Yet  now,  Patroclus,  issue  to  the  plain;  I 
Now  save  the  ships,  the  rising  fires  re-  I 
strain,  | 

And  give  the  Greeks  to  visit  Greece  again.  J 
But  heed  my  words,  and  mark  a friend’s 
command, 

Who  trusts  his  fame  and  honours  in  thy  hand, 


And  from  thy  deeds  expects  th’  Achaian 
host  no 

Shall  render  back  the  beauteous  maid  he 
lost: 

Rage  uncontroll’d  thro’  all  the  hostile  crew, 
But  touch  not  Hector,  Hector  is  my  due. 
Tho’  Jove  in  thunder  should  command  the 
war, 

Be  just,  consult  my  glory,  and  forbear. 

The  fleet  once  saved,  desist  from  farther 
chase, 

Nor  lead  to  Ilion’s  walls  the  Grecian  race; 
Some  adverse  God  thy  rashness  may  de- 
stroy ; 

Some  God,  like  Phcebus,  ever  kind  to 
Troy. 

Let  Greece,  redeem’d  from  this  destructive 
strait,  120 

Do  her  own  work,  and  leave  the  rest  to 
fate. 

Oh  ! would  to  all  th’  immortal  powers  above, 
Apollo,  Pallas,  and  almighty  Jove  ! 

That  not  one  Trojan  might  be  left  alive, 
And  not  a Greek  of  all  the  race  survive; 
Might  only  we  the  vast  destruction  shun, 
And  only  we  destroy  th’  accursed  town  ! ’ 

Such  conf’rence  held  the  Chiefs:  while, 
on  the  strand, 

Great  Jove  with  conquest  crown’d  the  Tro- 
jan band. 

Ajax  no  more  the  sounding  storm  sus- 
tain’d, 130 

So  thick  the  darts  an  iron  tempest  rain’d: 
On  his  tired  arm  the  weighty  buckler  hung; 
His  hollow  helm  with  falling  jav’lins  rung: 
His  breath,  in  quick  short  pantings,  comes 
and  goes; 

And  painful  sweat  from  all  his  members 
flows. 

Spent  and  o’erpower’d,  he  barely  breathes 
at  most; 

Yet  scarce  an  army  stirs  him  from  his 
post: 

Dangers  on  dangers  all  around  him  grow, 
And  toil  to  toil,  and  woe  succeeds  to  woe. 

Say,  Muses,  throned  above  the  starry 
frame,  140 

How  first  the  navy  blazed  with  Trojan 
flame  ? 

Stern  Hector  waved  his  sword,  and, 
standing  near 

Where  furious  Ajax  plied  his  ashen  spear, 
Full  on  the  lance  a stroke  so  justly  sped, 
That  the  broad  falchion  lopp’d  its  brazen 
head: 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


436  TRANSLATIONS 

FROM  HOMER 

His  pointless  spear  the  warrior  shakes  in 
vain; 

The  brazen  head  falls  sounding  on  the  plain. 
Great  Ajax  saw,  and  own’d  the  hand  divine, 
Confessing  Jove,  and  trembling  at  the  sign; 
Warn’d  he  retreats.  Then  swift  from  all 
sides  pour  150 

The  hissing  brands;  thick  streams  the  fiery 
shower; 

O’er  the  high  stern  the  curling  volumes 
rise, 

And  sheets  of  rolling  smoke  involve  the 
skies. 

Divine  Achilles  view’d  the  rising  flames, 
And  smote  his  thigh,  and  thus  aloud  ex- 
claims: 

‘ Arm,  arm,  Patroclus  ! lo,  the  blaze  aspires  ! 
The  glowing  ocean  reddens  with  the  fires. 
Arm,  ere  our  vessels  catch  the  spreading 
flame; 

Arm,  ere  the  Grecians  be  no  more  a name; 

I haste  to  bring  the  troops.’  The  Hero 
said;  160 

The  friend  with  ardour  and  with  joy 
obey’d. 

He  cased  his  limbs  in  brass;  and  first 
around 

His  manly  legs  with  silver  buckles  bound 
The  clasping  greaves:  then  to  his  breast 
applies 

The  flamy  cuirass,  of  a thousand  dyes; 
Emblazed  with  studs  of  gold,  his  falchion 
shone 

In  the  rich  belt,  as  in  a starry  zone. 

Achilles’  shield  his  ample  shoulders  spread, 
Achilles’  helmet  nodded  o’er  his  head. 
Adorn’d  in  all  his  terrible  array,  170 

He  flash’d  around  intolerable  day. 

Alone,  untouch’d,  Pelides’  jav’lin  stands, 

Not  to  be  pois’d  but  by  Pelides’  hands  : 
From  Pelion’s  shady  brow  the  plant  entire 
Old  Chiron  rent,  and  shaped  it  for  his  sire; 
Whose  son’s  great  arm  alone  the  weapon 
wields, 

The  death  of  heroes,  and  the  dread  of 
fields. 

Then  brave  Automedon  (an  honour’d 
name, 

The  second  to  his  lord  in  love  and  fame, 

Ik  peace  his  friend,  and  partner  of  the 
war)  180 

The  winged  coursers  harness’d  to  the  car. 
Xanthus  and  Balius,  of  immortal  breed, 
Sprung  from  the  wind,  and  like  the  wind 
in  speed; 

Whom  the  wing’d  harpy,  swift  Podarge, 
bore, 

By  Zephyr  pregnant  on  the  breezy  shore. 
Swift  Pedasus  was  added  to  their  side 
(Once  great  Eetion’s,  now  Achilles’  pride), 
Who,  like  in  strength,  in  swiftness,  and  in 
grace, 

A mortal  courser,  match’d  th’  immortal 
race. 

Achilles  speeds  from  tent  to  tent,  and 
warms  190 

His  hardy  Myrmidons  to  blood  and  arms. 
All  breathing  death,  around  their  Chief 
they  stand, 

A grim,  terrific,  formidable  band; 

Grim  as  voracious  wolves  that  seek  the 
springs, 

When  scalding  thirst  their  burning  bowels 
wrings 

(When  some  tall  stag,  fresh  slaughter’d  in 
the  wood, 

Has  drench’d  their  wide  insatiate  throats 
with  blood); 

To  the  black  fount  they  rush,  a hideous 
throng, 

With  paunch  distended  and  with  lolling 
tongue; 

Fire  fills  their  eyes,  their  black  jaws  belch 
the  gore,  200 

And,  gorged  with  slaughter,  still  they  thirst 
for  more. 

Like  furious  rush’d  the  Myrmidonian  crew, 
Such  their  dread  strength,  and  such  their 
dreadful  view. 

High  in  the  midst  the  great  Achilles 
stands, 

Directs  their  order,  and  the  war  com- 
mands. 

He,  lov’d  of  Jove,  had  launch’d  for  Ilion’s 
shores 

Full  fifty  vessels,  mann’d  with  fifty  oars: 
Five  chosen  leaders  the  fierce  bands  obey, 
Himself  supreme  in  valour,  as  in  sway. 

First  march’d  Menestheus,  of  celestial 
birth,  210 

Derived  from  thee,  whose  waters  wash  the 
earth, 

Divine  Sperchius  ! Jove-descended  flood  ! 

A mortal  mother  mixing  with  a God. 

Such  was  Menestheus,  but  miscall’d  by 
Fame 

The  son  of  Borus,  that  espous’d  the  dame. 

Eudorus  next;  whom  Polymele  the  gay, 
Famed  in  the  graceful  dance,  produced  to 
day. 

THE  ILIAD 


437 


>r,  sly  Cyllenius  lov’d;  on  her  would 
gaze, 

with  swift  step  she  form’d  the  running 
maze: 

her  high  chamber,  from  Diana’s  quire,  220 
e God  pursued  her,  urged,  and  crown’d 
his  fire. 

e son  confess’d  his  father’s  heav’nly 
race, 

d heir’d  his  mother’s  swiftness  in  the 
chase. 

•ong  Echecleiis,  bless’d  in  all  those 
charms 

at  pleas’d  a God,  succeeded  to  her  arms; 
t conscious  of  those  loves,  long  hid  from 
fame, 

ith  gifts  of  price  he  sought  and  won  the 
dame; 

•T  secret  offspring  to  her  sire  she  bare; 
r sire  caress’d  him  with  a parent’s 
care.  229 

Pisander  follow’d;  matchless  in  his  art 
wing  the  spear,  or  aim  the  distant 
dart; 

baud  so  sure  of  all  th’  Emathian  line, 
if  a surer,  great  Patroclus  ! thine. 

The  fourth  by  Phcenix’  grave  command 
was  graced : 

erces’  valiant  offspring  led  the  last, 
soon  as  Achilles  with  superior  care 
d call’d  the  Chiefs,  and  order’d  all  the 
war, 

is  stern  remembrance  to  his  troops  he 
gave: 

e far-famed  Myrmidons,  ye  fierce  and 
brave  ! 

ink  with  what  threats  you  dared  the 
Trojan  throng,  240 

ink  what  reproach  these  ears  endured  so 
long: 

tern  son  of  Peleus  ” (thus  ye  used  to 
say, 

(iile  restless,  raging,  in  your  ships  you 

%), 

h nurs’d  with  gall,  unknowing  how  to 
yield  ! 

lose  rage  defrauds  us  of  so  famed  a 
field, 

that  dire  fury  must  for  ever  burn, 
lat  make  we  here  ? Return,  ye  Chiefs, 
return  ! ” 

jh  were  your  words.  Now,  warriors, 
grieve  no  more, 

there  the  Trojans  ! bathe  your  swords  in 
gore  ! 


This  day  shall  give  you  all  your  soul  de- 
mands; 250 

Glut  all  your  hearts  ! and  weary  all  your 
hands  ! ’ 

Thus  while  he  rous’d  the  fire  in  ev’ry 
breast, 

Close,  and  more  close,  the  list’ning  cohorts 
press’d ; 

Ranks  wedg’d  in  ranks,  of  arms  a steely 
ring 

Still  grows  and  spreads  and  thickens  round 
the  King. 

As  when  a circling  wall  the  builder  forms, 
Of  strength  defensive  against  winds  and 
storms, 

Compacted  stones  the  thick’ning  work  com- 
pose, 

And  round  him  wide  the  rising  structure 
grows: 

So  helm  to  helm,  and  crest  to  crest  they 
throng,  260 

Shield  urged  on  shield,  and  man  drove  man 
along: 

Thick  undistinguish’d  plumes,  together 
join’d, 

Float  in  one  sea,  and  wave  before  the 

wind. 

Far  o’er  the  rest,  in  glitt’ring  pomp  ap- 
pear, 

There  bold  Automedon,  Patroclus  here; 
Brothers  in  arms,  with  equal  fury  fired; 
Two  friends,  two  bodies  with  one  soul  in- 
spired. 

But,  mindful  of  the  Gods,  Achilles  went 
To  the  rich  coffer  in  his  shady  tent: 

There  lay  on  heaps  his  various  garments 
roll’d,  270 

And  costly  furs,  and  carpets  stiff  with 
gold 

(The  presents  of  the  silver-footed  dame) ; 
From  thence  he  took  a bowl  of  antique 
frame 

Which  never  man  had  staiu’d  with  ruddy 

wine, 

Nor  rais’d  in  offerings  to  the  Powers  di- 
vine, 

But  Peleus’  son;  and  Peleus’ son  to  none 
Had  rais’d  in  offerings,  but  to  Jove  alone. 
This,  tinged  with  sulphur,  sacred  first  to 
flame, 

He  purged;  and  wash’d  it  in  the  running 
stream. 

Then  cleans’d  his  hands;  and,  fixing  for  a 
space  280 

His  eyes  on  Heav’u,  his  feet  upon  the  place 


438 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


Of  sacrifice,  the  purple  draught  he  pour’d 
Forth  in  the  midst;  and  thus  the  God 
implor’d: 

‘ Oh  thou  Supreme  ! high  - throned  all 
height  above  ! 

Oh  great  Pelasgic,  Dodonean  Jove  ! 

Who,  ’midst  surrounding  frosts,  and  va- 
pours chill, 

Presid’st  oil  bleak  Dodona’s  vocal  hill 
(Whose  groves  the  Selli,  race  austere  ! 
surround, 

Their  feet  unwash’d,  their  slumbers  on  the 
ground; 

Who  hear  from  rustling  oaks  thy  dark  de- 
crees; 290 

And  catch  the  fates  low- whisper’d  in  the 
breeze): 

Hear,  as  of  old:  Thou  gavest  at  Thetis’ 
prayer, 

Glory  to  me,  and  to  the  Greeks  despair: 

Lo,  to  the  dangers  of  the  fighting  field 
The  best,  the  dearest  of  my  friends,  I 
yield: 

Tho’  still  determin’d,  to  my  ships  confin’d, 
Patroclus  gone,  I stay  but  half  behind. 

Oh  be  his  guard  thy  providential  care, 
Confirm  his  heart,  and  string  his  arm  to  war; 
Press’d  by  his  single  force,  let  Hector 
see  300 

His  fame  in  arms  not  owing  all  to  me. 

But  when  the  fleets  are  saved  from  foes 
and  fire, 

Let  him  with  conquest  and  renown  retire; 
Preserve  his  arms,  preserve  his  social  train, 
And  safe  return  him  to  these  eyes  again  ! ’ 

Great  Jove  consents  to  half  the  Chief’s 
request, 

But  Heav’n’s  eternal  doom  denies  the  rest: 
To  free  the  fleet  was  granted  to  his  prayer; 
His  safe  return  the  winds  dispers’d  in  air. 
Back  to  his  tent  the  stern  Achilles  flies,  310 
And  waits  the  combat  with  impatient  eyes. 

Meanwhile  the  troops,  beneath  Patroclus’ 
care, 

Invade  the  Trojans,  and  commence  the  war. 
As  wasps,  provoked  by  children  in  their 

piay> 

Pour  from  their  mansions  by  the  broad 
highway, 

In  swarms  the  guiltless  traveller  engage, 
Whet  all  their  stings,  and  call  forth  all 
their  rage: 

All  rise  in  arms,  and  with  a gen’ral  cry 
Assert  their  waxen  domes,  and  buzzing 
progeny. 


Thus  from  the  tents  the  fervent  legio 
swarms,  3; 

So  loud  their  clamours,  and  so  keen  thei 
arms ; 

Their  rising  rage  Patroclus’  breath  inspires 
Who  thus  inflames  them  with  heroic  fires 
‘Oh  warriors, partners  of  Achilles’ praise 
Be  mindful  of  your  deeds  in  ancient  days 
Your  Godlike  master  let  your  acts  pn 
claim, 

And  add  new  glories  to  his  mighty  name. 
Think  your  Achilles  sees  you  fight:  t 
brave, 

And  humble  the  proud  Monarch  whom  yo 
save.’ 

Joyful  they  heard,  and,  kindling  as  1 
spoke,  3 

Flew  to  the  fleet,  involv’d  in  fire  an 
smoke. 

From  shore  to  shore  the  doubling  shou 
resound, 

The  hollow  ships  return  a deeper  sound. 
The  war  stood  still,  and  all  around  thei 
gazed, 

When  great  Achilles’  shining  armoij 
blazed  : 

Troy  saw,  and  thought  the  dread  Achilh 
nigh; 

At  once  they  see,  they  tremble,  and  they  fl 
Then  first  thy  spear,  divine  Patroclus 
flew, 

Where  the  war  raged,  and  where  the  t 
mult  grew. 

Close  to  the  stern  of  that  famed  slii 
which  bore  3 

Unbless’d  Protesilaus  to  Ilion’s  shore, 
The  great  Pseonian,  bold  Pyrsechmes,  stoo 
Who  led  his  bands  from  Axius’  windii 
flood: 

His  shoulder-blade  receives  the  fat 
wound ; 

The  groaning  warrior  pants  upon  tl 
ground. 

His  troops,  that  see  their  country’s  glo 
slain, 

Fly  diverse,  scatter’d  o’er  the  distant  plai 
Patroclus’  arm  forbids  the  spreading  fire: 
And  from  the  half-burn’d  ship  proud  Tr< 
retires, 

Clear’d  from  the  smoke  the  joyful  na 
lies,  : 

In  heaps  on  heaps  the  foe  tumultuous  flic 
Triumphant  Greece  her  rescued  decks  a 
cends, 

And  loud  acclaim  the  starry  region  rend; 


THE  ILIAD 


439 


when  thick  clouds  enwrap  the  moun- 
tain’s head, 

er  Heav’n’s  expanse  like  one  black  ceil- 
ing spread: 

dden  the  Thund’rer,  with  a flashing  ray, 
irsts  thro’  the  darkness,  and  lets  down 
the  day: 

ie  hills  shine  out,  the  rocks  in  prospect 
rise, 

id  streams,  and  vales,  and  forests  strike 
the  eyes; 

e smiling  scene  wide  opens  to  the 
sight,  360 

id  all  th’  unmeasur’d  ether  flames  with 
light. 

But  Troy  repuls’d,  and  scatter’d  o’er  the 
plains, 

rc’d  from  the  navy,  yet  the  fight  main- 
tains. 

>w  ev’ry  Greek  some  hostile  hero  slew, 
t still  the  foremost  bold  Patroclus  flew: 
Areilycus  had  turn’d  him  round, 
arp  in  his  thigh  he  felt  the  piercing 
wound; 

e brazen-pointed  spear,  with  vigour 
thrown, 

e thigh  transfix’d,  and  broke  the  brittle 
bone: 

adlong  he  fell.  Next,  Thoas,  was  thy 
chance,  370 

y breast,  unarm’d,  receiv’d  the  Spartan 
lance. 

ylides’  dart,  as  Amphiclus  drew  nigh, 

5 blow  prevented,  and  transpierc'd  his 
thigh, 

re  all  the  brawn,  and  rent  the  nerves 
!'  away; 

darkness  and  in  death  the  warrior  lay. 

.11  equal  arms  two  sons  of  Nestor  stand, 
d two  bold  brothers  of  the  Lycian  band: 
great  Antilochus,  Antyinnius  dies, 
rc’d  in  the  flank,  lamented  youth  ! he 
lies. 

id  Maris,  bleeding  in  his  brother’s 
wound,  380 

fends  the  breathless  carcass  on  the 
ground. 

Mous  he  flies,  his  murd’rer  to  engage, 
t godlike  Thrasymed  prevents  his  rage: 

3 ; ween  his  arm  and  shoulder  aims  a blow; 

> arm  falls  spouting  on  the  dust  below: 
sinks,  with  endless  darkness  cover’d 
o’er, 

, d vents  his  soul,  effused  with  gushing 
J gore. 


Slain  by  two  brothers,  thus  two  brothers 
bleed, 

Sarpedon’s  friends,  Amisodarus’  seed; 
Amisodarus,  who,  by  Furies  led,  390 

The  bane  of  man,  abhorr’d  Chimsera  bred: 
Skill’d  in  the  dart  in  vain,  his  sons  expire, 
And  pay  the  forfeit  of  their  guilty  sire. 

Stopp’d  in  the  tumult  Cleobulus  lies, 
Beneath  Oi'leus’  arm,  a living  prize; 

A living  prize  not  long  the  Trojan  stood: 
The  thirsty  falchion  drank  his  reeking 
blood; 

Plunged  in  his  throat  the  smoking  weapon 
lies: 

Black  Death,  and  Fate  unpitying,  seal  his 
eyes. 

Amid  the  ranks,  with  mutual  thirst  of 
fame,  400 

Lycon  the  brave,  and  fierce  Peneleus  came; 
In  vain  their  jav’lins  at  each  other  flew; 
Now,  met  in  arms,  their  eager  swords  they 
drew: 

On  the  plumed  crest  of  his  Bceotian  foe 
The  daring  Lycon  aim’d  a noble  blow; 

The  sword  broke  short;  but  his,  Peneleus 
sped 

Full  on  the  juncture  of  the  neck  and  head: 
The  head,  divided  by  a stroke  so  just, 

Hung  by  the  skin;  the  body  sunk  to  dust. 

O’ertaken  Acamas  by  Merion  bleeds,  410 
Pierc’d  thro’  the  shoulders  as  he  mounts  his 
steeds: 

Back  from  the  car  he  tumbles  to  the 
ground ; 

His  swimming  eyes  eternal  shades  sur- 
round. 

Next  Erymas  was  doom’d  his  fate  to  feel : 
His  open’d  mouth  receiv’d  the  Cretan  steel; 
Beneath  the  brain  the  point  a passage 
tore, 

Crash’d  the  thin  bones,  and  ground  the 
teeth  in  gore. 

His  mouth,  his  eyes,  his  nostrils,  pour  a 
flood; 

He  sobs  his  soul  out  in  the  gush  of  blood. 

As  when  the  flocks  neglected  by  the 
swain  420 

(Or  kids,  or  lambs)  lie  scatter’d  o’er  the 
plain, 

A troop  of  wolves  th’  unguarded  charge 
survey, 

And  rend  the  trembling,  unresisting  prey: 
Thus  011  the  foe  the  Greeks  impetuous 
came  : 

Troy  fled,  unmindful  of  her  former  fame. 


440 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


But  still  at  Hector  godlike  Ajax  aim’d, 
Still,  pointed  at  liis  breast,  his  jav’lin 
flamed: 

The  Trojan  Chief,  experienc’d  in  the  field, 
O’er  his  broad  shoulders  spread  the  massy 
shield, 

Observ’d  the  storm  of  darts  the  Grecians 
pour,  430 

And  on  his  buckler  caught  the  ringing 
shower. 

He  sees  for  Greece  the  scale  of  conquest 
rise, 

Yet  stops,  and  turns,  and  saves  his  lov’d 
allies. 

As  when  the  hand  of  Jove  a tempest 
forms, 

And  rolls  the  clouds  to  blacken  Heav’n 
with  storms, 

Dark  o’er  the  fields  tli’  ascending  vapour 
flies, 

And  shades  the  sun,  and  blots  the  golden 
skies: 

So  from  the  ships,  along  the  dusky  plain, 
Dire  Fright  and  Terror  drove  the  Trojan 
train. 

Ev’n  Hector  fled ; thro’  heaps  of  disarray  440 
The  fiery  coursers  forc’d  their  lord  away  : 
While  far  behind  his  Trojans  fall  confused, 
Wedg’d  in  the  trench,  in  one  vast  carnage 
bruis’d. 

Chariots  on  chariots  roll;  the  clashing 
spokes 

Shock;  while  the  madd’ning  steeds  break 
short  their  yokes. 

In  vain  they  labour  up  the  steepy  mound; 
Their  charioteers  lie  foaming  on  the  ground. 
Fierce  on  the  rear,  with  shouts,  Patroclus 
flies; 

Tumultuous  clamour  fills  the  fields  and 
skies; 

Thick  drifts  of  dust  involve  their  rapid 
flight;  450 

Clouds  rise  on  clouds,  and  Heav’n  is 
snatch’d  from  sight. 

Th’  affrighted  steeds,  their  dying  lords 
cast  down, 

Scour  o’er  the  fields,  and  stretch  to  reach 
the  town. 

Loud  o’er  the  rout  was  heard  the  victor’s 
cry, 

Where  the  war  bleeds,  and  where  the 
thickest  die; 

Where  horse,  and  arms,  and  chariots,  lie 
o’erthrown, 

And  bleeding  heroes  under  axles  groan. 


No  stop,  no  check,  the  steeds  of  Peleu; 
knew; 

From  bank  to  bank  th’  immortal  courser: 
flew, 

High-bounding  o’er  the  fosse:  the  whirling 
car  46 

Smokes  thro’  the  ranks,  o’ertakes  the  flyiiq 
war, 

And  thunders  after  Hector;  Hector  flies, 
Patroclus  shakes  his  lance;  but  Fate  denies 
Not  with  less  noise,  with  less  impetuou 
force, 

The  tide  of  Trojans  urge  their  desperat 
course, 

Than  when  in  autumn  Jove  his  fury  pours 
And  earth  is  laden  with  incessant  showers' 
(When  guilty  mortals  break  th’  eterna 
laws, 

Or  judges,  bribed,  betray  the  righteou 
cause) ; 

From  their  deep  beds  he  bids  the  river 
rise,  4; 

And  opens  all  the  floodgates  of  the  skies: 
Th’  impetuous  torrents  from  their  hills  obej 
Whole  fields  are  drown’d,  and  mountain 
swept  away; 

Loud  roars  the  deluge  till  it  meets  the  main 
And  trembling  man  sees  all  his  labour 
vain. 

And  now  the  Chief  (the  foremost  troop 
repell’d) 

Back  to  the  ships  his  destin’d  progress  hel( 
Bore  down  half  Troy  in  his  resistless  way, 
And  forc’d  the  routed  ranks  to  stand  th 
day. 

Between  the  space  where  silver  Simoi 
flows,  4‘ 

Where  lay  the  fleets,  and  where  the  ran 
pires  rose, 

All  grim  with  dust  and  blood,  Patrocln 
stands, 

And  turns  the  slaughter  on  the  conquerin 
bands. 

First  Pronoiis  died  beneath  his  fiery  dart, 
Which  pierc’d  below  the  shield  his  valiai 
heart. 

Thestor  was  next;  who  saw  the  Chief  aj 
pear, 

And  fell  the  victim  of  his  coward  fear  : 
Shrunk  up  he  sat,  with  wild  and  haggai 
eye, 

Nor  stood  to  combat,  nor  had  force  to  fly 
Patroclus  mark’d  him  as  he  shunn’d  tl 
war,  4 

And  with  unmanly  trembling  shook  the  ca 


THE  ILIAD 


44  * 


id  dropp’d  the  flowing  reins.  Him  ’twixt 
the  jaws 

le  jav’lin  sticks,  and  from  the  chariot 
draws. 

5 on  a rock  that  overhangs  the  main, 

1 angler,  studious  of  the  line  and  cane, 
ime  mighty  fish  draws  panting  on  the 
shore; 

jt  with  less  ease  the  barbed  jav’lin  bore 
le  gaping  dastard;  as  the  spear  was 
shook, 

3 fell,  and  life  his  heartless  breast  for- 
sook. 

Next  oil  Eryalus  he  flies;  a stone,  500 
irge  as  a rock,  was  by  his  fury  thrown: 
ill  on  his  crown  the  pond’rous  fragment 
flew, 

id  burst  the  helm,  and  cleft  the  head  in 
two: 

•one  to  the  ground  the  breathless  warrior 
fell, 

id  death  involv’d  him  with  the  shades  of 
hell. 

len  low  in  dust  Epaltes,  Echius,  lie; 
heas,  Evippus,  Polymelus,  die; 
nphoterus  and  Erymas  succeed; 
ad  last  Tlepolemus  and  Pyres  bleed, 
here’er  he  moves,  the  growing  slaughters 
spread  510 

heaps  on  heaps;  a monument  of  dead. 
When  now  Sarpedon  his  brave  friends 
beheld 

•ovelling  in  dust,  and  gasping  on  the  field, 
ith  this  reproach  his  flying  host  he  warms; 
)h  stain  to  honour!  oh  disgrace  to  arms! 
i*rsake,  inglorious,  the  contended  plain; 
lis  hand,  unaided,  shall  the  war  sustain; 

1 le  task  be  mine,  this  hero’s  strength  to 
try, 

ho  mows  whole  troops,  and  makes  an 
army  fly.’ 

He  spake ; and,  speaking,  leaps  from  off 
the  car ; 520 

1 .troclus  lights,  and  sternly  waits  the  war. 
i>  when  two  vultures  on  the  mountain’s 
height 

(oop  with  resounding  pinions  to  the  fight; 
ley  cuff,  they  tear,  they  raise  a screaming 
cry; 

lie  desert  echoes,  and  the  rocks  reply: 
le  warriors  thus,  opposed  in  arms,  engage 
; ith  equal  clamours,  and  with  equal  rage. 
Jove  view’d  the  combat,  whose  event 
foreseen, 

;3  thus  bespoke  his  Sister  and  his  Queen: 


‘The  hour  draws  on;  the  destinies  ordain 
My  godlike  son  shall  press  the  Phrygian 
plain:  531 

Already  on  the  verge  of  death  he  stands, 
His  life  is  ow’d  to  fierce  Patroclus’  hands. 
What  passions  in  a parent’s  breast  debate! 
Say,  shall  I snatch  him  from  impending 
fate, 

And  send  him  safe  to  Lycia,  distant  far 
From  all  the  dangers  and  the  toils  of  war  ? 
Or  to  his  doom  my  bravest  offspring  yield, 
And  fatten  with  celestial  blood  the  field  ? ’ 

Then  thus  the  Goddess  with  the  radiant 
eyes:  54c 

‘ What  words  are  these  ? O Sov’reign  of 
the  Skies! 

Short  is  the  date  prescribed  to  mortal' 
man; 

Shall  Jove,  for  one,  extend  the  narrow  I 
span,  j 

Whose  bounds  were  fix’d  before  his  race 
began  ? 

How  many  sons  of  Gods,  foredoom’d  to 
death, 

Before  proud  Ilion  must  resign  their 
breath! 

Were  thine  exempt,  debate  would  rise 
above, 

And  murm’ring  Powers  condemn  their 
partial  Jove. 

Give  the  bold  Chief  a glorious  fate  in  fight; 
And  when  th’  ascending  soul  has  wing’d 
her  flight,  550 

Let  Sleep  and  Death  convey,  by  thy  com- 
mand, 

The  breathless  body  to  his  native  land. 

His  friends  and  people,  to  his  future  praise, 
A marble  tomb  and  pyramid  shall  raise, 
And  lasting  honours  to  his  ashes  give; 

His  fame  (’t  is  all  the  dead  can  have)  shall 
live.’ 

She  said;  the  Cloud-compeller,  over- 
come, 

Assents  to  Fate,  and  ratifies  the  doom. 
Then,  touch’d  with  grief,  the  weeping  Hea- 
v’ns  distill’d  559 

A shower  of  blood  o’er  all  the  fatal  field; 
The  God,  his  eyes  averting  from  the  plain, 
Laments  his  son,  predestin’d  to  be  slain, 
Far  from  the  Lycian  shores,  his  happy 
native  reign. 

Now  met  in  arms,  the  combatants  ap- 
pear, 

Each  heav’d  the  shield,  and  pois’d  the 
lifted  spear; 


442 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


From  strong  Patroclus’  hand  the  jav’lin  fled, 
And  pass’d  the  groin  of  valiant  Thrasy- 
med; 

The  nerves  unbraced  no  more  his  bulk  sus- 
tain ; 

He  falls,  and  falling  bites  the  bloody  plain. 
Two  sounding  darts  the  Lycian  leader 
threw;  570 

The  first  aloof  with  erring  fury  flew, 

The  next  transpierc’d  Achilles’  mortal 
steed, 

The  gen’rous  Pedasus,  of  Theban  breed, 
Fix’d  in  the  shoulder- joint;  he  reel’d 
around, 

Roll’d  in  the  bloody  dust,  and  paw’d  the 
slipp’ry  ground. 

His  sudden  fall  th’  entangled  harness 
broke ; 

Each  axle  crackled,  and  the  chariot  shook: 
When  bold  Automedon,  to  disengage 
The  starting  coursers,  and  restrain  their 
rage, 

Divides  the  traces  with  his  sword,  and 
freed  580 

Th’  encumber’d  chariot  from  the  dying 
steed: 

The  rest  move  on,  obedient  to  the  rein; 

The  car  rolls  slowly  o’er  the  dusty  plain. 

The  tow’ring  Chiefs  to  fiercer  fight  ad- 
vance, 

And  first  Sarpedon  whirl’d  his  mighty 
lance, 

Which  o’er  the  warrior’s  shoulder  took  its 
course, 

And  spent  in  empty  air  its  dying  force. 

Not  so  Patroclus’  never-erring  dart;  "] 
Aim’d  at  his  breast,  it  pierc’d  the  mortal 
part, 

Where  the  strong  fibres  bind  the  solid 
heart.  59°  J 

Then,  as  the  mountain  oak,  or  poplar  tall, 
Or  pine  (fit  mast  for  some  great  admiral), 
Nods  to  the  axe,  till  with  a groaning  sound 
It  sinks,  and  spreads  its  honours  on  the 
ground; 

Thus  fell  tlie  King;  and,  laid  on  earth 
supine, 

Before  his  chariot  stretch’d  his  form  divine: 
He  grasp’d  the  dust  distain’d  with  stream- 
ing gore, 

And,  pale  in  death,  lay  groaning  on  the 
shore. 

So  lies  a bull  beneath  the  lion’s  paws, 
While  the  grim  savage  grinds  with  foam- 
ing jaws  600 


The  trembling  limbs,  and  sucks  the  srac 
ing  blood; 

Deep  groans,  and  hollow  roars,  rebel! 
thro’  the  wood. 

Then  to  the  leader  of  the  Lycian  band 
The  dying  Chief  address’d  his  last  co 
maud: 

‘ Glaucus,  be  bold;  thy  task  be  first  to  d: 
The  glorious  dangers  of  destructive  war. 
To  lead  my  troops,  to  combat  at  their  he: 
Incite  the  living,  and  supply  the  dead. 
Tell  them,  I charged  them  with  my  lat 
breath 

Not  unrevenged  to  bear  Sarpedon’s  deat 
What  grief,  what  shame,  must  Glam 
undergo, 

If  these  spoil’d  arms  adorn  a Grecian  fc 
Then  as  a friend,  and  as  a warrior,  fight 
Defend  my  body,  conquer  in  my  right; 
That,  taught  by  great  examples,  all  may  1 
Like  thee  to  vanquish,  or  like  me  to  die. 

He  ceas’d;  the  Fates  suppress’d  his 
b’ring  breath, 

And  his  eyes  darken’d  with  the  shades 
death. 

Th’  insulting  victor  with  disdain  bestrod 
The  prostrate  Prince,  and  on  his  bos 
trod; 

Then  drew  the  weapon  from  his  pant 
heart, 

The  reeking  fibres  clinging  to  the  dart; 
From  the  wide  wound  gush’d  out  a stre 
of  blood, 

And  the  soul  issued  in  the  purple  flood. 
His  flying  steeds  the  Myrmidons  detain, 
Unguided  now,  their  mighty  master  slai 
All-impotent  of  aid,  transfix’d  with  grie 
Unhappy  Glaucus  heard  the  dying  Cliie; 
His  painful  arm,  yet  useless  with  the  sm 
Inflicted  late  by  Teucer’s  deadly  dart, 
Supported  on  his  better  hand  he  stay’d; 
To  Phoebus  then  (’twas  all  he  could), 
pray’d: 

* All-seeing  Monarch  ! whether  Lyc 
coast, 

Or  sacred  Ilion,  thy  bright  presence  bo? 
Powerful  alike  to  ease  the  wretch’s  sma 

0 hear  me  ! God  of  ev’ry  healing  art  ! 
Lo  ! stiff  with  clotted  blood,  and  piei 

with  pain, 

That  thrills  my  arm,  and  shoots  thro’  e\ 
vein : 

1 stand  unable  to  sustain  the  spear, 

And  sigh,  at  distance  from  the  glori 

war. 


THE  ILIAD 


443 


ow  in  the  dust  is  great  Sarpedon  laid, 
for  Jove  vouchsafed  his  hapless  offspring 
aid. 

hit  thou,  O God  of  health  ! thy  succour 
lend, 

'o  guard  the  reliques  of  my  slaughter’d 
friend. 

or  thou,  tho’  distant,  canst  restore  my 
might, 

0 head  my  Lycians,  and  support  the  fight.’ 
Apollo  heard ; and,  suppliant  as  he  stood, 

lis  heav’nly  hand  restrain’d  the  flux  of 
blood; 

le  drew  the  dolours  from  the  wounded 
part, 

nd  breathed  a spirit  in  his  rising  heart.  650 
lenew’d  by  art  divine,  the  hero  stands, 

.nd  owns  th’  assistance  of  immortal  hands, 
irst  to  the  fight  his  native  trodps  he 
warms, 

'hen  loudly  calls  on  Troy’s  vindictive 
arms ; 

Hth  ample  strides  he  stalks  from  place  to 
place, 

low  fires  Agenor,  now  Polydamas; 

Eneas  next,  and  Hector  he  accosts; 
nflaming  thus  the  rage  of  all  their  hosts: 

‘ What  thoughts,  regardless  Chief ! thy 
breast  employ, 

>h  too  forgetful  of  the  friends  of  Troy  ! 660 
’hose  gen’rous  friends,  who,  from  their 
country  far, 

ireathe  their  brave  souls  out  in  another’s 
war. 

ee  ! where  in  dust  the  great  Sarpedon  lies, 
n action  valiant,  and  in  council  wise, 

Tho  guarded  right,  and  kept  his  people 

1 free ; 

0 all  his  Lycians  lost,  and  lost  to  thee  ! 
tretch’d  by  Patroclus’  arm  on  yonder 
plains; 

>h  save  from  hostile  rage  his  lov’d  re- 
mains ! 

_h  ! let  not  Greece  his  conquer’d  trophies 
boast,  669 

dor  on  his  corse  revenge  her  heroes  lost.’ 
He  spoke:  each  leader  in  his  grief  par- 
took; 

roy,  at  the  loss,  thro’  all  her  legions 
shook; 

’ransfix’d  with  deep  regret,  they  view  o’er- 
thrown 

it  once  his  country’s  pillar,  and  their  own ; 

Chief,  who  led  to  Troy’s  beleaguered  wall 
v host  of  heroes,  and  outshined  them  all. 


Fired,  they  rush  on ; first  Hector  seeks  the 
foes, 

And  with  superior  vengeance  greatly  glows. 

But  o’er  the  head  the  fierce  Patroclus 
stands, 

And,  rousing  Ajax,  rous’d  the  list’ning 
bands:  680 

‘ Heroes,  be  men  ! be  what  you  were  be- 
fore; 

Or  weigh  the  great  occasion,  and  be  more. 

The  Chief  who  taught  our  lofty  walls  to 
yield, 

Lies  pale  in  death,  extended  on  the  field: 

To  guard  his  body,  Troy  in  numbers  flies; 

’T  is  half  the  glory  to  maintain  our  prize. 

Haste,  strip  his  arms,  the  slaughter  round 
him  spread, 

And  send  the  living  Lycians  to  the  dead.’ 

The  heroes  kindle  at  his  fierce  command; 

The  martial  squadrons  close  on  either 
hand:  690 

Here  Troy  and  Lycia  charge  with  loud 
alarms, 

Thessalia  there  and  Greece  oppose  their 
arms. 

With  horrid  shouts  they  circle  round  the 
slain ; 

The  clash  of  armour  rings  o’er  all  the  plain. 

Great  Jove,  to  swell  the  horrors  of  the 
fight, 

O’er  the  fierce  armies  pours  pernicious 
night, 

And  round  his  son  confounds  the  warring 
hosts, 

His  fate  ennobling  with  a crowd  of  ghosts. 

Now  Greece  gives  way,  and  great  Epi- 
geus  falls;  699 

Agacleus’  son,  from  Budium’s  lofty  walls: 

Who,  chased  for  murder  thence,  a sup- 
pliant came 

To  Peleus  and  the  silver  footed  dame; 

Now  sent  to  Troy,  Achilles’  arms  to  aid, 

He  pays  the  vengeance  to  his  kinsman’s 
shade. 

Soon  as  his  luckless  hand  had  touch’d  the 
dead, 

A rock’s  large  fragment  thunder’d  on  his 
head; 

Hurl’d  by  Hectorean  force,  it  cleft  in 
twain 

His  shatter’d  helm,  and  stretch’d  him  o’er 
the  slain. 

Fierce  to  the  van  of  fight  Patroclus 
came; 

And,  like  an  eagle  darting  at  his  game,  71c 


444 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


Sprung  on  the  Trojan  and  the  Lycian  hand: 
What  grief  thy  heart,  what  fury  urged  thy 
hand, 

Oh  gen’rous  Greek  ! when  with  full  vigour 
thrown 

At  Sthenelaiis  flew  the  weighty  stone, 
Which  sunk  him  to  the  dead:  when  Troy, 
too  near 

That  arm,  drew  back;  and  Hector  learn’d 
to  fear. 

Far  as  an  able  hand  a lance  can  throw, 

Or  at  the  lists,  or  at  the  fighting  foe,  718 
So  far  the  Trojans  from  their  lines  retired; 
Till  Glaucus,  turning,  all  the  rest  inspired. 
Then  Bathyeleiis  fell  beneath  his  rage, 

The  only  hope  of  Chalcon’s  trembling  age: 
Wide  o’er  the  land  was  stretch’d  his  large 
domain, 

With  stately  seats  and  riches  bless’d  in 
vain. 

Him,  bold  with  youth,  and  eager  to  pursue 
The  flying  Lycians,  Glaucus  met,  and  slew; 
Pierc’d  thro’  the  bosom  with  a sudden 
wound, 

He  fell,  and,  falling,  made  the  fields  re- 
sound. 

Th’  Achaians  sorrow  for  their  hero  slain; 
With  conquering  shouts  the  Trojans  shake 
the  plain,  73o 

And  crowd  to  spoil  the  dead:  the  Greeks 
oppose: 

An  iron  circle  round  the  carcass  grows. 

Then  brave  Laogonus  resign’d  his  breath, 
Despatch’d  by  Merion  to  the  shades  of 
death: 

On  Ida’s  holy  hill  he  made  abode, 

The  priest  of  Jove,  and  honour’d  like  his 
God. 

Between  the  jaw  and  ear  the  jav’lin  went: 
The  soul,  exhaling,  issued  at  the  vent. 

His  spear  iEneas  at  the  victor  threw, 
Who,  stooping  forward,  from  the  death 
withdrew;  74o 

The  lance  hiss’d  harmless  o’er  his  cov’ring 
shield, 

And  trembling  struck,  and  rooted  in  the 
field; 

There  yet  scarce  spent,  it  quivers  on  the 
plain, 

Sent  by  the  great  iEneas’  arm  in  vain. 

‘ Swift  as  thou  art’  (the  raging  hero  cries), 

‘ And  skill’d  in  dancing  to  dispute  the  prize, 
My  spear,  the  destin’d  passage  had  it 
found, 

Had  fix’d  thy  active  vigour  to  the  ground.’ 


‘ Oh  valiant  leader  of  the  Dardan  host ! ’ 
(Insulted  Merion  thus  retorts  the  boast); 
‘Strong  as  you  are,  ’t  is  mortal  force  yoi 
trust,  75 

An  arm  as  strong  may  stretch  thee  in  th< 
dust. 

And  if  to  this  my  lance  thy  fate  be  giv’n, 
Vain  are  thy  vaunts;  success  is  still  fron 
Heav’n: 

This,  instant,  sends  thee  down  to  Pluto’; 
coast: 

Mine  is  the  glory,  his  thy  parting  ghost.’ 

‘ O friend  ! ’ (Mencetius’  son  this  answei 
gave) 

‘ With  words  to  combat  ill  befits  the  brave 
Not  empty  boasts  the  sons  of  Troy  repel, 
Your  swords  must  plunge  them  to  the 
shades  of  Hell.  7ec 

To  speak,  beseems  the  council:  but  to  dare 
In  glorious  action,  is  the  task  of  war.’ 

This  said,  Patroclus  to  the  battle  flies; 
Great  Merion  follows,  and  new  shouts 
arise : 

Shields,  helmets  rattle,  as  the  warriors 
close; 

And  thick  and  heavy  sounds  the  storm  of 
blows. 

As  thro’  the  shrilling  vale,  or  mountain 
ground, 

The  labours  of  the  woodman’s  axe  re- 
sound; 

Blows  following  blows  are  heard  re-echo- 
ing wide, 

While  crackling  forests  fall  on  ev’ry 
side : 77G 

Thus  echoed  all  the  fields  with  loud  alarms] 
So  fell  the  warriors,  and  so  rung  theii 
arms. 

Now  great  Sarpedon  on  the  sandy  shore, 
His  heav’nly  form  defaced  with  dust  and 
gore, 

And  stuck  with  darts  by  warring  heroes 
shed, 

Lies  nndistinguish’d  from  the  vulgar  dead 
His  long-disputed  corse  the  chiefs  enclose, 
On  ev’ry  side  the  busy  combat  grows; 
Thick  as  beneath  some  shepherd’s  thatch’d 
abode, 

(The  pails  high  foaming  with  a milky 
flood),  78c 

The  buzzing  flies,  a persevering  train, 
Incessant  swarm,  and  chased  return  again. 

Jove  view’d  the  combat  with  a stern  sur- 
vey, 

And  eyes  that  flash’d  intolerable  day; 


THE  ILIAD 


445 


Fix’d  on  the  field  his  sight,  his  breast  de- 
bates 

The  vengeance  due,  and  meditates  the 
fates: 

Whether  to  urge  their  prompt  effect,  and 
call 

Tho  force  of  Hector  to  Patroclus’  fall, 

This  instant  see  his  short-lived  trophies 
won, 

And  stretch  him  breathless  on  his  slaugh- 
ter’d son;  790 

Or  yet,  with  many  a soul’s  untimely  flight, 
Augment  the  fame  and  horror  of  the  fight. 
To  crown  Achilles’  valiant  friend  with 
praise 

At  length  he  dooms:  and  that  his  last  of 
days 

Shall  set  in  glory;  bids  him  drive  the  foe; 
Nor  unattended  see  the  shades  below. 

Then  Hector’s  mind  he  fills  with  dire  dis- 
may: 

He  mounts  his  car,  and  calls  his  hosts  away; 
Sunk  with  Troy’s  heavy  fates,  he  sees  de- 
cline 

The  scales  of  Jove,  and  pants  with  awe 
divine.  800 

Then,  nor  before,  the  hardy  Lycians  fled, 
And  left  their  Monarch  with  the  common 
dead: 

Around,  in  heaps  on  heaps,  a dreadful  wall 
Of  carnage  rises,  as  the  heroes  fall. 

(So  Jove  decreed  !)  At  length  the  Greeks 
obtain 

The  prize  contested,  and  despoil  the  slain. 
The  radiant  arms  are  by  Patroclus  borne, 
Patroclus’  ships  the  glorious  spoils  adorn. 
Then  thus  to  Phoebus  in  the  realms 
above, 

Spoke  from  his  throne  the  cloud-compel- 
ling Jove:  Bio 

! Descend,  my  Phoebus  ! on  the  Phrygian 
plain, 

And  from  the  fight  convey  Sarpedon  slain: 
Then  bathe  his  body  in  the  crystal  flood, 
With  dust  dishonour’d,  and  deform’d  with 
blood: 

O’er  all  his  limbs  ambrosial  odours  shed, 
And  with  celestial  robes  adorn  the  dead. 
Those  rites  discharged,  his  sacred  corse  be- 
queath 

To  the  soft  arms  of  silent  Sleep  and  Death: 
They  to  his  friends  the  mournful  charge 
shall  bear 

His  friends  a tomb  and  pyramid  shall 
rear;  820 


What  honours  mortals  after  death  receive, 
Those  unavailing  honours  we  may  give.’ 

Apollo  bows,  and  from  Mount  Ida’s 
height, 

Swift  to  the  field  precipitates  his  flight; 
Thence  from  the  war  the  breathless  hero 
bore, 

Veil’d  in  a cloud  to  silver  Simois’  shore; 
There  bathed  his  honourable  wounds,  and 
dress’d 

His  manly  members  in  th’  immortal  vest 
And  with  perfumes  of  sweet  ambrosial 
dews, 

Restores  his  freshness,  and  his  form  re- 
news. 830 

Then  Sleep  and  Death,  two  twins  of  winged 
race, 

Of  matchless  swiftness,  but  of  silent  pace, 
Receiv’d  Sarpedon  at  the  God’s  command, 
And  in  a moment  reach’d  the  Lycian  land; 
The  corse  amidst  his  weeping  friends  they 
laid, 

Where  endless  honours  wait  the  sacred 
shade. 

Meanwhile  Patroclus  pours  along  the 
plains, 

With  foaming  coursers,  and  with  loosen’d 
reins: 

Fierce  on  the  Trojan  and  the  Lycian  crew, 
Ah  blind  to  Fate  ! thy  headlong  fury 
flew:  840 

Against  what  Fate  and  powerful  Jove  or- 
dain, 

Vain  was  thy  friend’s  command,  thy  cour- 
age vain. 

For  he,  the  God,  whose  counsels  uncon- 
troll’d 

Dismay  the  mighty,  and  confound  the  bold; 
The  God,  who  gives,  resumes,  and  orders 
all, 

He  urged  thee  on,  and  urged  thee  on  to  fall. 

Who  first,  brave  hero  ! by  that  arm  was 
slain, 

Who  last  beneath  thy  vengeance  press’d 
the  plain, 

When  Heav’n  itself  thy  fatal  fury  led, 

And  call’d  to  fill  the  number  of  the 
dead  ? 850 

Ad restus  first;  Antonoiis  then  succeeds; 
Echeclus  follows;  next  young  Megas  bleeds; 
Epistor,  Menalippus,  bite  the  ground: 

The  slaughter  Elasus  and  Mulius  crown’d: 
Then  sunk  Pylartes  to  eternal  night; 

The  rest,  dispersing,  trust  their  fates  to 
flight. 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


446 


Now  Troy  had  stoop’d  beneath  his 
matchless  power 

But  flaming'  Phcebus  kept  the  sacred  tower. 
Thrice  at  the  battlements  Patroclus  struck, 
His  blazing  segis  thrice  Apollo  shook:  860 
He  tried  the  fourth;  when,  bursting  from 
the  cloud, 

A more  than  mortal  voice  was  heard  aloud: 

‘Patroclus  ! cease;  this  Heav’n-defended 
wall 

Defies  thy  lance,  not  fated  yet  to  fall ; 

Thy  friend,  thy  greater  far,  it  shall  with- 
stand, 

Troy  shall  not  stoop,  ev’nto  Achilles’  hand.’ 

So  spoke  the  God  who  darts  celestial 
fires: 

The  Greek  obeys  him,  and  with  awe  re- 
tires: 

While  Hector,  checking  at  the  Scsean  gates 
His  panting  coursers,  in  his  breast  de- 
bates, 870 

Or  in  the  field  his  forces  to  employ, 

Or  draw  the  troops  within  the  walls  of 
Troy. 

Thus  while  he  thought,  beside  him 
Phoebus  stood, 

In  Asius’  shape,  who  reign’d  by  Sangar’s 
flood 

(Thy  brother,  Hecuba  ! from  Dymas 
sprung, 

A valiant  warrior,  haughty,  bold  and 
young) : 

Thus  he  accosts  him:  ‘What  a shameful 
sight  ! 

Gods  ! is  it  Hector  that  forbears  the  fight  ? 
Were  thine  my  vigour,  this  successful  spear 
Should  soon  convince  thee  of  so  false  a 
fear.  880 

Turn  thee,  ah  turn  thee  to  the  Field  of 
Fame, 

And  in  Patroclus’  blood  efface  thy  shame. 
Perhaps  Apollo  shall  tliy  arms  succeed, 
And  Heav’n  ordains  him  by  thy  lance  to 
bleed.’ 

So  spoke  th’  inspiring  God:  then  took 
his  flight, 

And  plunged  amidst  the  tumult  of  the 
fight. 

He  bids  Cebrion  drive  the  rapid  car; 

The  lash  resounds,  the  coursers  rush  to 
war: 

The  God  the  Grecians’  sinking  souls  de- 
press’d, 

And  pour’d  swift  spirits  thro’  each  Trojan 
breast.  890 


Patroclus  lights,  impatient  for  the  fight; 

A spear  his  left,  a stone  employs  his  right: 
With  all  his  nerves  he  drives  it  at  the  foe; 
Pointed  above,  and  rough  and  gross  below: 
The  falling  ruin  crush’d  Cebrion’s  head, 
The  lawless  offspring  of  King  Priam’s  bed; 
His  front,  brows,  eyes,  one  undistinguish’d 
wound; 

The  bursting  balls  drop  sightless  to  the 
ground. 

The  charioteer,  while  yet  he  held  the  rein, 
Struck  from  the  car,  falls  headlong  on  the 
plain.  9oo 

To  the  dark  shades  the  soul  unwilling 
glides, 

While  the  proud  victor  thus  his  fall  de- 
rides : 

‘ Good  Heav’ns ! what  active  feats  yon 
artist  shews  ! 

What  skilful  divers  are  our  Phrygian  foes  ! 
Mark  with  what  ease  they  sink  into  the 
sand  ! 

Pity,  that  all  their  practice  is  by  land  ! ’ 
Then  rushing  sudden  on  his  prostrate 
prize, 

To  spoil  the  carcass  fierce  Patroclus  flies: 
Swift  as  a lion,  terrible  and  bold, 

That  sweeps  the  fields,  depopulates  the 
fold;  91c 

Pierc’d  thro’  the  dauntless  heart,  then 
tumbles  slain; 

And  from  his  fatal  courage  finds  his  bane. 
At  once  bold  Hector,  leaping  from  his  car, 
Defends  the  body,  and  provokes  the  war. 
Thus  for  some  slaughter’d  hind,  with  equal 
rage, 

Two  lordly  rulers  of  the  wood  engage; 
Stung  with  fierce  hunger  each  the  prey  in- 
vades, 

And  echoing  roars  rebellow  thro’  the 
shades. 

Stern  Hector  fastens  on  the  warrior’s  head, 
And  by  the  foot  Patroclus  drags  the 
dead ; 920 

While  all  around,  confusion,  rage,  and  fright 
Mix  the  contending  hosts  in  mortal  fight. 
So,  pent  by  hills,  the  wild  winds  roar  aloud 
In  the  deep  bosom  of  some  gloomy  wood; 
Leaves,  arms,  and  trees,  aloft  in  air  are 
blown, 

The  broad  oaks  crackle,  and  the  Sy Ivans 
groan ; 

This  way  and  that  the  rattling  thicket 
bends, 

And  the  whole  forest  in  one  crash  descends. 


THE  ILIAD 


447 


ot  with  less  noise,  with  less  tumultuous 
rage, 

a dreadful  shock  the  mingled  hosts  en- 
gage. 930 

•arts  shower’d  on  darts  now  round  the  car- 
cass ring; 

ow  flights  of  arrows  bounding  from  the 
string: 

tones  follow  stones;  some  clatter  on  the 
fields, 

ome,  hard  and  heavy,  shake  the  sounding 
shields. 

ut  where  the  rising  whirlwind  clouds' 
the  plains, 

link  in  soft  dust  the  mighty  Chief  re-  I 
mains, 

aid,  stretch’d  in  death,  forgets  the  guid- 
ing reins ! J 

Now,  flaming  from  the  zenith,  Sol  had 
driv’n 

iis  fervid  orb  thro’  half  the  vault  of 
Heav’n ; 939- 

VLile  on  each  host  with  equal  tempest  fell 
he  show’ring  darts,  and  numbers  sunk  to 
hell. 

>ut  when  his  evening  wheels  o’erhung  the 
main, 

lad  conquest  rested  on  the  Grecian  train, 
lien,  from  amidst  the  tumult  and  alarms, 
hey  draw  the  conquer’d  corse  and  radiant 
arms. 

hen  rash  Patroclus  with  new  fury  glows, 
lid,  breathing  slaughter,  pours  amid  the 
. foes. 

hrice  on  the  press  like  Mars  himself  he 
flew, 

nd  thrice  three  heroes  at  each  onset 
slew. 

here  ends  thy  glory!  there  the  Fates  un- 
twine 950 

he  last  black  remnant  of  so  bright  a line; 
polio  dreadful  stops  thy  middle  way; 

'eath  calls,  and  Heav’n  allows  no  longer 
day! 

For  lo!  the  God  in  dusky  clouds  en- 
, shrin’d, 

pproaeliing,  dealt  a stagg’ring  blow  be- 
hind. 

he  weighty  shock  his  neck  and  shoulders 
feel; 

is  eyes  flash  sparkles,  his  stunn’d  senses 
reel 

1 giddy  darkness;  far  to  distance  flung, 
is  bounding  helmet  on  the  champaign 
rung. 


Achilles’  plume  is  stain’d  with  dust  and 
gore,  960 

That  plume  which  never  stoop’d  to  earth 
before; 

Long  used,  untouch’d,  in  fighting  fields  to 
shine, 

And  shade  the  temples  of  the  man  divine. 
Jove  dooms  it  now  on  Hector’s  helm  to  nod; 
Not  long  — for  Fate  pursues  him,  and  the 
God. 

His  spear  in  shivers  falls:  his  ample 
shield 

Drops  from  his  arm : his  baldric  strews  the 
field: 

The  corslet  his  astonish’d  breast  forsakes; 
Loose  is  each  joint;  each  nerve  with  horror 
shakes,  969 

Stupid  he  stares,  and  all  assistless  stands: 
Such  is  the  force  of  more  than  mortal 
hands! 

A Dardan  youth  there  was,  well  known 
to  fame, 

From  Panthus  sprung,  Eupliorbus  was  his 
name; 

Famed  for  the  manage  of  the  foaming 
horse, 

Skill’d  in  the  dart,  and  matchless  in  the 
course: 

Full  twenty  knights  he  tumbled  from  the 
car, 

While  yet  he  learn’d  his  rudiments  of  war. 
His  venturous  spear  first  drew  the  hero’s 
gore; 

He  struck,  he  wounded,  but  he  durst  no 
more ; 979 

Nor,  tho’  disarm’d,  Patroclus’  fury  stood,  'l 
But  swift  withdrew  the  long-protended 
wrood,  l 

And  turn’d  him  short,  and  herded  in  the  1 
crowd. 

Thus  by  an  arm  divine,  and  mortal  spear, 
Wounded  at  once,  Patroclus  yields  to  fear, 
Retires  for  succour  to  his  social  train, 

And  flies  the  fate  which  Heav’n  decreed,  in 
vain. 

Stern  Hector,  as  the  bleeding  Chief  he 
views, 

Breaks  thro’  the  ranks,  and  his  retreat  pur- 
sues: 

The  lance  arrests  him  with  a mortal  wound ; 
He  falls,  earth  thunders,  and  his  arms  re- 
sound. 990 

With  him  all  Greece  was  sunk;  that  mo- 
ment all 

Her  yet  surviving  heroes  seem’d  to  fall. 


448 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


Bo,  scorch’d  with  heat,  along  the  desert 
shore, 

The  roaming  lion  meets  a bristly  boar, 

Fast  by  the  spring;  they  both  dispute  the 
flood. 

With  flaming  eyes  and  jaws  besmear’d  with 
blood ; 

At  length  the  sov’reign  savage  wins  the 
strife, 

And  the  torn  boar  resigns  his  thirst  and 
life. 

Patroclus  thus,  so  many  Chiefs  o’erthrown, 
So  many  lives  effused,  expires  his  own.  1000 
As  dying  now  at  Hector’s  feet  he  lies, 

He  sternly  views  him,  and  triumphing  cries: 

‘Lie  there,  Patroclus!  and  with  thee  the 

j°y, 

Thy  pride  once  promis’d,  of  subverting 
Troy; 

The  fancied  scenes  of  Ilion  wrapp’d  in 
flames, 

And  thy  soft  pleasures  serv’d  with  captive 
dames! 

Unthinking  man!  I fought  those  towers  to 
free, 

And  guard  that  beauteous  race  from  lords 
like  thee: 

But  thou  a prey  to  vultures  shalt  be  made; 
Thy  own  Achilles  cannot  lend  thee  aid;  1010 
Tho’  much  at  parting  that  great  Chief 
might  say, 

And  much  enjoin  thee,  this  important  day: 
“ Return  not,  my  brave  friend  ” (perhaps ' 
he  said), 

“ Without  the  bloody  arms  of  Hector 
dead.” 

He  spoke,  Patroclus  march’d,  and  thus 
he  sped.’ 

Supine,  and  wildly  gazing  on  the  skies, 
With  faint  expiring  breath,  the  Chief  replies: 

‘Vain  Boaster!  cease,  and  know  the 
Powers  divine: 

Jove’s  and  Apollo’s  is  this  deed,  not  thine; 
To  Heav’n  is  owed  whate’er  your  own  you 
call,  1020 

And  Heav’n  itself  disarm’d  me  ere  my  fall. 
Had  twenty  mortals,  each  thy  match  in 
might, 

Opposed  me  fairly,  they  had  sunk  in  fight: 
By  Fate  and  Phcebus  was  I first  o’erthrown, 
Euphorbus  next;  the  third  mean  part  thy 
own. 

But  thou,  Imperious!  hear  my  latest  breath; 
The  Gods  inspire  it,  and  it  sounds  thy 
death. 


Insulting  man,  thou  shalt  be  soon  as  I; 
Black  Fate  hangs  o’er  thee,  and  thy  hour 
draws  nigh; 

Ev’n  now  on  life’s  last  verge  I see  thee 
stand.  103c 

I see  thee  fall,  and  by  Achilles’  hand.’ 

He  faints;  the  soul  unwilling  wings  hei 
way 

(The  beauteous  body  left  a load  of  clay), 
Flits  to  the  lone,  uncomfortable  coast; 

A naked,  wand’ring,  melancholy  ghost! 

Then  Hector  pausing,  as  his  eyes  he  fed 
On  the  pale  carcass,  thus  address’d  th« 
dead: 

‘ From  whence  this  boding  speech,  the 
stern  decree 

Of  death  denounc’d,  or  why  denounc’d  tt 
me  ? 

Why  not  as  well  Achilles’  fate  be  giv’n  104 
To  Hector’s  lance  ? who  knows  the  will  o 
Heav’n  ? ’ 

Pensive  he  said:  then,  pressing  as  he  laj 
His  breathless  bosom,  tore  the  lance  away 
And  upwards  cast  the  corse:  the  reekin' 
spear 

He  shakes,  and  charges  the  bold  charioteeii 
But  swift  Automedon  with  loosen’d  reins, 
Rapt  in  the  chariot  o’er  the  distant  plains, 
Far  from  his  rage  th’  immortal  courser 
drove ; 

Th’  immortal  coursers  were  the  gift  o 
Jove. 


BOOK  XVII 

THE  SEVENTH  BATTLE,  FOR  THE  BODY  O 
PATROCLUS.  — THE  ACTS  OF  MENELAUS 

THE  ARGUMENT 

Menelaus.  upon  the  death  of  Patroclus,  de 
fends  his  body  from  the  enemy  : Euphorbus 
who  attempts  it,  is  slain.  Hector  advancing 
Menelaus  retires;  but  soon  returns  wit 
Ajax,  and  drives  him  off.  This  Glaucu 
objects  to  Hector  as  a flight,  who  thereupo 
puts  on  the  armour  he  had  won  from  Patrc 
clus,  and  renews  the  battle.  The  Greek 
give  way,  till  Ajax  rallies  them  : iEneas  sus 
tains  the  Trojans.  .Eneas  and  Hector  ai 
tempt  the  chariot  of  Achilles,  which  is  born 
off  by  Automedon.  The  horses  of  Achilla 
deplore  the  loss  of  Patroclus;  Jupiter  covei 
his  body  with  a thick  darkness  : the  nobl 
praver  of  Ajax  on  that  occasion.  Menelau 
sends  Antilochus  to  Achilles,  with  the  new 


THE  ILIAD 


449 


of  Patroclus’s  death : then  returns  to  the 
fight,  where,  though  attacked  with  the  ut- 
most fury,  he  and  Meriones,  assisted  by  the 
Ajaces,  bear  off  the  body  to  the  ships. 

The  time  is  the  evening  of  the  eight-and-twen- 
tieth  day.  The  scene  lies  in  the  fields  be- 
fore Troy. 

On  the  cold  earth  divine  Patroclus 
spread, 

Lies  pierc’d  with  wounds  among  the  vulgar 
dead. 

areat  Menelaus,  touch’d  with  gen’rous 
woe, 

Springs  to  the  front,  and  guards  him  from 
the  foe: 

Thus,  round  her  new-fall’n  young  the  heifer 
moves, 

Fruit  of  her  throes,  and  first-born  of  her 
loves; 

And  anxious  (helpless  as  he  lies,  and  bare) 
Turns  and  re-turns  her,  with  a mother’s 
care. 

Opposed  to  each  that  near  the  carcass  came, 
His  broad  shield  glimmers,  and  his  lances 
flame.  ic 

The  son  of  Panthus,  skill’d  the  dart  to 
send, 

Eyes  the  dead  hero,  and  insults  the  friend: 
This  hand,  Atrides,  laid  Patroclus  low; 
Warrior!  desist,  nor  tempt  an  equal  blow. 
To  me  tlie  spoils  my  prowess  won,  resign; 
Depart  with  life,  and  leave  the  glory  mine.’ 
The  Trojan  thus:  the  Spartan  Monarch 
burn’d 

With  gen’rous  anguish,  and  in  scorn  re- 
turn’d : 

Laugh’st  thou  not,  Jove!  from  thy  superior 
throne, 

When  mortals  boast  of  prowess  not  their 
own  ? 20 

(Not  thus  the  lion  glories  in  his  might, 

Nor  panther  braves  bis  spotted  foe  in 
1 fight; 

Nor  thus  the  boar  (those  terrors  of  the 
i plain) ; 

Man  only  vaunts  his  force,  and  vaunts  in 
1 vain. 

fBut  far  the  vainest  of  the  boastful  kind 
'These  sons  of  Panthus  vent  their  haughty 
mind. 

Vet ’t  was  but  late,  beneath  my  conquering 
steel 

This  boaster’s  brother,  Hyperenor,  fell:  28 
Against  our  arm,  which  rashly  he  defied, 
Vain  was  his  vigour,  and  as  vain  his  pride. 


These  eyes  beheld  him  on  the  dust  expire, 
No  more  to  cheer  his  spouse,  or  glad  his 
sire. 

Presumptuous  youth!  like  his  shall  be  thy 
doom, 

Go,  wait  thy  brother  to  the  Stygian  gloom; 
Or,  while  thou  may’st,  avoid  the  threaten’d 
fate; 

Fools  stay  to  feel  it,  and  are  wise  too  late,’ 

Unmov’d,  Euphorbus  thus:  ‘ That  action 
known, 

Come,  for  my  brother’s  blood  repay  thy 
own. 

His  weeping  father  claims  thy  destin’d 
head, 

And  spouse,  a widow  in  her  bridal  bed.  40 
On  these  thy  conquer’d  spoils  I shall  be- 
stow, 

To  soothe  a consort’s  and  a parent’s  woe. 
No  longer  then  defer  the  glorious  strife, 
Let  Heav’n  decide  our  Fortune,  Fame,  and 
Life.’ 

Swift  as  the  word  the  missile  lance  he 
flings, 

The  well-aim’d  weapon  on  the  buckler 
rings, 

But,  blunted  by  the  brass,  innoxious  falls: 
On  Jove,  the  father, great  Atrides  calls; 
Nor  flies  the  jav’lin  from  his  arm  in  vain; 
It  pierc’d  his  throat,  and  bent  him  to  the 
plain ; 5c 

Wide  thro’  the  neck  appears  the  grisly 
wound, 

Prone  sinks  the  warrior,  and  his  arms  re- 
sound. 

The  shining  circlets  of  his  golden  hair, 
Which  ev’n  the  Graces  might  be  proud  to 
wear, 

Instarr’d  with  gems  and  gold,  bestrew  the 
shore, 

With  dust  dishonour’d,  and  deform’d  with 
gore. 

As  the  young  olive,  fm  some  sylvan 
scene, 

Crown’d  by  fresh  fountains  with  eternal 
green, 

Lifts  the  gay  head,  in  snowy  flow’rets 
fair, 

And  plays  and  dances  to  the  gentle  air;  6c 
When  lo  ! a whirlwind  from  high  Heav’n 
invades 

The  tender  plant,  and  withers  all  itfc 
shades; 

It  lies  uprooted  from  its  genial  bed, 

A lovely  ruin  now  defaced  and  dead  J 


45° 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


Thus  young,  thus  beautiful,  Euphorbus  lay, 
While  the  fierce  Spartan  tore  bis  arms 
away. 

Proud  of  bis  deed,  and  glorious  in  the 
prize, 

Affrighted  Troy  the  tow’ring  victor  flies; 
Flies,  as  before  some  mountain  lion’s  ire 
The  village  curs  and  trembling  swains  re- 
tire ; 70 

When  o’er  the  slaughter’d  bull  they  hear 
him  roar, 

And  see  his  jaws  distil  with  smoking  gore; 
All  pale  with  fear,  at  distance  scatter’d 
round, 

They  shout  incessant,  and  the  vales  re- 
sound. 

Meanwhile  Apollo  view’d  with  envious 
eyes, 

And  urged  great  Hector  to  dispute  the 
prize 

(In  Mentes’  shape,  beneath  whose  martial 
care 

The  rough  Ciconians  learn’d  the  trade  of 
war): 

* Forbear,’  he  cried,  ‘ with  fruitless  speed 
to  chase 

Achilles’  coursers,  of  ethereal  race;  80 
They  stoop  not,  these,  to  mortal  man’s 
command, 

Or  stoop  to  none  but  great  Achilles’  hand. 
Too  long  amused  with  a pursuit  so  vain, 
Turn,  and  behold  the  brave  Euphorbus 
slain  ! 

By  Sparta  slain;  for  ever  now  suppress’d 
The  fire  which  burn’d  in  that  undaunted 
breast  ! ’ 

Thus  having  spoke,  Apollo  wing’d  his 
flight, 

And  mix’d  with  mortals  in  the  toils  of 
fight: 

His  words  infix’d  unutterable  care 
Deep  in  great  Hector’s  soul:  thro’  all  the 
war  * _ 9° 

He  darts  his  anxious  eye:  and  instant 
view’d 

The  breathless  hero  in  his  blood  imbrued 
(Forth  welling  from  the  wound,  as  prone 
he  lay), 

And  in  the  victor’s  hand  the  shining  prey. 
Sheathed  in  bright  arms,  thro’  cleaving 
ranks  he  flies, 

And  sends  his  voice  in  thunder  to  the 
skies: 

Fierce  as  a flood  of  flame  by  Vulcan  sent, 
It  flew,  and  fired  the  nations  as  it  went. 


Atrides  from  the  voice  the  storm  divin’d, 
And  thus  explor’d  his  own  unconquer’d 
mind:  100 

* Then  shall  I quit  Patroclus  on  the 
plain, 

Slain  in  my  cause,  and  for  my  honour 
slain; 

Desert  the  arms,  the  relics  of  my  friend  ? 
Or  singly  Hector  and  his  troops  attend  ? 
Sure,  where  such  partial  favour  Heav’n 
bestow’d, 

To  brave  the  Hero  were  to  brave  the  God: 
Forgive  me,  Greece,  if  once  I quit  the 
field; 

’T  is  not  to  Hector,  but  to  Heav’n,  I yield. 
Yet,  nor  the  God  nor  Heav’n  should  give 
me  fear, 

Did  but  the  voice  of  Ajax  reach  my  ear:  no 
Still  would  we  turn,  still  battle  on  the 
plains, 

And  give  Achilles  all  that  yet  remains 
Of  his  and  our  Patroclus.’  This,  no  more, 
The  time  allow’d:  Troy  thicken’d  on  the 
shore ; 

A sable  scene  ! The  terrors  Hector  led ; 
Slow  he  recedes,  and  sighing  quits  the  dead. 

So  from  the  fold  th’  unwilling  lion  parts, 
Forc’d  by  loud  clamours,  and  a storm  of 
darts; 

He  flies  indeed,  but  threatens  as  he 
flies,  119 

With  heart  indignant  and  retorted  eyes. 
Now,  enter’d  in  the  Spartan  ranks,  he 
turn’d 

His  manly  breast,  and  with  new  fury 
burn’d: 

O’er  all  the  black  battalions  sent  his  view, 
And  thro’  the  cloud  the  godlike  Ajax 
knew; 

Where  lab’ring  on  the  left  the  warrior 
stood, 

All  grim  in  arms,  and  cover’d  o’er  with 
blood; 

There  breathing  courage,  where  the  God 
of  Day 

Had  sunk  each  heart  with  terror  and 
dismay. 

To  him  the  King:  ‘ Oh  ! Ajax,  oh  my 
friend  ! 

Haste,  and  Patroclus’  lov’d  remains  de- 
fend: 130 

The  body  to  Achilles  to  restore, 

Demands  our  care;  alas  ! we  can  no  more  ! 
For  naked  now,  despoil’d  of  arms,  he  lies: 
And  Hector  glories  in  the  dazzling  prize.’ 


THE  ILIAD 


45 1 


le  said,  and  touch’d  his  heart.  The  rag- 
ing pair 

’ierce  the  thick  battle,  and  provoke  the 
war. 

Uready  had  stern  Hector  seiz’d  his  head, 
Did  doom’d  to  Trojan  dogs  th’  unhappy 
dead; 

lut  soon  as  Ajax  rear’d  his  tower-like 
shield, 

Sprung  to  his  car,  and  measured  back  the 
field.  140 

lis  train  to  Troy  the  radiant  armour  bear, 
Co  stand  a trophy  of  his  fame  in  war. 

Meanwhile  great  Ajax  (his  broad  shield 
display’d) 

xuards  the  dead  hero  with  the  dreadful 
shade; 

^nd  now  before,  and  now  behind  he  stood: 
Thus,  in  the  centre  of  some  gloomy  wood, 
»Vith  many  a step  the  lioness  surrounds 
ier  tawny  young,  beset  by  men  and 
hounds; 

£late  her  heart,  and  rousing  all  her 
powers, 

)ark  o’er  the  fiery  balls  each  hanging  eye- 
brow lowers.  150 

Sast  by  his  side  the  gen’rous  Spartan  glows 
Aith  great  revenge,  and  feeds  his  inward 
woes. 

But  Glaucus,  leader  of  the  Lycian  aids, 
On  Hector  frowning,  thus  his  flight  up- 
braids: 

Where  now  in  Hector  shall  we  Hector 
find? 

A manly  form,  without  a manly  mind  ! 

this,  O Chief  ! a hero’s  boasted  fame  ? 
low  vain,  without  the  merit,  is  the  name  ! 
Since  battle  is  renounc’d,  thy  thoughts 
employ 

What  other  methods  may  preserve  thy 
Troy:  160 

IT  is  time  to  try  if  Ilion’s  state  can  stand 
iy  thee  alone,  nor  ask  a foreign  hand; 
Mean,  empty  boast  ! but  shall  the  Lycians 
stake 

Their  lives  for  you  ? those  Lycians  you 
forsake  ? 

What  from  thy  thankless  arms  can  we  ex- 
pect ? 

Thy  friend  Sarpedon  proves  thy  base  ne- 
j gleet: 

lay,  shall  our  slaughter’d  bodies  guard 
your  walls, 

'While  unrevenged  the  great  Sarpedon 
falls  ? 


Ev’n  where  he  died  for  Troy,  you  left  him 
there, 

A feast  for  dogs,  and  all  the  fowls  of 
air.  170 

On  my  command  if  any  Lycian  wait, 

Hence  let  him  march,  and  give  up  Troy  to 
fate. 

Did  such  a spirit  as  the  Gods  impart 
Impel  one  Trojan  hand,  or  Trojan  heart 
(Such  as  should  burn  in  every  soul  that 
draws 

The  sword  for  glory,  and  his  country’s 
cause), 

Ev’n  yet  our  mutual  arms  we  might  em- 

P%> 

And  drag  yon  carcass  to  the  walls  of  Troy. 
Oh  ! were  Patroclus  ours,  we  might  obtain 
Sarpedon’s  arms,  and  honour’d  corse, 
again ! 180 

Greece  with  Achilles’  friend  should  be  re- 
paid, 

And  thus  due  honours  purchas’d  to  his 
shade. 

But  words  are  vain.  Let  Ajax  once  ap- 
pear, 

And  Hector  trembles  and  recedes  with 
fear; 

Thou  darest  not  meet  the  terrors  of  his 
eye; 

And  lo,  already  thou  preparest  to  fly.’ 

The  Trojan  Chief  with  fix’d  resentment 
eyed 

The  Lycian  leader,  and  sedate  replied: 

4 Say,  is  it  just  (my  friend)  that  Hector’s 
ear 

From  such  a warrior  such  a speech  should 
hear  ? 190 

I deem’d  thee  once  the  wisest  of  thy  kind, 
But  ill  this  insult  suits  a prudent  mind. 

I shun  great  Ajax  ? I desert  my  train  ? 

’T  is  mine  to  prove  the  rash  assertion 
vain; 

I joy  to  mingle  where  the  battle  bleeds, 
And  hear  the  thunder  of  the  sounding 
steeds. 

But  Jove’s  high  will  is  ever  uncontroll’d, 
The  strong  he  withers,  and  confounds  the 
bold: 

Now  crowns  with  fame  the  mighty  man, 
and  now 

Strikes  the  fresh  garland  from  the  victor’s 
brow  ! 20a 

Come,  thro’  yon  squadrons  let  us  hew  the 
way, 

And  thou  be  witness  if  I fear  to-day  : 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


45  2 


If  yet  a Greek  the  sight  of  Hector  dread, 
Or  yet  their  hero  dare  defend  the  dead.’ 
Then,  turning  to  the  martial  hosts,  he 
cries, 

‘ Ye  Trojans,  Dardans,  Lyciatis,  and  allies  ! 
Be  men  (my  friends)  in  action  as  in  name, 
And  yet  be  mindful  of  your  ancient  fame. 
Hector  in  proud  Achilles’  arms  shall  shine, 
Torn  from  his  friend,  by  right  of  conquest 
mine.’  210 

He  strode  along  the  field  as  thus  he 
said 

(The  sable  plumage  nodded  o’er  his  head): 
Swift  thro’  the  spacious  plain  he  sent  a look; 
One  instant  saw,  one  instant  overtook 
The  distant  band,  that  on  the  sandy  shore 
The  radiant  spoils  to  sacred  Ilion  bore. 
There  his  own  mail  unbraced  the  field  be- 
strew’d ; 

His  train  to  Troy  convey’d  the  massy  load. 
Now  blazing  in  th’  immortal  arms  he 
stands,  219 

The  work  and  present  of  celestial  hands; 
By  aged  Peleus  to  Achilles  giv’n, 

As  first  to  Peleus  by  the  court  of  Heav’n: 
His  father’s  arms  not  long  Achilles  wears, 
Forbid  by  Fate  to  reach  his  father’s  years. 
Him,  proud  in  triumph,  glitt’ring  from 
afar, 

The  God  whose  thunder  rends  the  troubled 
air 

Beheld  with  pity  ! as  apart  he  sat, 

And,  conscious,  look’d  thro’  all  the  scene  of 
fate, 

He  shook  the  sacred  honours  of  his  head ; 
Olympus  trembled,  and  the  Godhead  said: 

‘ Ah,  wretched  man  ! unmindful  of  thy 
end  ! 231 

A moment’s  glory,  and  what  fates  attend  ! 
In  heav’nly  panoply,  divinely  bright 
Thou  stand’st,  and  armies  tremble  at  thy 
sight, 

As  at  Achilles’  self  ! beneath  thy  dart 
Lies  slain  the  great  Achilles’  dearer  part: 
Thou  from  the  mighty  dead  those  arms 
hast  torn, 

Which  once  the  greatest  of  mankind  had 
worn. 

Yet  live  ! I give  thee  one  illustrious  day, 

A blaze  of  glory  ere  thou  fadest  away.  240 
For  ah  ! no  more  Andromache  shall  come, 
With  joyful  tears  to  welcome  Hector  home; 
No  more  officious,  with  endearing  charms, 
From  thy  tired  limbs  unbrace  Pelides’ 
arms  ! ’ 


Then  with  his  sable  brow  he  gave  the 
nod, 

That  seals  his  word;  the  sanction  of  the 
God. 

The  stubborn  arms  (by  Jove’s  command 
disposed) 

Conform’d  spontaneous,  and  around  him 
closed : 

Fill’d  with  the  God,  enlarged  his  members 
grew, 

Thro’  all  his  veins  a sudden  vigour  flew:  25c 
The  blood  in  brisker  tides  began  to  roll, 
And  Mars  himself  came  rushing  on  his 
soul. 

Exhorting  loud  thro’  all  the  field  he  strode, 
And  look’d,  and  mov’d,  Achilles,  or  a God. 
Now  Mestliles,  Glaucus,  Medon  he  in- 
spires, 

Now  Phorcys,  Chromius,  and  Hippothoiis 
fires; 

The  great  Thersilochus  like  fury  found, 
Asteropseus  kindled  at  the  sound,  > 

And  Ennomus,  in  augury  renown’d.  J 
‘ Hear,  all  ye  hosts,  and  hear,  unnumber’d 
bands  26c 

Of  neighb’ring  nations,  or  of  distant  lands 
’T  was  not  for  state  we  summon’d  you  st 
far, 

To  boast  our  numbers,  and  the  pomp  ol 
war; 

Ye  came  to  fight;  a valiant  foe  to  chase, 
To  save  our  present  and  our  future  race. 
For  this,  our  wealth,  our  products,  you  en 
joy, 

And  glean  the  relics  of  exhausted  Troy. 
Now,  then,  to  conquer  or  to  die  prepare, 
To  die  or  conquer  are  the  terms  of  war. 
Whatever  hand  shall  win  Patroclus  slain, 
Whoe’er  shall  drag  him  to  the  Trojai 
train,  27 

With  Hector’s  self  shall  equal  honour, 
claim; 

With  Hector  part  the  spoil,  and  share  tin 
fame.’ 

Fired  by  his  words,  the  troops  dismis 
their  fears, 

They  join,  they  thicken,  they  protend  thei 
spears; 

Full  on  the  Greeks  they  drive  in  firm  array 
And  each  from  Ajax  hopes  the  gloriou 
prey: 

Vain  hope  ! what  numbers  shall  the  fieh 
o’erspread, 

What  victims  perish  round  the  might 
dead  1 


THE  ILIAD 


453 


Great  Ajax  mark’d  the  growing-  storm 
from  far,  280 

And  thus  bespoke  his  brother  of  the  war: 

‘ Our  fatal  day,  alas  ! is  come,  my  friend, 
And  all  our  wars  and  glories  at  an  end  ! 

’T  is  not  this  corse  alone  we  guard  in  vain, 
iCondemn’d  to  vultures  on  the  Trojan 
plain; 

We  too  must  yield;  the  same  sad  fate  must 
fall 

On  thee,  on  me,  perhaps  (my  friend)  on  all. 
See  what  a tempest  direful  Hector  spreads, 
(And  lo ! it  bursts,  it  thunders  on  our 
heads ! 

1 Call  on  our  Greeks,  if  any  hear  the  call,  290 
The  bravest  Greeks:  this  hour  demands 
them  all.’ 

The  warrior  rais’d  his  voice,  and  wide 
around 

The  field  re-echoed  the  distressful  sound: 

‘ Oh  Chiefs  ! oh  Princes  ! to  whose  hand  is 
giv’n 

The  rule  of  men;  whose  glory  is  from 
Heav’n  ! 

Whom  with  due  honours  both  Atrides 
grace : 

Ye  guides  and  guardians  of  our  Argive 
race  ! 

All,  whom  this  well-known  voice  shall 
reach  from  far, 

All,  whom  I see  not  thro’  this  cloud  of  war, 
Come  all  ! let  gen’rous  rage  your  arms 
employ,  3°° 

And  save  Patroclus  from  the  dogs  of  Troy.’ 

Oi'lean  Ajax  first  the  voice  obey’d, 

Swift  was  his  pace  and  ready  was  his  aid; 
Next  him  Idomeneus,  more  slow  with  age, 
And  Merion,  burning  with  a hero’s  rage. 

1 The  long-succeeding  numbers  who  can 
name  ? 

But  all  were  Greeks,  and  eager  all  for 
fame. 

Fierce  to  the  charge  great  Hector  led  the 
throng; 

Whole  Troy,  embodied,  rush’d  with  shouts 
along. 

Thus,  when  a mountain  billow  foams  and 
raves,  - 310 

;/  Where  some  swoln  river  disembogues  his 
waves, 

Full  in  the  mouth  is  stopp’d  the  rushing 
» tide, 

The  boiling  ocean  works  from  side  to  side, 
j'  The  river  trembles  to  his  utmost  shore, 
And  distant  rocks  rebellow  to  the  roar. 


Nor  less  resolv’d,  the  firm  Acbaian  band 
With  brazen  shields  in  horrid  circle  stand: 
Jove,  pouring  darkness  o’er  the  mingled 
fight, 

Conceals  the  warriors’  shining  helms  in 
night: 

To  him  the  Chief,  for  whom  the  hosts  con- 
tend, 320 

Had  liv’d  not  hateful,  for  he  liv’d  a friend: 
Dead  he  protects  him  with  superior  care, 
Nor  dooms  his  carcass  to  the  birds  of  air. 

The  first  attack  the  Grecians  scarce  sus- 
tain, 

Repuls’d,  they  yield;  the  Trojans  seize  the 
slain : 

Then  fierce  they  rally,  to  revenge  led  on 
By  the  swift  rage  of  Ajax  Telamon 
(Ajax,  to  Peleus’  son  the  second  name, 

In  graceful  stature  next,  and  next  in  fame). 
With  headlong  force  the  foremost  ranks  he 
tore:  zy* 

So  thro’  the  thicket  bursts  the  mountain 
boar, 

And  rudely  scatters,  far  to  distance  round, 
The  frighted  hunter  and  the  baying  hound. 
The  son  of  Lethus,  brave  Pelasgus’  heir, 
Hippothoiis,  dragg’d  the  carcass  thro’  the 
war; 

The  sinewy  ancles  bored,  the  feet  he  bound 
With  thongs,  inserted  thro’  the  double 
wound; 

Inevitable  Fate  o’ertakes  the  deed; 

Doom’d  by  great  Ajax’  vengeful  lance  to 
bleed; 

It  cleft  the  helmet’s  brazen  cheeks  in 
twain;  340 

The  shatter’d  crest  and  horsehair  strew  the 
plain : 

With  nerves  relax’d  he  tumbles  to  the 
ground, 

The  brain  comes  gushing  thro’  the  ghastly 
wound: 

He  drops  Patroclus’  foot,  and,  o’er  him 
spread, 

Now  lies  a sad  companion  of  the  dead: 

Far  from  Larissa  lies,  his  native  air, 

And  ill  requites  his  parent’s  tender  care. 
Lamented  youth  ! in  life’s  first  bloom  he 
fell, 

Sent  by  great  Ajax  to  the  shades  of  Hell. 

Once  more  at  Ajax  Hector’s  jav’lin  flies; 
The  Grecian  marking  as  it  cut  the  skies,  351 
Shunn’d  the  descending  death,  which,  hiss- 
ing on, 

Stretch’d  in  the  dust  the  great  Iphitus’son, 


454 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


Schedius  the  brave,  of  all  the  Phocian 
kind 

The  boldest  warrior,  and  the  noblest  mind: 
In  little  Panope,  for  strength  renown’d, 

He  held  his  seat,  and  ruled  the  realms 
around. 

Plunged  in  his  throat,  the  weapon  drank 
his  blood, 

And,  deep  transpiercing,  thro’  the  shoulder 
stood; 

In  clanging  arms  the  hero  fell,  and  all  360 
The  fields  resounded  with  his  weighty  fall. 

Phorcys,  as  slain  Hippothous  he  defends, 
The  Telamonian  lance  his  belly  rends; 

The  hollow  armour  burst  before  the  stroke, 
And  thro’  the  wound  the  rushing  entrails 
broke. 

In  strong  convulsions  panting  on  the  sands 
He  lies,  and  grasps  the  dust  with  dying 
hands. 

Struck  at  the  sight,  recede  the  Trojan 
train : 

The  shouting  Argives  strip  the  heroes 
slain. 

And  now  had  Troy,  by  Greece  compell’d 
to  yield,  37o 

Fled  to  her  ramparts,  and  resign’d  the  field; 
Greece,  in  her  native  fortitude  elate, 

With  Jove  averse,  had  turn’d  the  scale  of 
Fate; 

But  Phcebus  urged  iEneas  to  the  fight; 

He  seem’d  like  aged  Periphas  to  sight 
(A  herald  in  Anchises’  love  grown  old, 
Revered  for  prudence,  and,  with  prudence, 
bold). 

Thus  he:  ‘ What  methods  yet,  oh  Chief! 
remain, 

To  save  your  Troy,  tho’  Heav’n  its  fall 
ordain  ? 

There  have  been  heroes,  who,  by  virtuous 
care,  380 

By  valour,  numbers,  and  by  arts  of  war, 
Have  forc’d  the  Powers  to  spare  a sinking 
state, 

And  gain’d  at  length  the  glorious  odds  of 
Fate. 

But  you,  when  Fortune  smiles,  when  Jove 
declares 

His  partial  favour,  and  assists  your  wars, 
Your  shameful  efforts  ’gainst  yourselves 
employ, 

And  force  th’  unwilling  God  to  ruin  Troy.’ 

iEneas,  thro’  the  form  assumed,  descries 
The  power  conceal’d,  and  thus  to  Hector 
cries: 


‘ Oh  lasting  shame  ! to  our  own  fears  a 
Prey>  390 

We  seek  our  ramparts,  and  desert  the  day. 
A God  (nor  is  he  less)  my  bosom  warms, 
And  tells  me  Jove  asserts  the  Trojan 
arms.’ 

He  spoke,  and  foremost  to  the  combat 
flew; 

The  bold  example  all  his  hosts  pursue. 
Then  first  Leocritus  beneath  him  bled, 

In  vain  beloved  by  valiant  Lycomede; 

Who  view’d  his  fall,  and,  grieving  at  the 
chance, 

Swift  to  revenge  it,  sent  his  angry  lance: 
The  whirling  lance,  with  vig’rous  force  ad- 
dress’d, 4O0 

Descends,  and  pants  in  Apisaon’s  breast: 
From  rich  Pseonia’s  vales  the  warrior  came; 
Next  thee,  Asteropeus  ! in  place  and  fame, 
Asteropeus  with  grief  beheld  the  slain, 
And  rush’d  to  combat,  but  he  rush’d  in  vain : 
Indissolubly  firm,  around  the  dead, 

Rank  within  rank,  on  buckler  buckler 
spread, 

And  hemm’d  with  bristled  spears,  the  Gre- 
cians stood ; 

A brazen  bulwark,  and  an  iron  wood.  409 
Great  Ajax  eyes  them  with  incessant  care, 
And  in  an  orb  contracts  the  crowded  war, 
Close  in  their  ranks  commands  to  fight  or 
fall, 

And  stands  the  centre  and  the  soul  of  all: 
Fix’d  on  the  spot  they  war,  and  wounded, 
wound; 

A sanguine  torrent  steeps  the  reeking 
ground; 

On  heaps  the  Greeks,  on  heaps  the  Trojans 
bled, 

And,  thick’ning  round  them,  rise  the  hills 
of  dead. 

Greece,  in  close  order  and  collected 
might, 

Yet  suffers  least,  and  sways  the  wav’ring 
fight; 

Fierce  as  conflicting  fires,  the  combat  burns, 
And  now  it  rises,  now  it  sinks,  by  turns.  421 
In  one  thick  darkness  all  the  fight  was  lost: 
The  sun,  the  moon,  and  all  th’  ethereal 
host, 

Seem’d  as  extinct;  day  ravish’d  from  their 
eyes, 

And  all  Heav’n’s  splendours  blotted  from 
the  skies. 

Such  o’er  Patroclus’  body  hung  the  night, 
The  rest  in  sunshine  fought,  and  open  light: 


THE  ILIAD 


455 


Unclouded  there,  th’  aerial  azure  spread, 

No  vapour  rested  on  the  mountain’s  head, 
The  golden  sun  pour’d  forth  a stronger 
ray,  430 

And  all  the  broad  expansion  flamed  with 
day. 

Dispers’d  around  the  plain,  by  fits  they 
fight, 

And  here,  and  there,  their  scatter’d  arrows 
light: 

But  death  and  darkness  o’er  the  carcass 
( spread, 

There  burn’d  the  war,  and  there  the  mighty 
bled. 

Meanwhile  the  sons  of  Nestor,  in  the  rear 
(Their  fellows  routed),  toss  the  distant 
spear, 

And  skirmish  wide:  so  Nestor  gave  com- 
mand, 

When  from  the  ships  he  sent  the  Pylian 
band. 

The  youthful  brothers  thus  for  fame  con- 
tend, 440 

Nor  knew  the  fortune  of  Achilles’  friend; 
In  thought  they  view’d  him  still,  with  mar- 
tial joy, 

Glorious  in  arms,  and  dealing  deaths  to 
Troy. 

But  round  the  corse  the  heroes  pant  for 
breath, 

And  thick  and  heavy  grows  the  work  of 
death: 

O’erlabour’d  now,  with  dust,  and  sweat, 
and  gore, 

Their  knees,  their  legs,  their  feet,  are  cov- 
er’d o’er; 

-Drops  follow  drops,  the  clouds  on  clouds 
arise, 

And  carnage  clogs  their  hands,  and  dark- 
ness fills  their  eyes. 

As  when  a slaughter’d  bull’s  yet  reeking 
hide,  45° 

Strain’d  with  full  force,  and  tugg’d  from 
side  to  side, 

The  brawny  curriers  stretch;  and  labour 
o’er 

Th’  extended  surface,  drunk  with  fat  and 
1 gore; 

So  tugging  round  the  corse  both  armies 
stood ; 

The  mangled  body  bathed  in  sweat  and 
blood : 

While  Greeks  and  Ilians  equal  strength 
employ, 

Now  to  the  ships  to  force  it,  now  to  Troy. 


Not  Pallas’  self,  her  breast  when  fury 
warms, 

Nor  he  whose  anger  sets  the  world  in  arms, 
Could  blame  this  scene;  such  rage,  such 
horror,  reign’d;  460 

Such  Jove  to  honour  the  great  dead  or- 
dain’d. 

Achilles  in  his  ships  at  distance  lay, 

Nor  knew  the  fatal  fortune  of  the  day; 

He,  yet  unconscious  of  Patroclus’  fall, 

In  dust  extended  under  Ilion’s  wall, 
Expects  him  glorious  from  the  conquer’d 
plain, 

And  for  his  wish’d  return  prepares  in  vain; 
Tho’  well  he  knew,  to  make  proud  Ilion 
bend, 

Was  more  than  Heav’n  had  destin’d  to  his 
friend,  469 

Perhaps  to  him:  this  Thetis  had  reveal’d; 
The  rest,  in  pity  to  her  son,  conceal’d. 

Still  raged  the  conflict  round  the  hero 
dead, 

And  heaps  on  heaps  by  mutual  wounds 
they  bled. 

‘ Curs’d  be  the  man  ’ (ev’n  private  Greeks 
would  say) 

‘ Who  dares  desert  this  well-disputed  day! 
First  may  the  cleaving  earth  before  our 
eyes 

Gape  wide,  and  drink  our  blood  for  sacri- 
fice! 

First  perish  all,  ere  haughty  Troy  shall 
boast 

We  lost  Patroclus,  and  our  glory  lost.’ 

Thus  they.  While  with  one  voice  the 
Trojans  said,  48c 

‘Grant  this  day,  Jove!  or  heap  us  on  the 
dead! ’ 

Then  clash  their  sounding  arms;  the 
clangors  rise, 

And  shake  the  brazen  concave  of  the  skies. 

Meantime,  at  distance  from  the  scene  of 
blood, 

The  pensive  steeds  of  great  Achilles  stood; 
Their  godlike  master  slain  before  their  eyes, 
They  wept,  and  shared  in  human  miseries. 
In  vain  Automedon  now  shakes  the  rein, 
Now  plies  the  lash,  and  soothes  and  threats 
in  vain;  489 

Nor  to  the  fight,  nor  Hellespont  they  go; 
Restive  they  stood,  and  obstinate  in  woe: 
Still  as  a tombstone,  never  to  be  mov’d, 

On  some  good  man,  or  woman  unreprov’d, 
Lays  its  eternal  weight;  or  fix’d  as  stands 
A marble  courser  by  the  sculptor’s  hands 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


456  TRANSLATIONS 

5 FROM  HOMER 

Placed  on  the  hero’s  grave.  Along  their 
face 

The  big  round  drops  cours’d  down  with 
silent  pace, 

Conglobing  on  the  dust.  Their  manes,  that 
late 

Circled  their  arched  necks,  and  waved  in 
state, 

Trail’d  on  the  dust  beneath  the  yoke  were 
spread,  5oo 

And  prone  to  earth  was  hung  their  languid 
head : 

Nor  Jove  disdain’d  to  cast  a pitying  look, 
While  thus  relenting  to  the  steeds  he  spoke: 

‘ Unhappy  coursers  of  immortal  strain! 
Exempt  from  age,  and  deathless  now  in 
vain ; 

Did  we  your  race  on  mortal  man  bestow, 
Only,  alas!  to  share  in  mortal  woe  ? 

For  ah!  what  is  there,  of  inferior  birth, 

That  breathes  or  creeps  upon  the  dust  of 
earth ; 

What  wretched  creature  of  what  wretched 
kind,  SIO 

Than  man  more  weak,  calamitous,  and 
blind  ? 

A miserable  race!  but  cease  to  mourn: 

For  not  by  you  shall  Priam’s  son  be  borne 
High  on  the  splendid  car:  one  glorious 
prize 

He  rashly  boasts;  the  rest  our  will  denies. 
Ourself  will  swiftness  to  your  nerves  im- 
part, 

Ourself  with  rising  spirits  swell  your  heart. 
Automedon  your  rapid  flight  shall  bear 

Safe  to  the  navy  thro’  the  storm  of  war. 

For  yet ’t  is  given  to  Troy,  to  ravage  o’er 
The  field,  and  spread  her  slaughters  to  the 
shore;  521 

The  sun  shall  see  her  conquer,  till  his  fall 
With  sacred  darkness  shades  the  face  of 
all.’ 

He  said;  and  breathing  in  th’  immortal 
horse 

Excessive  spirit,  urged  them  to  the  course; 
From  their  high  manes  they  shake  the  dust, 
and  bear 

The  kindling  chariot  thro’  the  parted  war. 

So  flies  a vulture  thro’  the  clam’rous  train 

Of  geese,  that  scream,  and  scatter  round 
the  plain. 

From  danger  now  with  swiftest  speed  they 
flew, 

And  now  to  conquest  with  like  speed  pur- 
sue; 

Sole  in  the  seat  the  charioteer  remains, 
Now  plies  the  jav’lin,  now  directs  the  reins: 
Him  brave  Alcimedon  beheld  distress’d, 
Approach’d  the  chariot,  and  the  Chief  ad- 
dress’d: 

* What  God  provokes  thee,  rashly  thus  to 
dare, 

Alone,  unaided,  in  the  thickest  war  ? 

Alas!  thy  friend  is  slain,  and  Hector  wields 
Achilles’  arms  triumphant  in  the  fields.’ 

‘ In  happy  time  (the  charioteer  replies), 
The  bold  Alcimedon  now  greets  my  eyes; 
No  Greek  like  him  the  heav’nly  steeds  re- 
strains, " 542 

Or  holds  their  fury  in  suspended  reins: 
Fatroclus,  while  he  liv’d,  their  rage  could 
tame, 

But  now  Patroclus  is  an  empty  name! 

To  thee  I yield  the  seat,  to  thee  resign 

The  ruling  charge:  the  task  of  fight  be 
mine.’ 

He  said.  Alcimedon,  with  active  heat, 
Snatches  the  reins,  and  vaults  into  the  seat. 
His  friend  descends.  The  Chief  of  Troy 
descried,  5SO 

And  call’d  iEneas  fighting  near  his  side  : 

‘ Eo,  to  my  sight  beyond  our  hope  restor’d, 
Achilles’  car,  deserted  of  its  lord! 

Ihe  glorious  steeds  our  ready  arms  invite, 
Scarce  their  weak  drivers  guide  them  thro’ 
the  fight: 

Can  such  opponents  stand,  when  we  assail  ? 
Unite  thy  force,  my  friend,  and  we  prevail.’ 

The  son  of  Venus  to  the  counsel  yields: 
Then  o’er  their  backs  they  spread  their 
solid  shields; 

With  brass  refulgent  the  broad  surface 
shin’d,  s6o 

And  thick  bull-hides  the  spacious  concave 
lin’d. 

Them  Chromius  follows,  Aretus  succeeds, 
Each  hopes  the  conquest  of  the  lofty  steeds; 
In  vain,  brave  youths,  with  glorious  hopes 
ye  burn, 

In  vain  advance  ! not  fated  to  return. 

Uninov’d,  Automedon  attends  the  fight, 
Implores  th’  Eternal,  and  collects  his 
might. 

Then,  turning  to  his  friend,  with  dauntless* 
mind: 

‘ Oh  keep  the  foaming  coursers  close  be- 
hind ! 

Full  on  my  shoulders  let  their  nostrils 
blow,  579 

For  hard  the  fight,  determin’d  is  the  foe;  i 

THE  ILIAD 


457 


'Tis  Hector  comes;  and  when  lie  seeks  the 
prize, 

War  knows  no  mean:  he  wins  it,  or  he  dies.’ 

Then  thro’  the  field  he  sends  his  voice 
aloud, 

And  calls  th’  Ajaces  from  the  warring 
crowd, 

With  great  Atrides.  ‘Hither  turn’  (he 
said), 

‘ Turn  where  distress  demands  immediate 
aid; 

The  dead,  encircled  by  his  friends,  forego, 
And  save  the  living  from  a fiercer  foe. 
jjUnhelp’dwe  stand,  unequal  to  engage  580 
The  force  of  Hector  and  iEneas’  rage: 

Yet  mighty  as  they  are,  my  force  to  prove 
Is  only  mine;  th’  event  belongs  to  Jove.’ 

He  spoke,  and  high  the  sounding  jav’lin 
flung, 

Which  pass’d  the  shield  of  Aretus  the 
young; 

It  pierc’d  his  belt,  emboss’d  with  curious 
art; 

Then  in  the  lower  belly  stuck  the  dart. 

As  when  a pond’rous  axe,  descending  full, 
Cleaves  the  broad  forehead  of  some  brawny 
bull; 

Struck  ’twixt  the  horns,  he  springs  with 
many  a bound,  59° 

Then  tumbling  rolls  enormous  on  the 
ground : 

Thus  fell  the  youth;  the  air  his  soul  re- 
ceiv’d, 

And  the  spear  trembled  as  his  entrails 
heav’d. 

Now  at  Automedon  the  Trojan  foe 
Discharged  his  lance;  the  meditated  blow, 
Stooping,  he  shunn’d;  the  jav’lin  idly  fled, 
And  hiss’d  innoxious  o’er  the  hero’s  head: 
Deep  rooted  in  the  ground,  the  forceful 
spear 

In  long  vibrations  spent  its  fury  there. 
With  clashing  falchions  now  the  Chiefs  had 
closed,  600 

But  each  brave  Ajax  heard,  and  inter- 
posed; 

Nor  longer  Hector  with  his  Trojans  stood, 
But  left  their  slain  companion  in  his  blood: 
His  arms  Autoinedon  divests,  and  cries, 

‘ Accept,  Patroclus,  this  mean  sacrifice. 
Thus  have  I soothed  my  griefs,  and  thus 
have  paid, 

Poor  as  it  is,  some  off’ring  to  thy  shade.’  * 

1 So  looks  the  lion  o’er  a mangled  boar, 
All  grim  with  rage,  and  horrible  with  gore : 


High  on  the  chariot  at  one  bound  he 
sprung,  610 

And  o’er  his  seat  the  bloody  trophies  hung. 

And  now  Minerva,  from  the  realms  of 
air, 

Descends  impetuous,  and  renews  the  war; 
For,  pleas’d  at  length  the  Grecian  arms  to 
aid, 

The  Lord  of  Thunders  sent  the  Blue-eyed 
Maid. 

As  when  high  Jove,  denouncing  future 
woe, 

O’er  the  dark  clouds  extends  his  purple 
bow 

(In  sign  of  tempests  from  the  troubled  air, 
Or,  from  the  rage  of  man,  destructive 
war) ; 

The  drooping  cattle  dread  th’  impending 
skies,  620 

And  from  his  lialf-till’d  field  the  lab’rer 
flies: 

In  such  a form  the  Goddess  round  her 
drew 

A livid  cloud,  and  to  the  battle  flew. 
Assuming  Phoenix’  shape,  on  earth  she 
falls, 

And  in  his  well-known  voice  to  Sparta 
calls : 

‘And  lies  Achilles’  friend,  belov’d  by  all, 

A prey  to  dogs  beneath  the  Trojan  wall  ? 
What  shame  to  Greece  for  future  times  to 
tell, 

To  thee  the  greatest,  in  whose  cause  he 
fell  ! ’ 

‘ O Chief,  oh  Father  ! ’ (Atreus’  son  re- 
plies) 630 

‘ O full  of  days  ! by  long  experience  wise  ! 
What  more  desires  my  soul,  than  here, 
unmov’d, 

To  guard  the  body  of  the  man  I lov’d  ? 

Ah  would  Minerva  send  me  strength  to 
rear 

This  wearied  arm,  and  ward  the  storm  of 
war  ! 

But  Hector,  like  the  rage  of  fire,  we  dread, 
And  Jove’s  own  glories  blaze  around  his 
head.’ 

Pleas’d  to  be  first  of  all  the  Powers  ad- 
dress’d, 

She  breathes  new  vigour  in  her  hero’s 
breast, 

And  fills  with  keen  revenge,  with  fell  de- 
spite, 640 

Desire  of  blood,  and  rage,  and  lust  of 
fight. 


458 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


So  burns  the  vengeful  hornet  (soul  all 
o’er), 

Repuls’d  in  vain,  and  thirsty  still  of  gore 
(Bold  son  of  air  and  heat),  on  angry  wings 
Untamed,  untired,  he  turns,  attacks,  and 
stings: 

Fifed  with  like  ardour  fierce  Atrides  flew, 
And  sent  his  soul  with  every  lance  he 
threw. 

There  stood  a Trojan,  not  unknown  to 
Fame, 

Eetion’s  son,  and  Podes  was  his  name; 

With  riches  honour’d,  and  with  courage 
bless’d,  650 

By  Hector  lov’d,  his  comrade,  and  his 
guest; 

Thro’  his  broad  belt  the  spear  a passage 
found, 

And,  pond’rous  as  he  falls,  his  arms  re- 
sound. 

Sudden  at  Hector’s  side  Apollo  stood, 

Like  Phsenops,  Asius’  son,  appear’d  the 
God 

(Asius  the  great,  who  held  his  wealthy 
reign 

In  fair  Abydos,  by  the  rolling  main). 

‘Oh  Prince’  (he  cried),  ‘oh  foremost 
once  in  Fame  ! 

What  Grecian  now  shall  tremble  at  thy 
name  ? 

Dost  thou  at  length  to  Menelaiis  yield  ? 660 
A Chief,  once  thought  no  terror  of  the 
field  ! 

Yet  singly,  now,  the  long-disputed  prize 
He  bears  victorious,  while  our  army  flies. 
By  the  same  arm  illustrious  Podes  bled, 
The  friend  of  Hector,  unrevenged,  is 
dead  ! ’ 

This  heard,  o’er  Hector  spreads  a cloud  of 
woe, 

Rage  lifts  his  lance,  and  drives  him  on  the 
foe. 

But  now  th’  Eternal  shook  his  sable 
shield, 

That  shaded  Ide,  and  all  the  subject  field, 
Beneath  its  ample  verge.  A rolling 
cloud  670 

Involv’d  the  mount,  the  thunder  roar’d 
aloud: 

Th’  affrighted  hills  from  their  foundations 
nod, 

And  blaze  beneath  the  lightnings  of  the 
God: 

At  one  regard  of  his  all-seeing  eye, 

The  vanquish’d  triumph,  and  the  victors  fly. 


Then  trembled  Greece:  the  flight  Pene- 
leus  led; 

For,  as  the  brave  Boeotian  turn’d  his  head 
To  face  the  foe,  Polydamas  drew  near, 

And  razed  his  shoulder  with  a shorten’d 
spear:  679 

By  Hector  wounded,  Leitus  quits  the  plain,  ) 
Pierc’d  thro’  the  wrist;  and,  raging  with  i 
the  pain,  [ 

Grasps  his  once  formidable  lance  in  vain.  J 
As  Hector  follow’d,  Idomen  address’d 
The  flaming  jav’lin  to  his  inanly  breast; 
The  brittle  point  before  his  corslet  yields; 
Exulting  Troy  with  clamour  fills  the  fields: 
High  on  his  chariot  as  the  Cretan  stood, 
The  son  of  Priam  whirl’d  the  missive 
wood : 

But,  erring  from  its  aim,  th’  impetuous 
spear 

Struck  to  the  dust  the  squire  and  chari- 
oteer 690 

Of  martial  Merion:  Cceranus  his  name, 
Who  left  fair  Lyctus  for  the  fields  of  fame. 
On  foot  bold  Merion  fought;  and  now,  laid 
low, 

Had  graced  the  triumphs  of  his  Trojan 
foe; 

But  the  brave  squire  the  ready  coursers 
brought, 

And  with  his  life  his  master’s  safety  bought. 
Between  his  cheek  and  ear  the  weapon 
went, 

The  teeth  it  shatter’d,  and  the  tongue  it 
rent. 

Prone  from  the  seat  he  tumbles  to  the 
plain; 

His  dying  hand  forgets  the  falling  rein:  700 
This  Merion  reaches,  bending  from  the  car, 
And  urges  to  desert  the  hopeless  war; 
Idomeneus  consents;  the  lash  applies; 

And  the  swift  chariot  to  the  navy  flies. 

Nor  Ajax  less  the  will  of  Heav’11  de- 
scried, 

And  conquest  shifting  to  the  Trojan  side, 
Turn’d  by  the  hand  of  Jove.  Then  thus 
begun, 

To  Atreus’  seed,  the  godlike  Telamon: 

‘ Alas  ! who  sees  not  Jove’s  almighty 
hand  709 

Transfers  the  glory  to  the  Trojan  band  ! 
Whether  the  weak  or  strong  discharge  the 
dart, 

He  guides  each  arrow  to  a Grecian  heart: 
Not  so  our  spears:  incessant  tho’  they  rain, 
He  suffers  ev’ry  lance  to  fall  in  vain. 


THE  ILIAD 


459 


'eserted  of  the  God,  yet  let  us  try 
/hat  human  strength  and  prudence  can 
supply ; 

l yet  this  honour’d  corse,  in  triumph 
borne, 

[ay  glad  the  fleets  that  hope  not  our  re- 
turn, 

/ho  tremble  yet,  scarce  rescued  from  their 
fates, 

nd  still  hear  Hector  tliund’ring  at  their 
gates.  720 

jme  hero  too  must  be  despatch’d  to  bear 
he  mournful  message  to  Pelides’  ear; 
or  sure  he  knows  not,  distant  on  the 
shore, 

is  friend,  his  lov’d  Patroclus,  is  no  more, 
ut  such  a Chief  I spy  not  thro’  the  host: 
he  men,  the  steeds,  the  armies,  all  are 
lost 

1 gen’ral  darkness:  Lord  of  earth  and 
air  ! 

h King  ! oh  Father  ! hear  my  humble 
prayer : 

ispel  this  cloud,  the  light  of  Heav’n  re- 
store ; 

ive  me  to  see,  and  Ajax  asks  no  more:  730 
f Greece  must  perish,  we  thy  will  obey, 
lit  let  us  perish  in  the  face  of  day  ! ’ 

With  tears  the  Hero  spoke,  and  at  his 
prayer 

he  God  relenting,  clear’d  the  clouded  air; 
ortli  burst  the  sun  with  all-enlight’ning 
ray; 

he  blaze  of  armour  flash’d  against  the  day. 
Mow,  now,  Atrides  ! cast  around  thy 
sight, 

’ yet  Antilochus  survives  the  fight, 
et  him  to  great  Achilles’  ear  convey  739 
he  fatal  news.’  Atrides  hastes  away. 

So  turns  the  lion  from  the  nightly  fold, 
ho’  high  in  courage,  and  with  hunger 
bold, 

ong  gall’d  by  herdsmen,  and  long  vex’d 
I by  hounds, 

tiff  with  fatigue,  and  fretted  sore  with 
wounds; 

he  darts  fly  round  him  from  a hundred 
hands, 

nd  the  red  terrors  of  the  blazing  brands: 
ill  late,  reluctant,  at  the  dawn  of  day 
3ur  he  departs,  and  quits  th’  untasted 
prey. 

3 mov’d  Atrides  from  his  dangerous  place, 
/ith  weary  limbs,  but  with  unwilling 
pace ; 750 


The  foe,  he  fear’d,  might  yet  Patroclus 
gain, 

And  much  admonish’d,  much  adjur’d  his 
train : 

‘ Oh,  guard  these  relics  to  your  charge 
consign’d, 

And  bear  the  merits  of  the  dead  in  mind ; 
How  skill’d  he  was  in  each  obliging  art; 
The  mildest  manners,  and  the  gentlest 
heart : 

He  was,  alas  ! but  Fate  decreed  his  end, 

I11  death  a hero,  as  in  life  a friend  ! ’ 

So  parts  the  Chief,  from  rank  to  rank  he 
flew, 

And  round  on  all  sides  sent  his  piercing 
view.  760 

As  the  bold  bird,  endued  with  sharpest 
eye 

Of  all  that  wing  the  mid  aerial  sky, 

The  sacred  eagle,  from  his  walks  above 
Looks  down,  and  sees  the  distant  thicket 
move ; 

Then  stoops,  and  sousing  on  the  quiv’ring 
hare, 

Snatches  his  life  amid  the  clouds  of  air: 
Not  with  less  quickness  his  exerted  sight 
Pass’d  this  and  that  way,  thro’  the  ranks  of 
fight; 

Till  on  the  left  the  Chief  he  sought,  he 
found, 

Cheering  his  men,  and  spreading  deaths 
around.  770 

To  him  the  King:  ‘Belov’d  of  Jove! 
draw  near, 

For  sadder  tidings  never  touch’d  thv  ear. 
Thy  eyes  have  witness’d  what  a fatal  turn  ! 
How  Ilion  triumphs,  and  th’  Achaians 
mourn. 

This  is  not  all:  Patroclus,  on  the  shore 
Now  pale  and  dead,  shall  succour  Greece 
no  more. 

Fly  to  the  fleet,  this  instant  fly,  and  tell 
The  sad  Achilles  how  his  lov’d  one  fell: 

He  too  may  haste  the  naked  corse  to  gain; 
The  arms  are  Hector’s,  who  despoil’d  the 
slain.’  780 

The  youthful  warrior  heard  with  silent 
woe, 

From  his  fair  eyes  the  tears  began  to  flow; 
Big  with  the  mighty  grief,  he  strove  to  say 
What  sorrow  dictates,  but  no  word  found 
way. 

To  brave  Laodocus  his  arms  he  flung, 

Who,  near  him  wheeling,  drove  his  steeds 
along; 


460 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


Then  ran,  the  mournful  message  to  impart, 
With  tearful  eyes,  and  with  dejected  heart. 
Swift  tied  the  youth:  nor  Menelaus 
stands 

(Tho’  sore  distress’d)  to  aid  the  Pylian 
bands;  790 

But  bids  bold  Thrasymede  those  troops 
sustain; 

Himself  returns  to  his  Patroclus  slain. 

‘ Gone  is  Antilochus  ’ (the  hero  said), 

‘ But  hope  not,  warriors,  for  Achilles’  aid: 
Tho’  fierce  his  rage,  unbounded  be  his 
woe, 

Unarm’d  he  fights  not  with  the  Trojan 
foe. 

’T  is  in  our  hands  alone  our  hopes  remain, 
’T  is  our  own  vigour  must  the  dead  regain; 
And  save  ourselves,  while  with  impetuous 
hate 

Troy  pours  along,  and  this  way  rolls  our 
fate.’  800 

‘ ’ T is  well  ’ (said  Ajax) ; ‘ be  it  then  thy 
care, 

With  Merion’s  aid,  the  weighty  corse  to 
rear; 

Myself  and  my  bold  brother  will  sustain 
The  shock  of  Hector  and  his  charging 
train: 

Nor  fear  we  armies,  fighting  side  by  side; 
What  Troy  can  dare,  we  have  already 
tried, 

Have  tried  it,  and  have  stood.’  The  hero 
said: 

High  from  the  ground  the  warriors  heave 
the  dead. 

A gen’ral  clamour  rises  at  the  sight: 

Loud  shout  the  Trojans,  and  renew  the 

fight;  810 

Not  fiercer  rush  along  the  gloomy  wood, 
With  rage  insatiate,  and  with  thirst  of 
blood, 

Voracious  hounds,  that  many  a length  be- 
fore 

Their  furious  hunters,  drive  the  wounded 
boar; 

But  if  the  savage  turns  his  glaring  eye, 
They  howl  aloof,  and  round  the  forest  fly. 
Thus  on  retreating  Greece  the  Trojans 
pour, 

Wave  their  thick  falchions,  and  their  jav’- 
lins  shower: 

But,  Ajax  turning,  to  their  fears  they 
yield, 

All  pale  they  tremble,  and  forsake  the 
field.  820 


While  thus  aloft  the  hero’s  corse  they 
bear, 

Behind  them  rages  all  the  storm  of  war; 
Confusion,  tumult,  horror,  o’er  the  throng 
Of  men,  steeds,  chariots,  urged  the  rout 
along: 

Less  fierce  the  winds  with  rising  flames 
conspire, 

To  whelm  some  city  under  waves  of  fire; 
Now  sink  in  gloomy  clouds  the  proud 
abodes; 

Now  crack  the  blazing  temples  of  the  Gods; 
The  rumbling  torrent  thro’  the  ruin  rolls, 
And  sheets  of  smoke  mount  heavy  to  the 
poles.  830 

The  heroes  sweat  beneath  their  honour’d 
load: 

As  when  two  mules,  along  the  rugged  road, 
From  the  steep  mountain  with  exerted 
strength 

Drag  some  vast  beam,  or  mast’s  unwieldly 
length ; 

Inly  they  groan,  big  drops  of  sweat  distil, 
Th’  enormous  timber  lumb’ring  down  the 
hill; 

So  these:  Behind,  the  bulk  of  Ajax  stands, 
And  breaks  the  torrent  of  the  rushing 
bands. 

Thus  when  a river,  swell’d  with  sudden 
rains, 

Spreads  his  broad  waters  o’er  the  level 
plains,  84c 

Some  interposing  hill  the  stream  divides, 
And  breaks  its  force,  and  turns  the  wind- 
ing tides. 

Still  close  they  follow,  close  the  rear  en- 
gage; 

iEneas  storms,  and  Hector  foams  with  rage 
While  Greece  a heavy  thick  retreat  main- 
tains, 

Wedg’d  in  one  body,  like  a flight  of  cranes. 
That  shriek  incessant  while  the  falcon,  hung 
High  on  pois’d  pinions,  threats  their  callow 
young. 

So  from  the  Trojan  Chiefs  the  Grecians 
fly,  84c 

Such  the  wild  terror,  and  the  mingled  cry: 
Within,  without  the  trench,  and  all  the 
way, 

Strew’d  in  bright  heaps,  their  arms  and 
armour  lay; 

Such  horror  Jove  impress’d  ! yet  still  pro- 
ceeds 

The  work  of  death,  and  still  the  battle 
bleeds. 


THE  ILIAD 


461 


BOOK  XVIII 

THE  GRIEF  OF  ACHILLES,  AND  NEW  AR- 
MOUR MADE  HIM  BY  VULCAN 

THE  ARGUMENT 

The  news  of  the  death  of  Patroclus  is  brought 
to  Achilles  by  Antilochus.  Thetis,  hearing 
his  lamentations,  comes  with  all  her  sea- 
nymphs  to  comfort  him.  The  speeches  of 
the  mother  and  son  on  this  occasion.  Iris 
appears  to  Achilles  by  the  command  of  Juno, 
and  orders  him  to  show  himself  at  the  head 
of  the  intrenchments.  The  sight  of  him 
turns  the  fortune  of  the  day,  and  the  body 
of  Patroclus  is  carried  off  by  the  Greeks. 
The  Trojans  call  a council,  where  Hector 
and  Polvdamas  disagree  in  their  opinions ; 
but  the  advice  of  the  former  prevails,  to  re- 
main encamped  in  the  field.  The  grief  of 
Achilles  over  the  body  of  Patroclus. 

Thetis  goes  to  the  palace  of  Vulcan,  to  obtain 
new  arms  for  her  son.  The  description  of 
the  wonderful  works  of  Vulcan  ; and,  lastly, 
that  noble  one  of  the  shield  of  Achilles. 

The  latter  part  of  the  nine-and-twentieth  day, 
and  the  night  ensuing,  take  tip  this  book. 

1 The  scene  is  at  Achilles’  tent  on  the  sea- 
shore, from  whence  it  changes  to  the  palace 
of  Vulcan. 

Thus  like  the  rage  of  fire  the  combat 
burns, 

And  now  it  rises,  now  it  sinks,  by  turns. 
Meanwhile,  where  Hellespont’s  broad 
waters  flow, 

stood  Nestor’s  son,  the  messenger  of  woe. 
iThere  sat  Achilles,  shaded  by  his  sails, 

3n  hoisted  yards  extended  to  the  gales; 
Tensive  he  sat;  for  all  that  Fate  design’d 
i^ose  in  sad  prospect  to  his  boding  mind. 
Thus  to  his  soul  he  said:  ‘Ah  what  con- 
strains 

The  Greeks,  late  victors,  now  to  quit  the 
plains  ? 10 

's  this  the  day,  which  Heav’n  so  long  ago 
i Jrdain’d,  to  sink  me  with  the  weight  of  woe 
So  Thetis  warn’d),  when,  by  a Trojan 
hand, 

The  bravest  of  the  Myrmidonian  band 
Should  lose  the  light  ? Fulfill’d  is  that  de- 
1 cree  ? 

Pall’n  is  the  warrior,  and  Patroclus  he  ? 

)tn  vain  I charged  him  soon  to  quit  the 
plain, 

And  warn’d  to  shun  Hectorean  force  in 
vain  ! ’ 


Thus  while  he  thinks,  Antilochus  ap- 
pears, 

And  tells  the  melancholy  tale  with  tears:  20 
‘ Sad  tidings,  son  of  Peleus  ! thou  must 
hear; 

And  wretched  I,  th’  unwilling  messenger  ! 
Dead  is  Patroclus  ! for  his  corse  they 
fight; 

His  naked  corse:  his  arms  are  Hector’s 
right.’ 

A sudden  horror  shot  thro’  all  the  Chief, 
And  wrapt  his  senses  in  the  cloud  of  grief; 
Cast  on  the  ground,  with  furious  hand  he 
spread 

The  scorching  ashes  o’er  his  graceful  head; 
His  purple  garments,  and  his  golden  hairs, 
Those  he  deforms  with  dust,  and  these  he 
tears : 30 

On  the  hard  soil  his  groaning  breast  he 
threw, 

And  roll’d  and  grovell’d,  as  to  earth  he 
grew. 

The  virgin  captives,  with  disorder’d  charms 
(Won  by  his  own,  or  by  Patroclus’  arms), 
Rush’d  from  the  tents  with  cries;  and, 
gath’ring  round, 

Beat  their  white  breasts,  and  fainted  on  the 
ground : 

While  Nestor’s  son  sustains  a manlier  part, 
And  mourns  the  warrior  with  a warrior’s 
heart; 

Hangs  on  his  arms,  amidst  his  frantic  woe, 
And  oft  prevents  the  meditated  blow.  40 
Far  in  the  deep  abysses  of  the  main, 
With  hoary  Nereus,  and  the  wat’ry  train, 
The  Mother-Goddess  from  her  crystal 
throne 

Heard  his  loud  cries,  and  answered  groan 
for  groan. 

The  circling  Nereids  with  their  mistress 
weep, 

And  all  the  sea-green  Sisters  of  the  Deep. 
Thalia,  Glauce  (every  wat’ry  name), 

Nessea  mild,  and  silver  Spio  came: 
Cvmothoe  and  Cymodoce  were  nigh, 

And  the  blue  languish  of  soft  Alia’s  eye:  50 
Their  locks  Actsea  and  Limnoria  rear, 

Then  Proto,  Doris,  Pan  ope  appear, 

Thoa,  Pherusa,  Doto,  Melita; 

Agave  gentle,  and  Amphithoe  gay; 

Next  Callianira,  Callianassa  shew 
Their  sister  looks;  Dexamene  the  slow, 

And  swift  Dynamene,  now  cut  the  tides: 
Isera  now  the  verdant  wave  divides: 
Nemertes  with  Apseudes  lifts  the  head, 


462 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


Bright  Galatea  quits  her  pearly  bed;  60 
These  Orythia,  Clymene,  attend, 

Mzera,  Ainphinome,  the  train  extend, 

And  black  Janira,  and  Janassa  fair, 

And  Amatheia  with  her  amber  hair. 

All  these,  and  all  that  deep  in  ocean  held 
Their  sacred  seats,  the  glimm’ring  grotto 
fill’d; 

Each  heat  her  iv’ry  breast  with  silent  woe, 
Till  Thetis’ .sorrows  thus  began  to  flow: 

‘ Hear  me,  and  judge,  ye  Sisters  of  the 
Main  ! 

How  just  a cause  has  Thetis  to  com- 
plain ! 7o 

How  wretched,  were  I mortal,  were  my 
fate  ! 

How  more  than  wretched  in  th’  immortal 
state  ! 

Sprung  from  my  bed  a godlike  Hero  came, 
The  bravest  far  that  ever  bore  the  name; 
Like  some  fair  olive,  by  my  careful  hand 
He  grew,  he  flourish’d,  and  adorn’d  the 
land. 

To  Troy  I sent  him;  but  the  Fates  ordain 
He  never,  never  must  return  again. 

So  short  a space  the  light  of  Heav’n  to 
view, 

So  short,  alas  ! and  fill’d  with  anguish 
too.  80 

Hear  how  his  sorrows  echo  thro’  the  shore ! 
I cannot  ease  them,  but  I must  deplore  ; 

I go  at  least  to  bear  a tender  part, 

And  mourn  my  lov’d  one  with  a mother’s 
heart.’ 

She  said,  and  left  the  caverns  of  the 
main. 

All  bathed  in  tears,  the  melancholy  train 
Attend  her  way.  Wide-opening  part  the 
tides, 

While  the  long  pomp  the  silver  wave 
divides, 

Approaching  now,  they  touch’d  the  Trojan 
land ; 

Then,  two  by  two,  ascended  up  the  strand. 
Th’  immortal  mother,  standing  close  be- 
side 91 

Her  mournful  offspring,  to  his  sighs  re- 
plied; 

Along  the  coast  their  mingled  clamours 
ran, 

And  thus  the  Silver-footed  Dame  began: 

‘ Why  mourns  my  son  ? thy  late-pre- 
ferr’d  request 

The  God  has  granted,  and  the  Greeks  dis- 
tress’d: 


Why  mourns  my  son  ? thy  anguish  let  m< 
share, 

Reveal  the  cause,  and  trust  a parent’: 
care.’ 

He,  deeply  groaning,  ‘ To  this  cureles; 
grief 

Not  ev’11  the  Thund’rer’s  favour  brings  re 
lief. 

Patroclus  — Ah  ! say,  Goddess,  can 
boast 

A pleasure  now  ? Revenge  itself  is  lost; 
Patroclus,  lov’d  of  all  my  martial  train, 
Beyond  mankind,  beyond  myself,  is  slain  ! 
Lost  are  those  arms  the  Gods  themselve 
bestow’d 

On  Peleus;  Hector  bears  the  glorious  load 
Curs’d  be  that  day,  when  all  the  power; 
above 

Thy  charms  submitted  to  a mortal  love: 
Oh  hadst  thou  still,  a sister  of  the  main, 
Pursued  the  pleasures  of  the  wat’ry  reign 
And  happier  Peleus,  less  ambitious,  led  u 
A mortal  beauty  to  his  equal  bed  ! 

Ere  the  sad  fruit  of  thy  unhappy  womb 
Had  caus’d  such  sorrows  past,  and  woes  t< 
come. 

For  soon,  alas  ! that  wretched  offspring 
slain, 

New  woes,  new  sorrows,  shall  create  again 
’T  is  not  in  Fate  th’  alternate  now  to  give; 
Patroclus  dead,  Achilles  hates  to  live. 

Let  me  revenge  it  on  proud  Hector’s  heart 
Let  his  last  spirit  smoke  upon  my  dart;  i2< 
O11  these  conditions  will  I breathe:  til 
then, 

I blush  to  walk  among  the  race  of  men.’ 

A flood  of  tears,  at  this,  the  Goddes 
shed : 

‘ Ah  then,  I see  thee  dying,  see  thee  dead  ! 
When  Hector  falls,  thou  diest.’  — ‘ Le 
Hector  die, 

And  let  me  fall  ! ’ (Achilles  made  reply.) 

‘ Far  lies  Patroclus  from  his  native  plain; 
He  fell,  and,  falling,  wish’d  my  aid  ii 
vain. 

Ah  then,  since  from  this  miserable  day 
I cast  all  hope  of  my  return  away;  13 
Since,  unrevenged,  a hundred  ghosts  de 
maud 

The  fate  of  Hector  from  Achilles’  hand; 
Since  here,  for  brutal  courage  far  re 
nown’d, 

I live  an  idle  burden  to  the  ground 
(Others  in  council  famed  for  nobler  skill, 
More  useful  to  preserve  than  I to  kill); 


THE  ILIAD 


463 


Let  me  — But  oh  ! ye  gracious  Powers 
above  ! 

Wrath  and  revenge  from  men  and  Gods 
remove : 

Far,  far  too  dear  to  ev’ry  mortal  breast, 

. Sweet  to  the  soul,  as  honey  to  the  taste;  140 
Gath’ring  like  vapours  of  a noxious  kind 
From  fiery  blood,  and  dark’ning  all  the 
mind. 

Me  Agamemnon  urged  to  deadly  hate; 

’T  is  past — I quell  it;  I resign  to  Fate. 
Yes  — I will  meet  the  murd’rer  of  my 
friend, 

Or  (if  the  Gods  ordain  it)  meet  my  end. 
The  stroke  of  Fate  the  bravest  cannot  shun: 
The  great  Alcides,  Jove’s  unequall’d  son, 
To  Juno’s  hate  at  length  resign’d  his 
breath, 

And  sunk  the  victim  of  all-conquering 
death.  150 

So  shall  Achilles  fall ! stretch’d  pale  and 
dead, 

No  more  the  Grecian  hope,  or  Trojan 
dread  ! 

Let  me,  this  instant,  rush  into  the  fields, 
And  reap  what  glory  life’s  short  harvest 
yields. 

Shall  I not  force  some  widow’d  dame  to 
tear, 

With  frantic  hands,  her  long  dishevell’d 
hair  ? 

Shall  I not  force  her  breast  to  heave  with 
sighs, 

And  the  soft  tears  to  trickle  from  her 
eyes  ? 

Yes,  I shall  give  the  fair  those  mournful 
charms  — 

In  vain  you  hold  me  — Hence  ! my  arms, 
my  arms  ! 160 

1 Soon  shall  the  sanguine  torrent  spread  so 
wide, 

i That  all  shall  know  Achilles  swells  the  tide.’ 

‘ My  son  ’ (ccerulean  Thetis  made  reply, 
To  Fate  submitting  with  a secret  sigh), 

' The  host  to  succour  and  thy  friends  to  save, 
Is  worthy  thee;  the  duty  of  the  brave. 

But  canst  thou,  naked,  issue  to  the  plains  ? 
j Thy  radiant  arms  the  Trojan  foe  detains. 
Insulting  Hector  bears  the  spoils  on  high, 
But  vainly  glories,  for  his  fate  is  nigh.  170 
Yet,  yet,  awhile,  thy  gen’rous  ardour  stay, 
Assured  I meet  thee  at  the  dawn  of  day, 
Charged  with  refulgent  arms  (a  glorious 
load), 

Vulcanian  arms,  the  labour  of  a God.’ 


Then  turning  to  the  Daughters  of  the 
Main, 

The  Goddess  thus  dismiss’d  her  azure  train: 

‘ Ye  sister  Nereids  ! to  your  deeps  de- 
scend; 

Haste,  and  our  father’s  sacred  seat  attend; 
I go  to  find  the  architect  divine, 

Where  vast  Olympus’  starry  summits 
shine:  180 

So  tell  our  hoary  Sire.’  This  charge  she 
gave: 

The  sea-green  Sisters  plunge  beneath  the 
wave : 

Thetis  once  more  ascends  the  blest  abodes, 
And  treads  the  brazen  threshold  of  the 
Gods. 

And  now  the  Greeks,  from  furious  Hec- 
tor’s force, 

Urge  to  broad  Hellespont  their  headlong 
course : 

Nor  yet  their  Chiefs  Patroclus’  body  bore 
Safe  thro'  the  tempest,  to  the  tented  shore. 
The  horse,  the  foot,  with  equal  fury  join’d, 
Pour’d  on  the  rear,  and  thunder’d  close  be- 
hind; 190 

And  like  a flame  thro’  fields  of  ripen’d  corn, 
The  rage  of  Hector  o’er  the  ranks  was 
borne. 

Thrice  the  slain  hero  by  the  foot  he  drew: 
Thrice  to  the  skies  the  Trojan  clamours 
flew 

As  oft  th’  Ajaces  his  assault  sustain; 

But  check’d,  he  turns;  repuls’d,  attacks 
again. 

With  fiercer  shouts  his  ling’ring  troops  he 
fires, 

Nor  yields  a step,  nor  from  his  post  re- 
tires: 

So  watchful  shepherds  strive  to  force,  in 
vain, 

The  hungry  lion  from  a carcass  slain.  200 
Ev’n  yet,  Patroclus  had  he  borne  away, 
And  all  the  glories  of  th’  extended  day; 
Had  not  high  Juno,  from  the  realms  of  air, 
Secret  despatch’d  her  trusty  messenger, 
The  various  Goddess  of  the  Showery  Bow, 
Shot  in  a whirlwind  to  the  shore  below; 

To  great  Achilles  at  his  ships  she  came, 
And  thus  began  the  Many-coloured  Dame: 

‘ Rise,  son  of  Peleus  ! rise,  divinely  brave! 
Assist  the  combat,  and  Patroclus  save:  210 
For  him  the  slaughter  to  the  fleet  they 
spread, 

And  fall  with  mutual  wounds  around  the 
dead. 


464 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


To  drag  him  back  to  Troy  the  foe  con- 
tends; 

Nor  with  his  death  the  rage  of  Hector 
ends; 

A prey  to  dogs  he  dooms  the  corse  to  lie, 
And  marks  the  place  to  fix  his  head  on 
high. 

Rise,  and  prevent  (if  yet  you  think  of  fame) 
Thy  friend’s  disgrace;  thy  own  eternal 
shame  ! ’ 

‘ Who  sends  thee,  Goddess  ! from  th’ 
ethereal  skies  ? ’ 

Achilles  thus:  and  Iris  thus  replies:  220 

‘I  come,  Pelides,  from  the  Queen  of  Jove, 
Th’  immortal  Empress  of  the  realms  above: 
Unknown  to  him  who  sits  remote  on  high, 
Unknown  to  all  the  Synod  of  the  Sky.’ 

‘ Thou  com’st  in  vain,’  he  cries  (with  fury 
warm’d), 

‘Arms  I have  none,  and  can  I fight  un- 
arm’d ? 

Unwilling  as  I am,  of  force  I stay, 

Till  Thetis  bring  me  at  the  dawn  of  day 
Vulcanian  arms:  what  other  can  I wield, 
Except  the  mighty  Telamonian  shield  ? 230 
That,  in  my  friend’s  defence,  has  Ajax 
spread, 

While  his  strong  lance  around  him  heaps 
the  dead: 

The  gallant  Chief  defends  Mencetius’  son, 
And  does  what  his  Achilles  should  have 
done.’ 

‘ Thy  want  of  arms’  (said  Iris)  ‘ well  we 
know; 

But,  tho’  unarm’d,  yet,  clad  in  terrors,  go  ! 
Let  but  Achilles  o’er  yon  trench  appear, 
Proud  Troy  shall  tremble,  and  consent  to 
fear; 

Greece  from  one  glance  of  that  tremendous 
eye  239 

Shall  take  new  courage,  and  disdain  to  fly.’ 

She  spoke,  and  pass’d  in  air.  The  hero 
rose: 

Her  aegis  Pallas  o’er  his  shoulder  throws: 
Around  his  brows  a golden  cloud  she  spread ; 
A stream  of  glory  flamed  above  his  head. 

As  when  from  some  beleaguer’d  town  arise 
The  smokes,  high  curling  to  the  shaded 
skies 

(Seen  from  some  island,  o’er  the  main  afar, 
When  men  distress’d  hang  out  the  sign  of 
war) : 

Soon  as  the  sun  in  ocean  hides  his  rays, 
Thick  on  the  hills  the  flaming  beacons 
blaze;  250 


With  long-projected  beams  the  seas  are 
bright, 

And  Heav’n’s  high  arch  reflects  the  ruddv 
light: 

So  from  Achilles’  head  the  splendours  rise, 
Reflecting  blaze  on  blaze,  against  the  skies. 
Forth  march’d  the  Chief,  and,  distant  from 
the  crowd, 

High  on  the  rampart  rais’d  his  voice  aloud; 
With  her  own  shout  Minerva  swells  the 
sound; 

Troy  starts  astonish’d,  and  the  shores  re- 
bound. 

As  the  loud  trumpet’s  brazen  mouth  from  far 
With  shrilling  clangour  sounds  th’  alarm 
of  war,  26o 

Struck  from  the  walls,  the  echoes  float  on 
high, 

And  the  round  bulwarks  and  thick  towers 

. r»piy; 

So  high  his  brazen  voice  the  hero  rear’d.- 
Hosts  dropt  their  arms,  and  trembled  as 
they  heard; 

And  back  the  chariots  roll,  and  coursers 
bound, 

And  steeds  and  men  lie  mingled  on  the 
ground. 

Aghast  they  see  the  living  lightnings  play, 
And  turn  their  eye-balls  from  the  flashing 
ray. 

Thrice  from  the  trench  his  dreadful  voice 
he  raised: 

And  thrice  they  fled,  confounded  and 
amazed.  270 

Twelve  in  the  tumult  wedg’d,  untimely 
rush’d 

On  their  own  spears,  by  their  own  chariots 
crush’d; 

While,  shielded  from  the  darts,  the  Greeks 
obtain 

The  long-contended  carcass  of  the  slain. 

A lofty  bier  the  breathless  warrior  bears: 
Around,  his  sad  companions  melt  in  tears. 
But  chief  Achilles,  bending  down  his  head, 
Pours  unavailing  sorrows  o’er  the  dead, 
Whom  late,  triumphant  with  his  steeds  and 
car, 

He  sent  refulgent  to  the  Field  of  War  280 
(Unhappy  change  !):  now  senseless,  pale, 
he  found, 

Stretch’d  forth,  and  gash’d  with  many  a 
gaping  wound. 

Meantime,  unwearied  with  his  heav’nly 
way, 

In  ocean’s  waves  th’  unwilling  light  of  day 


THE  ILIAD 


THE 

ILIAD  465 

Quench’d  his  red  orb,  at  Juno’s  high  com- 
mand, 

Lnd  from  their  labours  eas’d  tli’  Achaian 
band. 

’he  frighted  Trojans  (panting  from  the 
war, 

’heir  steeds  unharness’d  from  the  weary 
car) 

i sudden  council  call’d  : each  Chief  ap- 
pear’d 

,n  haste,  and  standing ; for  to  sit  they 
fear’d.  290 

T was  now  no  season  for  prolong’d  debate; 
^hey  saw  Achilles,  and  in  him  their  fate, 
tilent  they  stood:  Polydamas  at  last, 

(kill’d  to  discern  the  future  by  the  past, 

?he  sen  of  Panthus,  thus  express’d  his 
fears 

The  friend  of  Hector,  and  of  equal  years: 
’’lie  self-same  night  to  both  a being  gave, 
)ne  wise  in  council,  one  in  action  brave): 

‘ In  free  debate,  my  friends,  your  sen- 
tence speak: 

•’or  me,  I move,  before  the  morning 
break,  300 

To  raise  our  camp:  too  dangerous  here  our 
post, 

<ar  from  Troy  walls,  and  on  a naked  coast. 

' deem’d  not  Greece  so  dreadful,  while 
engaged 

n mutual  feuds  her  King  and  Hero  raged ; 
Chen,  while  we  hoped  our  armies  might  pre- 
vail, 

V e boldly  camp’d  beside  a thousand  sail, 
dread  Pelides  now:  his  rage  of  mind 
*ot  long  continues  to  the  shores  confin’d, 

^or  to  the  fields,  where  long  in  equal  fray 
Contending  nations  won  and  lost  the 
day;  310 

'’or  Troy,  for  Troy,  shall  henceforth  be  the 
strife, 

Lnd  the  hard  contest,  not  for  Fame,  but 
Life. 

laste  then  to  Ilion,  while  the  fav’ring  night 
Detains  those  terrors,  keeps  that  arm  from 
fight; 

f but  the  morrow’s  sun  behold  us  here, 

Chat  arm,  those  terrors,  we  shall  feel,  not 
fear; 

ind  hearts  that  now  disdain,  shall  leap 
with  joy, 

f Heav’11  permits  them  then  to  enter 
Troy. 

jet  not  my  fatal  prophecy  be  true, 

lor  what  I tremble  but  to  think,  ensue.  320 

Whatever  be  our  fate,  yet  let  us  try 

What  force  of  thought  and  reason  can  sup- 

ply ; 

Let  us  on  council  for  our  guard  depend ; 
The  town,  her  gates  and  bulwarks  shall 
defend. 

When  morning  dawns,  our  well-appointed 
powers, 

Array’d  in  arms,  shall  line  the  lofty  towers. 
Let  the  fierce  hero  then,  when  fury  calls, 
Vent  his  mad  vengeance  on  our  rocky  walls, 
Or  fetch  a thousand  circles  round  the  plain, 
Till  his  spent  coursers  seek  the  fleet 
again:  330 

So  may  his  rage  be  tired,  and  labour’d 
down ; 

And  dogs  shall  tear  him  ere  he  sack  the 
town.’ 

‘ Return  ? ’ (said  Hector,  fired  with  stern 
disdain), 

‘ What  ! coop  whole  armies  in  our  walls 
again  ? 

Was ’t  not  enough,  ye  valiant  warriors  say, 
Nine  years  imprison’d  in  those  towers  ye 
lay  ? 

Wide  o’er  the  world  was  Ilion  famed  of 
old 

For  brass  exhaustless,  and  for  mines  of 
gold ; 

But  while  inglorious  in  her  walls  we  stay’d, 
Sunk  were  her  treasures,  and  her  stores 
decay’d ; 340 

The  Phrygians  now  her  scatter’d  spoils 
enjoy, 

And  proud  Mseonia  wastes  the  fruits  of 
Troy. 

Great  Jove  at  length  my  arms  to  conquest 
calls, 

And  shuts  the  Grecians  in  their  wooden 
walls : 

Barest  thou  dispirit  whom  the  Gods  in- 
cite ? 

Flies  any  Trojan  ? I shall  stop  his  flight. 
To  better  counsel  then  attention  lend; 

Take  due  refreshment,  and  the  watch  at- 
tend. 

If  there  be  one  whose  riches  cost  him  care, 
Forth  let  him  bring  them  for  the  troops  to 
share ; 350 

’T  is  better  gen’rously  bestow’d  on  those, 
Than  left  the  plunder  of  our  country’s  foes. 
Soon  as  the  morn  the  purple  orient  warms, 
Fierce  on  yon  navy  will  we  pour  our  arms. 
If  great  Achilles  rise  in  all  his  might, 

His  be  the  danger:  I shall  stand  the  fight. 

466 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


Honour,  ye  Gods  ! or  let  me  gain,  or  give; 
And  live  he  glorious,  whosoe’er  shall  live  I 
Mars  is  our  common  Lord,  alike  to  all: 
And  oft  the  victor  triumphs,  but  to  fall.’  360 
The  shouting  host  in  loud  applauses 
join’d: 

So  Pallas  robb’d  the  many  of  their  mind; 
To  their  own  sense  condemn’d,  and  left  to 
choose 

The  worst  advice,  the  better  to  refuse. 
While  the  long  night  extends  her  sable 
reign, 

Around  Patroclus  mourn’d  the  Grecian 
train. 

Stern  in  superior  grief  Pelides  stood; 

Those  slaught’ring  arms,  so  used  to  bathe 
in  blood, 

Now  clasp  his  clay-cold  limbs:  then,  gush- 
ing, start 

The  tears,  and  sighs  burst  from  his  swelling 
heart.  370 

The  lion  thus,  with  dreadful  anguish  stung, 
Roars  thro’  the  desert,  and  demands  his 
young; 

When  the  grim  savage,  to  his  rifled  den 
Too  late  returning,  snuffs  the  track  of  men, 
And  o’er  the  vales  and  o’er  the  forest 
bounds; 

His  clam’rous  grief  the  bell’vving  wood  re- 
sounds. 

So  grieves  Achilles;  and  impetuous  vents 
To  all  his  Myrmidons,  his  loud  laments: 

‘ In  what  vain  promise,  Gods  ! did  I en- 
gage, 

When,  to  console  Mencetius’  feeble  age,  380 
I vow’d  his  much-lov’d  offspring  to  restore, 
Charged  with  rich  spoils,  to  fair  Opuntia’s 
shore  ? 

But  mighty  Jove  cuts  short,  with  just  dis- 
dain, 

The  long,  long  views  of  poor  designing  man  ! 
One  fate  the  warrior  and  the  friend  shall 
strike, 

And  Troy’s  black  sands  must  drink  our 
blood  alike: 

Me,  too,  a wretched  mother  shall  deplore, 
An  aged  father  never  see  me  more  ! 

Yet,  my  Patroclus  ! yet  a space  I stay, 
Then  swift  pursue  thee  on  the  darksome 
way.  _ _ 390 

Ere  thy  dear  relics  in  the  grave  are  laid, 
Shall  Hector’s  head  be  offer’d  to  thy  shade: 
That,  with  his  arms,  shall  hang  before 
thy  shrine; 

And  twelve,  the  noblest  of  the  Trojan  line, 


Sacred  to  vengeance,  by  this  hand  expire, 
Their  lives  effused  around  thy  flaming  pyre. 
Thus  let  me  lie  till  then  ! thus,  closely 
press’d. 

Bathe  thy  cold  face,  and  sob  upon  thy 
breast ! 

While  Trojan  captives  here  thy  mourners 
stay, 

Weep  all  the  night,  and  murmur  all  the 
day,  400 

Spoils  of  my  arms,  and  thine  ; when,  wast- 
ing wide, 

Our  swords  kept  time,  and  conquer’d  side 
by  side.’ 

He  spoke,  and  bid  the  sad  attendants 
round 

Cleanse  the  pale  corse,  and  wash  each 
honour’d  wound. 

A massy  cauldron  of  stupendous  frame 
They  brought,  and  placed  it  o’er  the  rising 
flame; 

Then  heap  the  lighted  wood;  the  flame 
divides 

Beneath  the  vase,  and  climbs  around  the 
sides. 

In  its  wide  womb  they  pour  the  rushing 
stream ; 

The  boiling  water  bubbles  to  the  brim.  410 
The  body  then  they  bathe  with  pious  toil, 
Embalm  the  wounds,  anoint  the  limbs  with 
oil; 

High  on  a bed  of  state  extended  laid, 

And  decent  cover’d  with  a linen  shade; 

Last  o’er  the  dead  the  milk-white  veil  they 
threw; 

That  done,  their  sorrows  and  their  sighs 
renew. 

Meanwhile  to  Juno,  in  the  realms  above 
(His  wife  and  sister)  spoke  almighty  Jove: 
‘At  last  thy  will  prevails:  great  Peleus’ 
son 

Rises  in  arms:  such  grace  thy  Greeks  have 
won.  420 

Say  (for  I know  not),  is  their  race  divine, 
And  thou  the  mother  of  that  martial  line  ? ’ 

‘ What  words  are  these  ? ’ (th’  Imperial 
Dame  replies, 

While  anger  flash’d  from  her  majestic 
eyes) ; 

‘Succour  like  this  a mortal  arm  might 
lend, 

And  such  success  mere  human  wit  attend: 
And  shall  not  I,  the  second  Power  above, 
Heav’n’s  Queen,  and  Consort  of  the  tlmn- 
d’ring  Jove, 


THE  ILIAD 


467 


Say,  shall  not  I one  nation’s  fate  command, 
Not  wreak  my  vengeance  on  one  guilty 
land  ? ’ 43° 

So  they.  Meanwhile  the  Silver-footed 
Dame 

Reach’d  the  Vulcanian  dome,  eternal  frame  ! 
High-eminent  amid  the  works  divine, 
Where  Heav’n’s  far-beaming  brazen  man- 
sions shine. 

There  the  lame  architect  the  Goddess 
found, 

Obscure  in  smoke,  his  forges  flaming  round, 
While  bathed  in  sweat  from  fire  to  fire  he 
flew, 

;And,  puffing  loud,  the  roaring  bellows 
blew. 

That  day  no  common  task  his  labour 
claim’d : 

Full  twenty  tripods  for  his  hall  he 
framed,  440 

That,  placed  on  living  wheels  of  massy 
gold 

(Wondrous  to  tell)  ! instinct  with  spirit 
roll’d 

From  place  to  place,  around  the  blest 
abodes, 

Self-mov’d,  obedient  to  the  beck  of  Gods: 
For  their  fair  handles  now,  o’er  wrought 
with  flowers, 

In  moulds  prepared,  the  glowing  ore  he 
pours. 

lust  as,  responsive  to  his  thought,  the 
frame 

Stood  prompt  to  move,  the  azure  Goddess 
came : 

Charis,  his  spouse,  a Grace  divinely  fair 
(With  purple  fillets  round  her  braided 
hair),  450 

Observ’d  her  ent’ring;  her  soft  hand  she 
press’d, 

And,  smiling,  thus  the  wat’ry  Queen  ad- 
dress’d: 

‘What,  Goddess!  this  unusual  favour 
draws  ? 

All  hail,  and  welcome!  whatsoe’er  the 
, cause: 

Till  now  a stranger,  in  a happy  hour 
Approach,  and  taste  the  dainties  of  the 
bower.’ 

High  on  a throne,  with  stars  of  silver 
graced, 

And  various  artifice,  the  Queen  she  placed; 
A footstool  at  her  feet:  then,  calling,  said, 
Vulcan,  draw  near,  ’t  is  Thetis  asks  your 
aid.’  460 


‘ Thetis  ’ (replied  the  God)  ‘ our  powers 
may  claim, 

An  ever-dear,  an  ever-honour’d  name! 
When  my  proud  mother  hurl’d  me  from 
the  sky 

(My  awkward  form,  it  seems,  displeas’d 
her  eye), 

She,  and  Eurynome,  my  griefs  redress’d, 
And  soft  receiv’d  me  011  their  silver  breast. 
Ev’n  then,  these  arts  employ’d  my  infant 
thought; 

Chains,  bracelets,  pendants,  all  their  toys 
I wrought.  468 

Nine  years  kept  secret  in  the  dark  abode, 
Secure  I lay,  conceal’d  from  man  and  God : 
Deep  in  a cavern’d  rock  my  days  were  led; 
The  rushing  ocean  murmur’d  o’er  my  head. 
Now  since  her  presence  glads  our  mansion, 
say, 

For  such  desert  what  service  can  I pay  ? 
Vouchsafe,  O Thetis!  at  our  board  to  share 
The  genial  rites,  and  hospitable  fare; 
While  I the  labours  of  the  forge  forego, 
And  bid  the  roaring  bellows  cease  to  blow.’ 

Then  from  his  anvil  the  lame  artist  rose; 
Wide  with  distorted  legs  oblique  he  goes, 
And  stills  the  bellows,  and  (in  order  laid) 
Locks  in  their  chests  his  instruments  of 
trade : 482 

Then  with  a sponge  the  sooty  workman 
dress’d 

His  brawny  arms  imbrown’d,  and  hairy 
breast. 

With  his  huge  sceptre  graced,  and  red  at- 
tire, 

Came  halting  forth  the  Sov’reign  of  the 
Fire: 

The  Monarch’s  steps  two  female  forms 
uphold, 

That  mov’d,  and  breathed,  in  animated 
gold ; 

To  whom  was  voice,  and  sense,  and  science 
giv’n 

Of  works  divine  (such  wonders  are  in 
Heav’n!):  490 

On  these  supported,  with  unequal  gait, 

He  reach’d  the  throne  where  pensive  The- 
tis sat; 

There  placed  beside  her  on  the  shining 
frame, 

He  thus  address’d  the  Silver-footed  Dame: 

‘ Thee,  welcome  Goddess!  what  occasion 
calls 

(So  long  a stranger)  to  these  honour’d 
walls  ? 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


468 


’T  is  thine,  fair  Thetis,  the  command  to  lay, 
And  Vulcan’s  joy  and  duty  to  obey.’ 

To  whom  the  mournful  mother  thus  re- 
plies 

(The  crystal  drops  stood  trembling  in  her 
eyes) : 500 

* Oh  Vulcan!  say,  was  ever  breast  divine 
So  pierc’d  with  sorrows,  so  o’erwhelm’d  as 
mine  ? 

Of  all  the  Goddesses,  did  Jove  prepare 
For  Thetis  only  such  a weight  of  care  ? 

I,  only  I,  of  all  the  wat’ry  race, 

By  force  subjected  to  a man’s  embrace, 
Who,  sinking  now  with  age  and  sorrow, 
pays 

The  mighty  fine  imposed  on  length  of  days. 
Sprung  from  my  bed,  a godlike  Hero  came, 
The  bravest  sure  that  ever  bore  the  name; 
Like  some  fair  plant,  beneath  my  careful 
hand,  5n 

He  grew,  he  flourish’d,  and  he  graced  the 
land: 

To  Troy  I sent  him;  but  his  native  shore 
Never,  ah  never,  shall  receive  him  more  ! 
Ev’11  while  he  lives,  he  wastes  with  secret 
woe, 

Nor  I,  a Goddess,  can  retard  the  blow! 
Robb’d  of  the  prize  the  Grecian  suffrage 
gave, 

The  King  of  Nations  forc’d  his  royal  slave: 
For  this  he  griev’d;  and,  till  the  Greeks 
oppress’d  519 

Required  his  arm,  he  sorrow’d  unredress’d. 
Large  gifts  they  promise,  and  their  elders 
send ; 

In  vain  — he  arms  not,  but  permits  his 
friend 

His  arms,  his  steeds,  his  forces,  to  employ; 
He  marches,  combats,  almost  conquers 
Troy: 

Then  slain  by  Phoebus  (Hector  had  the 
name), 

At  once  resigns  his  armour,  life,  and  fame. 
But  thou,  in  pity,  by  my  prayer  be  won; 
Grace  with  immortal  arms  this  short-lived 
son, 

And  to  the  field  in  martial  pomp  restore, 

To  shine  with  glory,  till  he  shines  no 
more!  ’ 530 

To  her  the  Artist-God:  ‘Thy  griefs  re- 
sign, 

Secure,  what  Vulcan  can,  is  ever  thine. 

O could  I hide  him  from  the  Fates  as  well, 
Or  with  these  hands  the  cruel  stroke 
repel, 


As  I shall  forge  most  envied  arms,  the 
gaze 

Of  wond’ring  ages,  and  the  world’s  amaze!  * 
Thus  having  said,  the  Father  of  the  Fires 
To  the  black  labours  of  his  forge  retires. 
Soon  as  he  bade  them  blow,  the  bellows 
turn’d 

Their  iron  mouths,  and,  where  the  furnace 
burn’d,  540 

Resounding  breathed:  at  once  the  blast 
expires, 

And  twenty  forges  catch  at  once  the  fires; 
Just  as  the  God  directs,  now  loud,  now 
low, 

They  raise  a tempest,  or  they  gently  blow. 
In  hissing  flames  huge  silver  bars  are  roll’d, 
And  stubborn  brass,  and  tin,  and  solid 
gold: 

Before,  deep  fix’d,  th’  eternal  anvils  stand; 
The  pond’rous  hammer  loads  his  better 
hand, 

His  left  with  tongs  turns  the  vex’d  metal 
round ; 

And  thick  strong  strokes  the  doubling 
vaults  rebound.  550 

Then  first  he  form’d  th’  immense  and 
solid  shield; 

Rich  various  artifice  emblazed  the  field; 

Its  utmost  verge  a threefold  circle  bound; 
A silver  chain  suspends  the  massy  round: 
Five  ample  plates  the  broad  expanse  com- 
pose, 

And  godlike  labours  on  the  surface  rose. 
There  shone  the  image  of  the  master-mind: 
There  Earth,  there  Heav’n,  there  Ocean, 
he  design’d; 

Th’  unwearied  sun,  the  moon  completely 
round; 

The  starry  lights  that  Heav’n’s  high  convex 
crown’d;  560 

The  Pleiads,  Hyads,  with  the  Northern 
Team ; 

And  great  Orion’s  more  refulgent  beam; 

To  which,  around  the  axle  of  the  sky, 

The  Bear  revolving  points  his  golden  eye; 
Still  shines  exalted  on  th’  ethereal  plain, 
Nor  bathes  his  blazing  forehead  in  the 
main. 

Two  cities  radiant  on  the  shield  appear, 
The  image  one  of  peace,  and  one  of  war. 
Here  sacred  pomp  and  genial  feast  delight, 
And  solemn  dance,  and  Hymeneal  rite;  570 
Along  the  street  the  new-made  brides  are 
led, 

With  torches  flaming,  to  the  nuptial  bed: 


THE  ILIAD 


469 


"'he  youthful  dancers  in  a circle  bound 
.0  the  soft  flute,  and  cittern’s  silver  sound: 
’hro’  the  fair  streets,  the  matrons  in  a row 
itand  in  their  porches,  and  enjoy  the  show. 

There,  in  the  Forum  swarm  a numerous 
s train; 

’he  subject  of  debate,  a townsman  slain: 
)ne  pleads  the  fine  discharged,  which  one 
denied,  S79 

and  bade  the  public  and  the  laws  decide: 
’he  witness  is  produced  on  either  hand: 
or  this,  or  that,  the  partial  people  stand: 
’h’  appointed  heralds  still  the  noisy  bands, 
aid  form  a ring,  with  sceptres  in  their 
hands ; 

hi  seats  of  stone,  within  the  sacred  place, 
'he  rev’rend  elders  nodded  o’er  the  case; 
alternate,  each  th’  attending  sceptre  took, 
.nd,  rising  solemn,  each  his  sentence  spoke, 
'wo  golden  talents  lay  amidst,  in  sight, 

'he  prize  of  him  who  best  adjudg’d  the 
right.  59o 

Another  part  (a  prospect  diff’ring  far) 
•low’d  with  refulgent  arms,  and  horrid 
war. 

wo  mighty  hosts  a leaguer’d  town  em- 
brace, 

.nd  one  would  pillage,  one  would  burn, 
the  place. 

[eantime  the  townsmen,  arm’d  with  silent 
care, 

. secret  ambush  on  the  foe  prepare: 
heir  wives,  their  children,  and  the  watch- 
: ful  band 

i trembling  parents,  on  the  turrets  stand, 
hey  march,  by  Pallas  and  by  Mars  made 
bold; 

old  were  the  Gods,  their  radiant  garments 
gold,  . 600 

nd  gold  their  armour;  these  the  squadron 
i led, 

ugust,  divine,  superior  by  the  head! 

place  for  ambush  fit  they  found,  and 
| stood 

over’d  with  shields,  beside  a silver  Hood, 
wo  spies  at  distance  lurk,  and  watchful 
seem 

sheep  or  oxen  seek  the  winding  stream. 
>on  the  white  flocks  proceeded  o’er  the 
plains, 

nd  steers  slow-moving,  and  two  shepherd 
i swains; 

fehind  them,  piping  on  their  reeds,  they 

go, 

or  fear  an  ambush,  nor  suspect  a foe.  610 


In  arms  the  glitt’ring  squadron  rising 
round, 

Rush  sudden;  hills  of  slaughter  heap  the 
ground: 

Whole  flocks  and  herds  lie  bleeding  on  the 
plains, 

And,  all  amidst  them,  dead,  the  shepherd 
swains! 

The  bell’ wing  oxen  the  besiegers  hear; 
They  rise,  take  horse,  approach,  and  meet 
the  war; 

They  fight,  they  fall,  beside  the  silver  flood ; 
The  waving  silver  seem’d  to  blush  with 
blood. 

There  tumult,  there  contention,  stood  con- 
fess’d; # 619 

One  rear’d  a dagger  at  a captive’s  breast, 
One  held  a living  foe,  that  freshly  bled 
With  new-made  wounds;  another  dragrer’d 
a dead; 

Now  here,  now  there,  the  carcasses  they 
tore: 

Fate  stalk’d  amidst  them,  grim  with  hu- 
man gore. 

And  the  whole  war  came  out,  and  met  the 
eye: 

And  each  bold  figure  seem’d  to  live,  or  die. 

A field  deep  furrow’d  next  the  God  de- 
sign’d, 

The  third  time  labour’d  by  the  sweating 
hind; 

The  shining  shares  full  many  ploughmen 
guide, 

And  turn  their  crooked  yokes  on  ev’ry 
side.  630 

Still  as  at  either  end  they  wheel  around, 
The  master  meets  them  with  his  goblet 
crown’d; 

The  hearty  draught  rewards,  renews  their 
toil; 

Then  back  the  turning  ploughshares  cleave 
the  soil: 

Behind,  the  rising  earth  in  ridges  roll’d, 
And  sable  look’d,  tho’  form’d  of  molten 
gold.  ^ 

Another  field  rose  high  with  waving 
grain; 

With  bended  sickles  stand  the  reaper-train. 
Here  stretch’d  in  ranks  the  levell’d  swaths 
are  found, 

Sheaves,  heap’d  on  sheaves,  here  thicken 
up  the  ground.  640 

With  sweeping  stroke  the  mowers  strew  the 
lands; 

The  gath’rers  follow,  and  collect  in  bands .• 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


47o 


And  lust  the  children,  in  whose  arms  are 
borne 

(Too  short  to  gripe  them)  the  brown 
sheaves  of  corn. 

The  rustic  Monarch  of  the  Field  descries, 
With  silent  glee,  the  heaps  around  him 
rise. 

A ready  banquet  on  the  turf  is  laid, 

Beneath  an  ample  oak’s  expanded  shade. 
The  victim  ox  the  sturdy  youth  prepare;  649 
The  reaper’s  due  repast,  the  women’s  care. 

Next  ripe,  in  yellow  gold,  a vineyard 
shines, 

Bent  with  the  pond’rous  harvest  of  its 
vines; 

A deeper  Rye  the  dangling  clusters  shew, 
And,  curl’d  on  silver  props,  in  order  glow: 
A darker  metal  mix’d,  intrench’d  the 
place ; 

And  pales  of  glitt’ring  tin  th’  enclosure 
grace. 

To  this,  one  pathway  gently  winding  leads, 
Where  march  a train  with  baskets  on  their 
heads 

(Fair  maids  and  blooming  youths),  that 
smiling  bear  659 

The  purple  product  of  th’  autumnal  year. 
To  these  a youth  awakes  the  warbling 
strings, 

Whose  tender  lay  the  fate  of  Linus  sings; 
In  measured  dance  behind  him  move  the 
train, 

Tune  soft  the  voice,  and  answer  to  the 
strain. 

Here,  herds  of  oxen  march,  erect  and 
bold, 

Rear  high  their  horns,  and  seem  to  low  in 
gold, 

And  speed  to  meadows,  on  whose  sounding 
shores 

A rapid  torrent  thro’  the  rushes  roars: 

Four  golden  herdsmen  as  their  guardians 
stand, 

And  nine  sour  dogs  complete  the  rustic 
band.  67° 

Two  lions  rushing  from  the  wood  appear’d; 
And  seized  a bull,  the  master  of  the  herd; 
He  roar’d:  in  vain  the  dogs,  the  men,  with- 
stood ; 

They  tore  his  flesh,  and  drank  the  sable 
blood. 

The  dogs  (oft  cheer’d  in  vain)  desert  the 
prey, 

Dread  the  grim  terrors,  and  at  distance 
bay. 


Next  this,  the  eye  the  art  of  Vulcan 
leads 

Deep  thro’  fair  forests,  and  a length  of 
meads; 

And  stalls,  and  folds,  and  scatter’d  cots 
between; 

And  fleecy  flocks,  that  whiten  all  the 
scene.  680 

A figured  dance  succeeds:  such  once  was 
seen 

In  lofty  Gnossus,  for  the  Cretan  Queen, 

Form’d  by  Dsedalean  art:  A comely  band 

Of  youths  and  maidens,  bounding  hand  in 
hand ; 

The  maids  in  soft  cymars  of  linen  dress’d; 

The  youths  all  graceful  in  the  glossy 
vest; 

Of  those  the  locks  with  flowery  wreaths 
inroll’d, 

Of  these  the  sides  adorn’d  with  swords  of 
gold, 

That,  glitt’ring  gay,  from  silver  belts  de- 
pend. 

Now  all  at  once  they  rise,  at  once  de- 
scend, 69c 

With  well-taught  feet:  now  shape,  ii 
oblique  ways, 

Confusedly  regular,  the  moving  maze: 

Now  forth  at  once,  too  swift  for  sight,  the} 
spring, 

And  undistinguish’d  blend  the  flying  ring: 

So  whirls  a wheel,  in  giddy  circle  toss’d, 

And,  rapid  as  it  runs,  the  single  spokes  ar< 
lost. 

The  gazing  multitudes  admire  around; 

Two  active  tumblers  in  the  centre  bound; 

Now  high,  now  low,  their  pliant  limbs  the} 
bend,  . 69 

And  gen’ral  songs  the  sprightly  reve 
end. 

Thus  the  broad  shield  complete  the  artis 
crown’d 

With  his  last  hand,  and  pour’d  the  oceai 
round : 

In  living  silver  seem’d  the  waves  to  roll, 

And  beat  the  buckler’s  verge,  and  bourn 
the  whole. 

This  done,  whate’er  a warrior’s  use  re 
quires 

He  forged;  the  cuirass  that  outshines  th 
fires, 

The  greaves  of  ductile  tin,  the  helm  in: 
press’d 

With  various  sculpture,  and  the  golde 
crest. 


THE  ILIAD 


47i 


U Thetis’  feet  the  finish’d  labour  lay; 
ihe,  as  a falcon,  cuts  th’  aerial  way,  710 
*wift  from  Olympus’  snowy  summit  flies, 
Lnd  bears  the  blazing  present  thro’  the 
skies. 


BOOK  XIX 

THE  RECONCILIATION  OF  ACHILLES  AND 
AGAMEMNON 

THE  ARGUMENT 

'lietis  brings  to  her  son  the  armour  made  by 
Vulcan.  She  preserves  the  body  of  his  friend 
from  corruption,  and  commands  him  to  as- 
semble the  army,  to  declare  his  resentment 
1 at  an  end.  Agamemnon  and  Achilles  are 
solemnly  reconciled  : the  speeches,  presents, 
and  ceremonies  on  that  occasion.  Achilles 
is  with  great  difficulty  persuaded  to  refrain 
from  the  battle  till  the  troops  have  refreshed 
' themselves,  by  the  advice  of  Ulysses.  The 
presents  are  conveyed  to  the  tent  of  Achilles : 
where  Briseis  laments  over  the  body  of  Pa- 
1 troclus.  The  hero  obstinately  refuses  all 
: repast,  and  gives  himself  up  to  lamenta- 
tions for  his  friend.  Minerva  descends  to 
strengthen  him,  by  the  order  of  Jupiter.  He 
i arms  for  the  fight;  his  appearance  described. 
He  addresses  himself  to  his  horses,  and  re- 
proaches them  with  the  death  of  Patroclus. 
One  of  them  is  miraculously  endued  with 
, voice,  and  inspired  to  prophesy  his  fate  ; but 
the  hero,  not  astonished  by  that  prodigy, 
rushes  Avith  fury  to  the  combat, 
he  thirtieth  day.  The  scene  is  on  the  sea- 
t shore. 

Soon  as  Aurora  heav’d  her  orient  head 
»bove  the  waves  that  blush’d  with  early 
red 

With  new-born  day  to  gladden  mortal 
sight, 

;nd  gild  the  courts  of  Heav’n  with  sacred 

, . %ht)> 

1 immortal  arms  the  Goddess-mother 

\ bears 

vlft  to  her  son;  her  son  she  finds  in 
tears, 

retch’d  o’er  Patroclus’  corse,  while  all  the 
i rest 

leir  Sov’reign’s  sorrows  in  their  own  ex- 
3 press’d. 

ray  divine  her  heav’nly  presence  shed, 
lid  thus,  his  hand  soft  touching,  Thetis 
said;  IO 


‘ Suppress,  my  son,  this  rage  of  grief,  and 
know 

It  was  not  man,  but  Heav’n,  that  gave  the 
blow: 

Behold  what  arms  by  Vulcan  are  bestow’d, 
Arms  worthy  thee,  or  fit  to  grace  a God.’ 

Then  drops  the  radiant  burden  on  the 
ground  5 

Clang  the  strong  arms,  and  ring  the  shores 
around; 

Back  shrink  the  Myrmidons  with  dread 
surprise, 

And  from  the  broad  effulgence  turn  their 
eyes. 

Unmov’d,  the  hero  kindles  at  the  show, 
And  feels  with  rage  divine  his  bosom 
glow;  20 

From  his  fierce  eye-balls  living  flames  ex- 
pire, 

And  flash  incessant  like  a stream  of  fire: 
He  turns  the  radiant  gift,  and  feeds  his 
mind 

On  all  th’  immortal  artist  had  design’d. 

‘ Goddess  ’ (he  cried),  ‘ these  glorious 
arms  that  shine 

With  matchless  art,  confess  the  hand  di- 
vine. 

Now  to  the  bloody  battle  let  me  bend: 

But  ah  ! the  relics  of  my  slaughter’d 
friend  ! 

In  those  wide  wounds  thro’  which  his 
spirit  fled, 

Shall  flies,  and  worms  obscene,  pollute  the 
dead  ? ’ 30 

* That  unavailing  care  be  laid  aside  ’ 

(The  azure  Goddess  to  her  son  replied) ; 

‘ Whole  years  untouch’d,  uninjured  shall 
remain, 

Fresh  as  in  life,  the  carcass  of  the  slain. 

But  go,  Achilles  (as  affairs  require), 

Before  the  Grecian  peers  renounce  thine 
ire; 

Then  nncon troll’d  in  boundless  war  engage, 
And  Heav’n  with  strength  supply  the 
mighty  rage  ! ’ 

Then  in  the  nostrils  of  the  slain  she 
pour’d 

Nectareous  drops,  and  rich  ambrosia  show- 
er’d 40 

O’er  all  the  corse:  the  flies  forbid  their 
prey, 

untouch’d  it  rests,  and  sacred  from  decay. 
Achilles  to  the  strand  obedient  went; 

The  shores  resounded  with  the  voice  he 
sent. 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


472 


The  heroes  heard,  and  all  the  naval  train 
That  tend  the  ships,  or  guide  them  o’er  the 
main, 

Alarm’d,  transported,  at  the  well-known 
sound, 

Frequent  and  full,  the  great  assembly 
crown’d; 

Studious  to  see  that  terror  of  the  plain, 
Long  lost  to  battle,  shine  in  arms  again.  50 
Tydides  and  Ulysses  first  appear, 

Lame  with  their  wounds,  and  leaning  on 
the  spear: 

These  on  the  sacred  seats  of  council  placed, 
The  King  of  Men,  Atrides,  came  the  last: 
He  too  sore  wounded  by  Agenor’s  son. 
Achilles  (rising  in  the  midst)  begun: 

‘ Oh  Monarch  ! better  far  had  been  the 
fate 

Of  thee,  of  me,  of  all  the  Grecian  state, 

If  (ere  the  day  when  by  mad  passion 
sway’d, 

Rash  we  contended  for  the  black-eyed 
maid)  60 

Preventing  Dian  had  despatch’d  her  dart, 
And  shot  the  shining  mischief  to  the  heart ! 
Then  many  a hero  had  not  press’d  the 
shore, 

Nor  Troy’s  glad  fields  been  fatten’d  with 
our  gore: 

Long,  long  shall  Greece  the  woes  we  caus’d 
bewail, 

And  sad  posterity  repeat  the  tale. 

But  this,  no  more  the  subject  of  debate, 

Is  past,  forgotten,  and  resign’d  to  Fate: 
Why  should,  alas  ! a mortal  man,  as  I, 
Burn  with  a fury  that  can  never  die  ? 70 

Here  then  my  anger  ends:  let  war  succeed, 
And  ev’n  as  Greece  hath  bled,  let  Ilion 
bleed. 

Now  call  the  hosts,  and  try,  if  in  our  sight, 
Troy  yet  shall  dare  to  camp  a second 
night ? 

I deem  their  mightiest,  when  this  arm  be 
knows, 

Shall  ’scape  with  transport,  and  with  joy 
repose.’ 

He  said;  his  finish’d  wrath  with  loud 
acclaim 

The  Greeks  accept,  and  shout  Pelides’ 
name. 

When  thus,  not  rising  from  his  lofty  throne, 
In  state  unmov’d,  the  King  of  Men  begun: 

‘ Hear  me,  ye  sons  of  Greece  ! with 
silence  hear  ! 81 

And  grant  your  Monarch  an  impartial  ear: 


Awhile  your  loud  untimely  joy  suspend, 
And  let  your  rash  injurious  clamours  end: 
Unruly  murmurs,  or  ill-timed  applause, 
Wrong  the  best  speaker,  and  the  justest 
cause. 

Nor  charge  on  me,  ye  Greeks,  the  dire  de- 
bate; 

Know,  angry  Jove,  and  all-compelling 
Fate, 

With  fell  Erinnys,  urged  my  wrath  that 
day 

When  from  Achilles’  arms  I forc’d  the 
prey.  _ 9^ 

What  then  could  I,  against  the  will  of 
Heav’11  ? 

Not  by  myself,  but  vengeful  Atd  driv’n; 
She,  Jove’s  dread  daughter,  fated  to  infest 
The  race  of  mortals,  enter’d  in  my  breast. 
Not  on  the  ground  that  haughty  Fur\ 
treads, 

But  prints  her  lofty  footsteps  on  the  heads 
Of  mighty  men;  inflicting  as  she  goes  1 
Long-fest’ring  wounds,  inextricable  woes  !, 
Of  old,  she  stalk’d  amidst  the  brigh 
abodes ; 

And  Jove  himself,  the  sire  of  men  aiu 
Gods,  io< 

The  world’s  great  ruler,  felt  her  venom’( 
dart; 

Deceiv’d  by  Juno’s  wiles  and  female  art. 
For  when  Alcmena’s  nine  long  months  wer< 
run, 

And  Jove  expected  his  immortal  son, 

To  Gods  and  Goddesses  th’  unruly  joy 
He  sliew’d,  and  vaunted  of  his  matcliles 
boy: 

“ From  us  ” (he  said)  “ this  day  an  infan 
springs, 

Fated  to  rule,  and  born  a King  of  Kings.’ 
Saturnia  ask’d  an  oath,  to  vouch  the  trutl 
And  fix  dominion  on  the  favour’d  youth,  n 
The  Thund’rer,  unsuspicious  of  the  fraud, 
Pronounc’d  those  solemn  words  that  bin 
a God. 

The  joyful  Goddess,  from  Olympus’  heigh 
Swift  to  Achaian  Argos  bent  her  flight. 
Scarce  seven  moons  gone,  lay  Sthenelus 
wife; 

She  push’d  her  ling’ring  infant  into  life: 
Her  charms  Alcmena’s  coming  laboui 
stay, 

And  stop  the  babe  just  issuing  to  the  day. 
Then  bids  Saturnius  bear  his  oath  in  mine 
“ A youth  ” (said  she)  “ of  Jove’s  iinmort: 
kind  1 


THE  ILIAD 


473 


s this  day  born:  from  Sthenelus  he 
springs, 

\nd  claims  thy  promise  to  be  King  of 
Kings.” 

iaief  seiz’d  the  Thund’rer,  by  his  oath  en- 
I gaged; 

Stung  to  the  soul,  he  sorrow’d  and  he  raged. 
? rom  his  ambrosial  head,  where  perch’d  she 
sat, 

He  snatch’d  the  Fury-Goddess  of  Debate, 
Fhe  dread,  til’  irrevocable  oath  he  swore, 
Ch’  immortal  seats  should  ne’er  behold  her 
more; 

^.nd  whirl’d  her  headlong  down,  for  ever 
driv’n 

?rom  bright  Olympus  and  the  starry 
Heav’n ; 130 

Thence  on  the  nether  world  the  Fury 
fell; 

)rdain’d  with  man’s  contentious  race  to 
dwell. 

?ull  oft  the  God  his  son’s  hard  toils  be- 
moan’d, 

Jurs’d  the  dire  Fury,  and  in  secret  groan’d. 
Sv’n  thus,  like  Jove  himself,  was  I misled, 
While  raging  Hector  heap’d  our  camps 
with  dead. 

iVhat  can  the  errors  of  my  rage  atone  ? 

Jy  martial  troops,  my  treasures,  are  thy 
own: 

This  instant  from  the  navy  shall  be  sent 
/Thate’er  Ulysses  promis’d  at  thy  tent;  140 
lut  thou ! appeas’d,  propitious  to  our 
prayer, 

lesume  thy  arms,  and  shine  again  in  war.’ 

‘ O King  of  Nations  ! whose  superior 
sway  ’ 

Returns  Achilles)  * all  our  hosts  obey  ! 

[o  keep  or  send  the  presents  be  thy  care; 
To  us,  ’t is  equal:  all  we  ask  is  war. 

While  yet  we  talk,  or  but  an  instant  shun 
,7he  fight,  our  glorious  work  remains  un- 
1 done. 

jet  ev’ry  Greek  who  sees  my  spear  con- 
| found 

?he  Trojan  ranks,  and  deal  destruction 
i round,  150 

Vitli  emulation,  what  I act,  survey, 

Lnd  learn  from  thence  the  business  of  the 
d.  day.’ 

The  son  of  Peleus  thus:  and  thus  replies 

The  great  in  councils,  Ithacus  the  wise: 

, Tho’,  godlike,  thou  art  by  no  toils  op- 

(■  press’d, 

it  least  our  armies  claim  repast  and  rest : 


Long  and  laborious  must  the  combat  be, 
When  by  the  Gods  inspired,  and  led  by 
thee. 

Strength  is  derived  from  spirits  and  from 
blood, 

And  those  augment  by  gen’rous  wine  and 
food;  160 

What  boastful  son  of  war,  without  that 
stay, 

Can  last  a hero  thro’  a single  day  ? 
Courage  may  prompt;  but,  ebbing  out  his 
strength 

Mere  unsupported  man  must  yield  at 
length ; 

Shrunk  with  dry  famine,  and  with  toils  de- 
clin’d, 

The  drooping  body  will  desert  the  mind: 
But  built  anew,  with  strength-conferring 
fare, 

With  limbs  and  soul  untamed,  he  tires  a 
war. 

Dismiss  the  people  then,  and  give  com- 
mand, 169 

With  strong  repast  to  hearten  ev’ry  band; 
But  let  the  presents  to  Achilles  made, 

In  full  assembly  of  all  Greece  be  laid. 

The  King  of  Men  shall  rise  in  public 
sight, 

And  solemn  swear  (observant  of  the  rite), 
That,  spotless  as  she  came,  the  maid  re- 
moves, 

Pure  from  his  arms,  and  guiltless  of  his 
loves. 

That  done,  a sumptuous  banquet  shall  be 
made, 

And  the  full  price  of  injured  honour  paid. 
Stretch  not  henceforth,  O Prince  ! thy 
sov’reign  might,  179 

Beyond  the  bounds  of  reason  and  of  right; 
’T  is  the  chief  praise  that  e’er  to  Kings 
belong’d, 

To  right  with  justice  whom  with  power 
they  wrong’d.’ 

To  him  the  Monarch:  ‘Just  is  thy  de- 
cree, 

Thy  words  give  joy,  and  wisdom  breathes 
in  thee. 

Each  due  atonement  gladly  I prepare; 

And  Heav’n  regard  me  as  I justly  swear  ! 
Here  then  awhile  let  Greece  assembled 
stay, 

Nor  great  Achilles  grudge  this  short  delay; 
Till  from  the  fleet  our  presents  be  convey’d, 
And,  Jove  attesting,  the  firm  compact 
made.  190 


474 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


A train  of  noble  youth  the  charge  shall 
bear; 

These  to  select,  Ulysses,  be  thy  care; 

In  order  rank’d  let  all  our  gifts  appear, 
And  the  fair  train  of  captives  close  the 
rear: 

Talthybius  shall  the  victim  boar  convey, 
Sacred  to  Jove,  and  yon  bright  orb  of 
day.’ 

‘ For  this  ’ (the  stern  .ZEacides  replies) 

‘ Some  less  important  season  may  suffice, 
When  the  stern  fury  of  the  war  is  o’er, 
And  wrath  extinguish’d  burns  my  breast 
no  more.  200 

By  Hector  slain,  their  faces  to  the  sky, 

All  grim  with  gaping  wounds  our  heroes 
lie: 

Those  call  to  war  ! and,  might  my  voice 
incite, 

Now,  now  this  instant  should  commence 
the  fight. 

Then,  when  the  day ’s  complete,  let  gen’- 
rous  bowls, 

And  copious  banquets,  glad  your  weary 
souls. 

Let  not  my  palate  know  the  taste  of  food, 
Till  my  insatiate  rage  be  cloy’d  with  blood: 
Pale  lies  my  friend,  with  wounds  disfigured 
o’er,  2q9 

And  his  cold  feet  are  pointed  to  the  door. 
Revenge  is  all  my  soul  ! no  meaner  care, 
Int’rest,  or  thought,  has  room  to  harbour 
there ; 

Destruction  be  my  feast,  and  mortal 
wounds, 

And  scenes  of  blood,  and  agonizing  sounds.’ 

‘ O first  of  Greeks  ! ’ (Ulysses  thus  re- 
join’d) 

* The  best  and  bravest  of  the  warrior-kind  ! 
Thy  praise  it  is  in  dreadful  camps  to  shine, 
But  old  experience  and  calm  wisdom,  mine. 
Then  hear  my  counsel,  and  to  reason  yield; 
The  bravest  soon  are  satiate  of  the  field ; 
Tho’  vast  the  heaps  that  strew  the  crimson 
plain,  2ax 

The  bloody  harvest  brings  but  little  gain: 
The  scale  of  conquest  ever  wav’ring  lies, 
Great  Jove  but  turns  it,  and  the  victor  dies  ! 
The  great,  the  bold,  by  thousands  daily  fall, 
And  endless  were  the  grief  to  weep  for  all. 
Eternal  sorrows  what  avails  to  shed  ? 
Greece  honours  not  with  solemn  fasts  the 
dead: 

Enough,  when  death  demands  the  brave,  to 


The  tribute  of  a melancholy  day.  23 

One  Chief  with  patience  to  the  grave  re 
sign’d, 

Our  care  devolves  on  others  left  behind. 
Let  gen’rous  food  supplies  of  strength  pro 
duce, 

Let  rising  spirits  flow  from  sprightly  juice 
Let  their  warm  heads  with  scenes  of  bat 
tie  glow, 

And  pour  new  furies  on  the  feebler  foe. 
Yet  a short  interval,  and  none  shall  dare 
Expect  a second  summons  to  the  war; 

"W  ho  waits  for  that,  the  dire  effect  shal 
find, 

If  trembling  in  the  ships  he  lags  behind.  24 
Embodied,  to  the  battle  let  us  bend, 

And  all  at  once  on  haughty  Troy  descend. 

And  now  the  delegates  Ulysses  sent, 

To  bear  the  presents  from  the  royal  tent.  ' 
The  sons  of  Nestor,  Phyleus’  valiant  heir,5 
Thoas  and  Merion,  thunderbolts  of  war, 
With  Lycomedes  of  Creiyntian  strain, 

And  Melanippus,  form’d  the  chosen  train. 
Swift  as  the  word  was  giv’11,  the  youth; 

obey’d;  i 

Twice  ten  bright  vases  in  the  midst  the: 

laid ; 2 5" 

A row  of  six  fair  tripods  then  succeeds; 
And  twice  the  number  of  high-bounding 
steeds; 

Sev’n  captives  next  a lovely  line  compose; 
The  eighth  Briseis,  like  the  blooming  rose 
Closed  the  bright  band:  great  Itliacus  be 
fore, 

First  of  the  train,  the  golden  talents  bore: 
The  rest  in  public  view  the  Chiefs  dispose, 
A splendid  scene  ! Then  Agamemnon  rose 
The  boar  Talthybius  held:  the  Grecian  lore 
Drew  the  broad  cutlass  sheathed  beside  hi; 

sword;  26 

The  stubborn  bristles  from  the  victim’; 
brow 

He  crops,  and,  off’ring,  meditates  his  vow. 
His  hands  uplifted  to  th’  attesting  skies, 
On  Heav’n’s  broad  marble  roof  were  fix’c 
his  eyes; 

The  solemn  words  a deep  attention  draw, 
And  Greece  around  sat  thrill’d  with  sacret 
awe. 

‘ Witness,  thou  first  ! thou  greatest  Powei 
above; 

All-good,  all-wise,  and  all-surveying  Jove 
And  mother  Earth,  and  Heav’n’s  revolving 
light, 

And  ye,  fell  Furies  of  the  realms  of  night,  27c 


THE  ILIAD 


475 


Yho  rule  the  dead,  and  horrid  woes  pre- 
pare 

i'or  perjured  kings,  and  all  who  falsely 
swear  ! 

The  black-eyed  maid  inviolate  removes, 
pure  and  unconscious  of  my  manly  loves, 
f this  be  false,  Heav’n  all  its  vengeance 
shed, 

Lid  levell’d  thunder  strike  my  guilty 
head  ! ’ 

With  that,  his  weapon  deep  inflicts  the 
wound: 

fhe  bleeding  savage  tumbles  to  the  ground: 
fhe  sacred  Herald  rolls  the  victim  slain 
A feast  for  fish)  into  the  foaming  main.  280 

Then  thus  Achilles:  ‘ Hear,  ye  Greeks  ! 
and  know 

vVhate’er  we  feel,  ’t  is  Jove  inflicts  the  woe: 
tfot  else  Atrides  could  our  rage  inflame, 
tfor  from  my  arms,  unwilling,  force  the 
dame. 

T was  Jove’s  high  will  alone,  o’er-ruling  all, 
rhat  doom’d  our  strife,  and  doom’d  the 
Greeks  to  fall. 

Go  then,  ye  Chiefs  ! indulge  the  genial  rite: 
Achilles  waits  ye,  and  expects  the  fight.’ 

The  speedy  council  at  his  word  ad- 
journ’d ; 

To  their  black  vessels  all  the  Greeks  re- 
turn’d: 290 

Achilles  sought  his  tent.  His  train  before 
March’d  onward,  bending  with  the  gifts 
they  bore. 

Those  in  the  tents  the  squires  industrious 
spread ; 

The  foaming  coursers  to  the  stalls  they  led. 
To  their  new  seats  the  female  captives 
1 move: 

iBrisei's,  radiant  as  the  Queen  of  Love, 

Slow  as  she  pass’d,  beheld  with  sad  survey 
Where,  gash’d  with  cruel  wounds,  Patroclus 
lay. 

Prone  on  the  body  fell  the  heav’nly  Fair, 
Beat  her  sad  breast,  and  tore  her  golden 
hair ; 3°° 

All-beautiful  in  grief,  her  humid  eyes, 
(Shining  with  tears,  she  lifts,  and  thus  she 
cries: 

‘ Ah  youth  ! for  ever  dear,  for  ever  kind, 
30nce  tender  friend  of  my  distracted  mind  ! 
[ left  thee  fresh  in  life,  in  beauty  gay; 

Now  find  thee  cold,  innnimated  clay  ! 

What  woes  my  wretched  race  of  life  at- 
tend ! 

Sorrows  on  sorrows,  never  doom’d  to  end  ! 


The  first  lov’d  consort  of  my  virgin  bed 
Before  these  eyes  in  fatal  battle  bled:  310 
Mv  three  brave  brothers  in  one  mournful 
day 

All  trod  the  dark  irremeable  way: 

Thy  friendly  arm  uprear’d  me  from  the 
plain, 

And  dried  my  sorrows  for  a husband  slain; 
Achilles’  care  you  promis’d  I should  prove, 
The  first,  the  dearest  partner  of  his  love; 
That  rites  divine  should  ratify  the  baud, 
And  make  me  Empress  in  his  native  land. 
Accept  these  grateful  tears  ! for  thee  they 
flow, 

For  tliee,  that  ever  felt  another’s  woe  ! ’ 320 

Her  sister  captives  echoed  groan  for 
groan, 

Nor  mourn’d  Patroclus’  fortunes,  but  their 
own. 

The  leaders  press’d  the  Chief  on  ev’ry  side; 
Unmov’d  he  heard  them,  and  with  sighs 
denied: 

' If  yet  Achilles  have  a friend,  whose  care 
Is  bent  to  please  him,  this  request  forbear: 
Till  yonder  sun  descend,  ah,  let  me  pay 
To  grief  and  anguish  one  abstemious  day.’ 

He  spoke,  and  from  the  warriors  turn’d 
his  face: 

Yet  still  the  Brother-Kings  of  Atreus’ 
race,  330 

Nestor,  Idomeneus,  Ulysses  sage, 

And  Phoenix,  strive  to  calm  his  grief  and 
rage: 

His  rage  they  calm  not,  nor  his  grief  con- 
trol : 

He  groans,  he  raves,  he  sorrows  from  his 
soul. 

‘ Thou  too,  Patroclus  ’ (thus  his  heart 
he  vents)  ! 

‘Hast  spread  th’  inviting  banquet  in  ours 
tents; 

Thy  sweet  society,  thy  winning  care, 

Oft  stay’d  Achilles,  rushing  to  the  war. 

But  now,  alas  ! to  death’s  cold  arms  re- 
sign’d, 

What  banquet  but  revenge  can  glad  my 
mind  ? 34° 

What  greater  sorrow  could  afflict  my 
breast, 

What  more,  if  hoary  Peleus  were  deceas’d  ? 
Who  now,  perhaps,  in  Phthia  dreads  to 
hear 

His  son’s  sad  fate,  and  drops  a tender  tear. 
What  more,  should  Neoptolemus  the  brave 
(My  only  offspring)  sink  into  the  grave  ? 


476 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


If  yet  that  offspring  lives  (I  distant  far, 
Of  all  neglectful,  wage  a hateful  war). 

I could  not  this,  this  cruel  stroke  attend; 
Fate  claim’d  Achilles,  but  might  spare  his 
friend.  350 

I hoped  Patroclus  might  survive  to  rear 
My  tender  orphan  with  a parent’s  care, 
From  Scyros’  isle  conduct  him  o’er  the  ) 
main,  I 

And  glad  his  eyes  with  his  paternal  reign,  f 
The  lofty  palace,  and  the  large  domain.  J 
For  Peleus  breathes  no  more  the  vital  air; 
Or  drags  a wretched  life  of  age  and  care, 
But  till  the  news  of  my  sad  fate  invades 
His  hast’ning  soul,  and  sinks  him  to  the 
shades.’ 

Sighing  he  said:  his  grief  the  heroes 
join’d,  36o 

Each  stole  a tear,  for  what  he  left  behind. 
Their  mingled  grief  the  Sire  of  Heav’n 
survey’d, 

And  thus,  with  pity,  to  his  Blue-eyed  Maid: 

‘ Is  then  Achilles  now  no  more  thy  care, 
And  dost  thou  thus  desert  the  great  in  war  ? 
Lo,  where  yon  sails  their  canvas  wings  ex- 
tend, 

All  comfortless  he  sits,  and  wails  his  friend: 
Ere  thirst  and  want  his  forces  have  op- 
press’d, 

Haste  and  infuse  ambrosia  in  his  breast.’ 

He  spoke,  and  sudden  at  the  word  of 
Jove  370 

Shot  the  descending  Goddess  from  above. 
So  swift  thro’  ether  the  shrill  Harpy 
springs, 

The  wide  air  floating  to  her  ample  wings. 
To  great  Achilles  she  her  flight  address’d, 
And  pour’d  divine  ambrosia  in  his  breast, 
With  nectar  sweet  (refection  of  the  Gods)  ! 
Then,  swift  ascending,  sought  the  bright 
abodes. 

Now  issued  from  the  ships  the  warrior 
train, 

And  like  a deluge  pour’d  upon  the  plain. 

As  when  the  piercing  blasts  of  Boreas 
blow,  380 

And  scatter  o’er  the  fields  the  driving 
snow; 

From  dusky  clouds  the  fleecy  winter  flies, 
Whose  dazzling  lustre  whitens  all  the 
skies: 

So  helms  succeeding  helms,  so  shields  from 
shields 

Catch  the  quick  beams,  and  brighten  all  the 
fields; 


Broad  glitt’ring  breast-plates,  spears  with! 
pointed  rays, 

Mix  in  one  stream,  reflecting  blaze  on 
blaze: 

Thick  beats  the  centre  as  the  coursers 
bound, 

With  splendour  flame  the  skies,  and  laugh 
the  fields  around. 

Full  in  the  midst,  high-tow’ring  o’er  thej 

l'BStj  390 

His  limbs  in  arms  divine  Achilles  dress’d; 

Arms  which  the  Father  of  the  Fire  be- 
stow’d, 

Forged  on  th’  eternal  anvils  of  the  God. 

Grief  and  revenge  his  furious  heart  inspire, 

His  glowing  eye-balls  roll  with  living 
fire; 

He  grinds  his  teeth,  and  furious  with  delay 

O’erlooks  th’  embattled  host,  and  hopes 
the  bloody  day. 

The  silver  cuishes  first  his  thighs  infold; 

Then  o’er  his  breast  was  braced  the  hollow 
gold: 

The  brazen  sword  a various  baldric  tied,  400 

That,  starr’d  with  gems,  hung  glitt’ring 
at  his  side; 

And,  like  the  moon,  the  broad  refulgent! 
shield 

Blazed  with  long  rays,  and  gleam’d  athwart 
the  field. 

So  to  night-wand’ring  sailors,  pale  with 
fears. 

Wide  o’er  the  wat’ry  waste  a light  appears, 

Which  on  the  far-seen  mountain  blazing 
high, 

Streams  from  some  lonely  watch-tower  to 
the  sky: 

With  mournful  eyes  they  gaze  and  gaze 
again; 

Loud  howls  the  storm,  and  drives  them 
o’er  the  main. 

Next,  his  high  head  the  helmet  graced; 
behind  4 10  I 

The  sweepy  crest  hung  floating  in  the 
wind: 

Like  the  red  star,  that  from  his  flaming 
hair 

Shakes  down  diseases,  pestilence,  and  war; 

So  stream’d  the  golden  honours  from  his 
head, 

Trembled  the  sparkling  plumes,  and  the 
loose  glories  shed. 

The  Chief  beholds  himself  with  wond’ring 
eyes; 

His  arms  he  poises,  and  his  motions  tries; 


THE  ILIAD 


477 


luoy’d  by  some  inward  force,  lie  seems  to 
swim, 

aid  feels  a pinion  lifting  ev’ry  limb. 

And  now  lie  shakes  liis  great  paternal 
spear,  420 

'ond’rous  and  huge  ! which  not  a Greek 
could  rear: 

'rom  Pelion’s  cloudy  top  an  ash  entire 
)ld  Chiron  fell’d,  and  shaped  it  for  his 
sire; 

. spear  which  stern  Achilles  only  wields, 
’he  death  of  heroes,  and  the  dread  of 
fields. 

Automedon  and  Alcimus  prepare 
'll’  immortal  coursers  and  the  radiant  car 
The  silver  traces  sweeping  at  their  side); 
’heir  fiery  mouths  resplendent  bridles 
tied;  429 

'he  iv’ry-studded  reins,  return’d  behind, 
Paved  o’er  their  backs,  and  to  the  chariot 
join’d. 

'he  charioteer  then  whirl’d  the  lash 
around, 

aid  swift  ascended  at  one  active  bound. 

,11  bright  in  heav’nly  arms,  above  his 
squire 

,chilles  mounts,  and  sets  the  field  on  fire; 
Tot  brighter  Phoebus  in  tli’  ethereal  way 
lames  from  his  chariot,  and  restores  the 
day. 

High  o’er  the  host,  all  terrible  he  stands, 
aid  thunders  to  his  steeds  these  dread 
commands: 

‘ Xanthus  and  Balius  ! of  Podarges’ 
strain  440 

Unless  ye  boast  that  heav’nly  race  in 
vain), 

e swift,  be  mindful  of  the  load  ye  bear, 
aid  learn  to  make  your  master  more  your 
i care : 

hro’  falling  squadrons  bear  my  slaught’- 
! ring  sword, 

or,  as  ye  left  Patroclus,  leave  your  lord.’ 
! The  gen’rous  Xanthus,  as  the  words  he 
said, 

eem’d  sensible  of  woe,  and  droop’d  his 
head : 

rembling  he  stood  before  the  golden  wain, 
Tid  bow’d  to  dust  the  honours  of  his 
mane ; 

Then,  strange  to  tell  (so  Juno  will’d  !),  he 
broke  450 

J ternal  silence,  and  portentous  spoke: 
Achilles  ! yes  ! this  day  at  least  we  bear 
by  rage  in  safety  thro’  the  files  of  war: 


But  come  it  will,  the  fatal  time  must  come. 

Not  ours  the  fault,  but  God  decrees  thy 
doom. 

Not  thro’  our  crime,  or  slowness  in  the 
course, 

Fell  thy  Patroclus,  but  by  heav’nly  force: 

The  bright  far-shooting  God  who  gilds  the 
day 

(Confess’d  we  saw  him)  tore  his  arms 
away. 

No:  could  our  swiftness  o’er  the  winds  pre- 
vail, 460 

Or  beat  the  pinions  of  the  western  gale, 

All  were  in  vain:  the  Fates  thy  death  de- 
mand, 

Due  to  a mortal  and  immortal  hand.’ 

Then  ceas’d  for  ever,  by  the  Furies 
tied, 

His  fateful  voice.  Th’  intrepid  Chief  re- 
plied 

With  unabated  rage:  * So  let  it  be  ! 

Portents  and  prodigies  are  lost  on  me. 

I know  my  fates:  to  die,  to  see  no  more 

My  much-lov’d  parents,  and  my  native 
shore  — 

Enough:  when  Heav’n  ordains,  I sink  in 
night;  470 

Now  perish  Troy  ! ’ He  said,  and  rush’d 
to  fight. 


BOOK  XX 

THE  BATTLE  OF  THE  GODS,  AND  THE  ACTS 
OF  ACHILLES 

THE  ARGUMENT 

Jupiter,  upon  Achilles’  return  to  the  battle, 
calls  a council  of  the  gods,  and  permits  them 
to  assist  either  party.  The  terrors  of  the 
combat  described  when  the  deities  are  en- 
gaged. Apollo  encourages  A5neas  to  meet 
Achilles.  After  a long  conversation,  these 
two  heroes  encounter  ; but  ASneas  is  pre- 
served by  the  assistance  of  Neptune.  Achil- 
les falls  upon  the  rest  of  the  Trojans,  and  is 
upon  the  point  of  killing  Hector,  but  Apollo 
conveys  him  away  in  a cloud.  Achilles  pur- 
sues the  Trojans  with  a great  slaughter. 

The  same  day  continues.  The  scene  is  in  the 
field  before  Troy. 

Thus  round  Pelides  breathing  war  and 
blood, 

Greece,  sheathed  in  arms,  beside  her  ves- 
sels stood; 


478 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


While,  near  impending  from  a neighb’ring 
height, 

Troy’s  black  battalions  wait  the  shock  of 
fight. 

Then  Jove  to  Themis  gives  command,  to 
call 

The  Gods  to  council  in  the  starry  hall: 
Swift  o’er  Olympus’  hundred  hills  she 
flies, 

And  summons  all  the  Senate  of  the  Skies. 
These,  shining  on,  in  long  procession  come 
To  Jove’s  eternal  adamantine  dome.  io 
Not  one  was  absent,  not  a rural  Lower 
That  haunts  the  verdant  gloom,  or  rosy 
bower; 

Each  fair-hair’d  Dryad  of  the  shady  wood, 
Each  azure  sister  of  the  silver  flood; 

All  but  old  Ocean,  hoary  Sire  ! who  keeps 
His  ancient  seat  beneath  the  sacred  deeps. 
On  marble  thrones  with  lucid  columns 
crown’d 

(The  work  of  Vulcan)  sat  the  Powers 
around. 

Ev’n  he,  whose  trident  sways  the  wat’ry 
reign, 

Heard  the  loud  summons,  and  forsook  the 
main,  20 

Assumed  his  throne  amid  the  bright  abodes, 
And  question’d  thus  the  Sire  of  men  and 
Gods: 

‘ What  moves  the  God  who  Heav’11  and 
earth  commands, 

And  grasps  the  thunder  in  his  awful 
hands, 

Thus  to  convene  the  whole  ethereal  state  ? 
Is  Greece  and  Troy  the  subject  in  debate  ? 
Already  met,  the  low’ring  hosts  appear, 
And  death  stands  ardent  on  the  edge  of 
war.’ 

* ’T  is  true  ’ (the  Cloud-compelling  Power 
replies), 

* This  day  we  call  the  Council  of  the 
Skies  3° 

In  care  of  human  race;  ev’n  Jove’s  own 
eye 

Sees  with  regret  unhappy  mortals  die. 

Far  on  Olympus’  top  in  secret  state 
Ourself  will  sit,  and  see  the  hand  of  Fate 
Work  out  our  will.  Celestial  Powers  ! de- 
scend, 

And,  as  your  minds  direct,  your  succour 
lend 

To  either  host.  Troy  soon  must  lie  o’er- 
thrown, 

If  uucontroll’d  Achilles  fights  alone: 


Their  troops  but  lately  durst  not  meet  his 

eyes; 

What  can  they  now,  if  in  his  rage  he 
rise  ? 40 

Assist  them,  Gods  ! or  Ilion’s  sacred  wall 
May  fall  this  day,  tho’  Fate  forbids  the 
fall.’ 

He  said,  and  fired  their  Heav’nly  breasts 
with  rage; 

On  adverse  parts  the  warring  Gods  en- 
gage. 

Heav’n’s  awful  Queen;  and  he  whose  azure 
round 

Girds  the  vast  globe;  the  Maid  in  arms 
renown’d ; 

Hermes,  of  profitable  arts  the  sire, 

And  Vulcan,  the  black  Sov’reign  of  the 
Fire: 

These  to  the  fleet  repair  with  instant  flight; 
The  vessels  tremble  as  the  Gods  alight.  50 
In  aid  of  Troy,  Latona,  Phcebus  came, 
Mars  fiery  - helm’d,  the  Laughter-loving 
Dame, 

Xanthus,  whose  streams  in  golden  currents 
flow, 

And  the  chaste  Huntress  of  the  Silver 
Bow. 

Ere  yet  the  Gods  their  various  aid  employ, 
Each  Argive  bosom  swell’d  with  manly 

3°y> 

While  great  Achilles  (terror  of  the  plain) 
Long  lost  to  battle,  shone  in  arms  again. 
Dreadful  he  stood  in  front  of  all  his  host; 
Pale  Troy  beheld,  and  seem’d  already 
lost;  6c 

Pier  bravest  heroes  pant  with  inward  fear,  1 
And  trembling  see  another  God  of  War. 

But  when  the  Powers  descending  swell’d 
the  fight,  i 

Then  tumult  rose;  fierce  rage  and  pale 
affright 

Varied  each  face;  then  discord  sounds 
alarms, 

Earth  echoes,  and  the  nations  rush  tq 
arms. 

Now  thro’  the  trembling  shores  Minerva 
calls, 

And  now  she  thunders  from  the  Grecian 
walls. 

Mars,  hov’ring  o’er  his  Troy,  his  terror 
shrouds  6c 

In  gloomy  tempests,  and  a night  of  clouds 
Now  thro’  each  Trojan  heart  be  fury  pours 
With  voice  divine  from  Ilion’s  topmosl 
towers; 


TEE  ILIAD 


479 


low  shouts  to  Simois,  from  her  beauteous 
hill; 

'he  mountain  shook,  the  rapid  stream  stood 
still. 

bove,  the  Sire  of  Gods  his  thunder  rolls, 
.nd  peals  on  peals  redoubled  rend  the 
poles. 

eneath,  stern  Neptune  shakes  the  solid 
ground ; 

lie  forests  wave,  the  mountains  nod 
around ; 

hro’  all  their  summits  tremble  Ida’s 
woods, 

nd  from  their  sources  boil  her  hundred 
floods.  80 

roy’s  turrets  totter  on  the  rocking  plain ; 
nd  the  toss’d  navies  beat  the  heaving 
main. 

eep  in  the  dismal  regions  of  the  dead, 
h’  Infernal  Monarch  rear’d  his  horrid 
head, 

jjap’d  from  his  throne,  lest  Neptune’s 
arm  should  lay 

is  dark  dominions  open  to  the  day, 
nd  pour  in  light  on  Pluto’s  drear  abodes, 
bhorr’d  by  men,  and  dreadful  ev’n  to 
Gods. 

Such  war  th’  Immortals  wage:  such  hor- 
rors rend 

le  world’s  vast  concave,  when  the  Gods 
contend.  go 

rst  silver-shafted  Phcebus  took  the  plain 
jainst  blue  Neptune,  Monarch  of  the 
i Main : 

le  God  of  Arms  his  giant  bulk  display’d, 
iposed  to  Pallas,  War’s  triumphant  Maid, 
gainst  Latona  march’d  the  son  of  May; 
he  quiver’d  Dian,  sister  of  the  Day 
her  golden  arrows  sounding  at  her  side), 
Iturnia,  Majesty  of  Heav’n,  defied, 
ith  fiery  V ulcan  last  in  battle  stands 
he  sacred  flood  that  rolls  on  golden 
sands;  IOO 

mthus  his  name  with  those  of  heav’nly 
birth, 

It  call’d  Scamander  by  the  sons  of  earth. 
While  thus  the  Gods  in  various  league 
i-  engage, 

hilles  glow’d  with  more  than  mortal  rage: 
cctor  he  sought;  in  search  of  Hector 
4 turn’d 

23  eyes  around,  for  Hector  only  burn’d; 
id  burst  like  lightning  thro’  the  ranks, 
s and  vow’d 

glut  the  God  of  Battles  with  his  blood. 


iEneas  was  the  first  who  dared  to  stay; 
Apollo  wedg’d  him  in  the  warrior’s 
way,  1IO 

But  swell’d  his  bosom  with  undaunted 
might, 

Half-forc’d  and  half-persuaded  to  the 
fight. 

Like  young  Lycaon,  of  the  royal  line, 

In  voice  and  aspect,  seem’d  the  Power 
divine; 

And  bade  the  Chief  reflect,  how  late  with 
scorn 

In  distant  threats  he  braved  the  Goddess- 
born. 

Then  thus  the  hero  of  Anchises’  strain: 

‘ To  meet  Pelides  you  persuade  in  vain; 
Already  have  I met,  nor  void  of  fear 
Observ’d  the  fury  of  his  flying  spear;  120 
From  Ida’s  woods  he  chased  us  to  the  field, 
Our  force  he  scatter’d,  and  our  herds  he 
kill’d. 

Lyrnessus,  Pedasus  in  ashes  lay; 

But  (Jove  assisting)  I survived  the  day. 
Else  had  I sunk  oppress’d  in  fatal  fight, 

By  fierce  Achilles  and  Minerva’s  might. 
Where’er  he  mov’d,  the  Goddess  shone  be- 
fore, 

And  bathed  his  brazen  lance  in  hostile 
gore. 

What  mortal  man  Achilles  can  sustain  ? ) 
Th’  Immortals  guard  him  thro’  the  dread-  I 
ful  plain,  I3o  j 

And  suffer  not  his  dart  to  fall  in  vain.  J 
Were  God  my  aid,  this  arm  should  check 
his  power, 

Tho’  strong  in  battle  as  a brazen  tower.’ 

To  whom  the  Son  of  Jove:  ‘That  God 
implore, 

And  be  what  great  Achilles  was  before. 
From  heav’nly  Venus  thou  derivest  thy 
strain, 

And  he  but  from  a Sister  of  the  Main; 

An  aged  Sea-God  father  of  his  line, 

But  Jove  himself  the  sacred  source  of 
thine. 

Then  lift  thy  weapon  for  a noble  blow,  140 
Nor  fear  the  vaunting  of  a mortal  foe.’ 

This  said,  and  spirit  breathed  into  his 
breast, 

Thro’  the  thick  troops  th’  embolden’d  hero 
press’d : 

His  venturous  act  the  White-arm’d  Queen 
survey’d, 

And  thus,  assembling  all  the  Powers,  she 
said: 


480 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


‘ Behold  an  action,  Gods  ! that  claims 
your  care, 

Lo,  great  iEneas  rushing  to  the  war; 
Against  Pelides  he  directs  his  course; 
Phoebus  impels,  and  Phoebus  gives  him 
force. 

Restrain  his  bold  career;  at  least,  t’  at- 
tend 150 

Our  favour’d  Hero,  let  some  Power  de- 
scend. 

To  guard  his  life,  and  add  to  his  renown, 
We,  the  great  Armament  of  Heav’n,  came 
down. 

Hereafter  let  him  fall,  as  Fates  design, 
That  spun  so  short  his  life’s  illustrious  line; 
But  lest  some  adverse  God  now  cross  his 
way, 

Give  him  to  know  what  Powers  assist  this 
day: 

For  how  shall  mortal  stand  the  dire  alarms, 
When  Heav’n’s  refulgent  host  appear  in 
arms  ? ’ 

Thus  she,  and  thus  the  God  whose  force 
can  make  160 

The  solid  globe’s  eternal  basis  shake: 

* Against  the  might  of  man,  so  feeble 
known, 

Why  should  celestial  Powers  exert  their 
own  ? 

Suffice,  from  yonder  mount  to  view  the 
scene; 

And  leave  to  war  the  fates  of  mortal  men. 
But  if  th’  Armipotent,  or  God  of  Light, 
Obstruct  Achilles,  or  commence  the  fight, 
Thence  on  the  Gods  of  Troy  we  swift  de- 
scend: 

Full  soon,  I doubt  not,  shall  the  conflict 
end; 

And  these,  in  ruin  and  confusion  hurl’d,  170 
Yield  to  our  conquering  arms  the  lower 
world.’ 

Thus  having  said,  the  Tyrant  of  the  Sea, 
Ccerulean  Neptune,  rose,  and  led  the  way. 
Advanc’d  upon  the  field  there  stood  a 
mound 

Of  earth  congested,  wall’d,  and  trench’d 
around ; 

In  elder  times  to  guard  Alcides  made 
(The  work  of  Trojans  with  Minerva’s  aid), 
What  time  a vengeful  monster  of  the  main 
Swept  the  wide  shore,  and  drove  him  to  the 
plain. 

Here  Neptune  and  the  Gods  of  Greece 
repair,  180 

With  clouds  encompass’d,  and  a veil  of  air: 


The  adverse  Powers,  around  Apollo  laid, 
Crown  the  fair  hills  that  silver  Simois 
shade. 

In  circle  close  each  heav’nJy  party  sat, 
Intent  to  form  the  future  scheme  of  Fate; 
But  mix  not  yet  in  fight,  tho’  Jove  on  high 
Gives  the  loud  signal,  and  the  Heav’n: 
reply. 

Meanwhile  the  rushing  armies  hide  the 
ground ; 

The  trampled  centre  yields  a hollow  sound 
Steeds  cased  in  mail,  and  Chiefs  in  armoin 
bright,  19, 

The  gleamy  champaign  glows  with  brazei 
light. 

Amidst  both  hosts  (a  dreadful  space  !)  ap- 
pear 

There,  great  Achilles;  bold  iEneas  here. 
With  tow’ring  strides  iEneas  first  ad- 
vanc’d ; 

The  nodding  plumage  on  his  helme 
danc’d ; 

Spread  o’er  his  breast  the  fencing  shield  hi 
bore, 

And,  as  he  mov’d,  his  jav’lin  flamed  before 
Not  so  Pelides:  furious  to  engage, 

He  rush’d  impetuous.  Such  the  lion’s  rage 
Who,  viewing  first  his  foes  with  scornfu 
eyes,  20 

Tho’  all  in  arms  the  peopled  city  rise, 
Stalks  careless  on,  with  unregarding  pride 
Till  at  the  length,  by  some  brave  youth  de 
fied, 

To  his  bold  spear  the  savage  turns  alone; 
He  murmurs  fury  with  a hollow  groan: 

He  grins,  he  foams,  he  rolls  his  eye 
around; 

Lash’d  by  his  tail,  his  heaving  sides  re 
sound ; 

He  calls  up  all  his  rage,  he  grinds  his  teeth 
Resolv’d  on  vengeance,  or  resolv’d  oi 
death. 

So  fierce  Achilles  on  iEneas  flies;  21 

So  stands  iEneas,  and  his  force  defies. 

Ere  yet  the  stern  encounter  join’d,  begun 
The  seed  of  Thetis  thus  to  Venus’  son:  ; 

‘ Why  comes  iEneas  thro’  the  ranks  si 
far? 

Seeks  he  to  meet  Achilles’  arm  in  war, 

In  hope  the  realms  of  Priam  to  enjoy, 

And  prove  his  merits  to  the  throne  o 
Troy  ? 

Grant  that  beneath  thy  lance  Achilles  dies 
The  partial  Mouarch  may  refuse  th 
prize; 


THE  ILIAD 


481 


Sons  he  has  many:  those  thy  pride  may 
quell;  aao 

And  * t is  his  fault  to  love  those  sons  too 
well. 

Or,  in  reward  of  thy  victorious  hand, 

Has  Troy  proposed  some  spacious  tract  of 
land  ? 

An  ample  forest,  or  a fair  domain, 

Of  hills  for  vines,  and  arable  for  grain  ? 
Ev’n  this,  perhaps,  will  hardly  prove  thy 
lot. 

But  can  Achilles  be  so  soon  forgot  ? 

Once  (as  I think)  you  saw  this  brandish’d 
spear, 

And  then  the  great  iEneas  seem’d  to  fear. 
With  hearty  haste  from  Ida’s  mount  he 
fled,  230 

Nor,  till  he  reach’d  Lyrnessus,  turn’d  his 
head. 

Her  lofty  walls  not  long  our  progress 
stay’d ; 

Those,  Pallas,  Jove,  and  we,  in  ruins  laid: 
jin  Grecian  chains  her  captive  race  were 
cast; 

’T  is  true,  the  great  iEneas  fled  too  fast. 
Defrauded  of  my  conquest  once  before, 
What  then  I lost,  the  Gods  this  day  re- 
store. 

Go;  while  thou  may’st,  avoid  the  threaten’d 
fate; 

Fools  stay  to  feel  it,  and  are  wise  too  late.’ 

To  this  Anchises’  son:  ‘Such  words  em- 
ploy 240 

To  one  that  fears  thee,  some  un warlike 
boy; 

Such  we  disdain;  the  best  may  be  defied 
With  mean  reproaches,  and  unmanly  pride: 
Unworthy  the  high  race  from  which  we 
came, 

jEProclaim’d  so  loudly  by  the  voice  of  Fame; 
.Each  from  illustrious  fathers  draws  his 
line; 

• Each  Goddess-born;  half  human,  half 
divine. 

Thetis’  this  day,  or  Venus’  offspring  dies, 
And  tears  shall  trickle  from  celestial  eyes: 
For  when  two  heroes,  thus  derived,  con- 
tend, 250 

’T  is  not  in  words  the  glorious  strife  can 
end. 

If  yet  thou  farther  seek  to  learn  my  birth 
(A  tale  resounded  thro’  the  spacious  earth), 
Hear  how  the  glorious  orgin  we  prove 
From  ancient  Dardanusy  the  first  from 
Jove; 


Dardania’s  walls  he  rais’d;  for  Uion  then 
(The  city  since  of  many-languaged  men) 
Was  not.  The  natives  were  content  to  till 
The  shady  foot  of  Ida’s  fountful  hill. 

From  Dardanus,  great  Erichthonius 
springs,  260 

The  richest  once  of  Asia’s  wealthy  Kings; 
Three  thousand  mares  his  spacious  pastures 
bred, 

Three  thousand  foals  beside  their  mothers 
fed. 

Boreas,  enamour’d  of  the  sprightly  train, 
Conceal’d  his  Godhead  in  a flowing  mane, 
With  voice  dissembled  to  his  loves  he 
neigh’d, 

And  cours’d  the  dappled  beauties  o’er  the 
mead: 

Hence  sprung  twelve  others  of  unrivall’d 
kind, 

Swift  as  their  mother  mares  and  father 
wind. 

These  lightly  skimming,  when  they  swept 
the  plain,  270 

Nor  plied  the  grass,  nor  bent  the  tender 
grain ; 

And  when  along  the  level  seas  they  flew, 
Scarce  on  the  surface  curl’d  the  briny  dew. 
Such  Erichthonius  was:  From  him  there 
came 

The  sacred  Tros,  of  whom  the  Trojan  name. 
Three  sons  renown’d  adorn’d  his  nuptial  bed, 
Hus,  Assaracus,  and  Ganymed: 

The  matchless  Ganymed,  divinely  fair, 
Whom  Heav’n,  enamour’d,  snatch’d  to  up- 
per air, 

To  bear  the  cup  of  Jove  (ethereal  guest,  280 
The  grace  and  glory  of  th’  ambrosial  feast). 
The  two  remaining  sons  the  line  divide: 
First  rose  Laomedon  from  Ilus’  side: 

From  him  Tithonus,  now  in  cares  grown 
old, 

And  Priam  (blest  with  Hector,  brave  and 
bold); 

Glytius  and  Lampus,  ever-honour’d  pair; 
And  Hicetaon,  thunderbolt  of  war. 

From  great  Assaracus  sprung  Capys,  he 
Begat  Anchises,  and  Anchises  me, 

Such  is  our  race:  ’t  is  Fortune  gives  ns 
birth,  290 

But  Jove  alone  endues  the  soul  with  worth: 
He,  source  of  power  and  might!  with  bound- 
less sway 

All  human  courage  gives  or  takes  away. 
Long  in  the  field  of  words  we  may  contend^ 
Reproach  is  infinite,  and  knows  no  end, 


4&2 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


Arm’d  or  with  truth  or  falsehood,  right  or 
wrong, 

So  voluble  a weapon  is  the  tongue; 
Wounded,  we  wound;  and  neither  side  can 
fail, 

For  ev’ry  man  has  equal  strength  to  rail: 
Women  alone,  when  in  the  sheets  they 
jar,  . _ 300 

Perhaps  excel  us  in  this  wordy  war; 

Like  us  they  stand,  encompass’d  with  the 
crowd, 

And  vent  their  anger,  impotent  and  loud. 
Cease  then:  our  bus’ness  in  the  Field  of 
Fight 

Is  not  to  question,  but  to  prove  our  might. 
To  all  those  insults  thou  hast  offer’d  here 
Receive  this  answer:  ’t  is  my  flying  spear.’ 

He  spoke.  With  all  his  force  the  jav’lin 
flung, 

Fix’d  deep,  and  loudly  in  the  buckler  rung. 
Far  on  his  outstretch’d  arm  Pelides  held  3 10 
(To  meet  the  thund’ring  lance)  his  dread- 
ful shield, 

That  trembled  as  it  struck  ; nor  void  of  fear 
Saw,  ere  it  fell,  th’  immeasurable  spear. 
His  fears  were  vain;  impenetrable  charms 
Secured  the  temper  of  th’  ethereal  arms. 
Thro’  two  strong  plates  the  point  its  pas- 
sage held, 

But  stopp’d  and  rested,  by  the  third  re- 
pell’d; 

Five  plates  of  various  metal,  various ) 
mould, 

Composed  the  shield;  of  brass  each  out-  > 
ward  fold,  319 

Of  tin  each  inward,  and  the  middle  gold:J 
There  stuck  the  lance.  Then,  rising  ere  he 
threw, 

The  forceful  spear  of  great  Achilles  flew, 
And  pierc’d  the  Dardan  shield’s  extremest 
bound, 

Where  the  shrill  brass  return’d  a sharper 
sound: 

Thro’  the  thin  verge  the  Pelian  weapon 
glides, 

And  the  slight  cov’ring  of  expanded  hides. 
iEneas  his  contracted  body  bends, 

And  o’er  him  high  the  riven  targe  extends, 
Sees,  thro’  its  parting  plates,  the  upper  air, 
And  at  his  back  perceives  the  quiv’ring 
spear:  330 

A fate  so  near  him  chills  his  soul  with 
fright, 

And  swims  before  his  eyes  the  many-col- 
our’d  light. 


Achilles,  rushing  in  with  dreadful  cries, 
Draws  his  broad  blade,  and  at  iEneas  flies: 
iEneas,  rousing  as  the  foe  came  on 
(With  force  collected),  heaves  a mighty 
stone; 

A mass  enormous!  which,  in  modern  days 
No  two  of  earth’s  degen’rate  sons  could 
raise. 

But  ocean’s  God,  whose  earthquakes  rock 
the  ground, 

Saw  the  distress,  and  mov’d  the  Powers 
around:  340 

‘ Lo!  on  the  brink  of  fate  iEneas  stands, 
An  instant  victim  to  Achilles’  hands; 

By  Phoebus  urged ; but  Phoebus  has  bestow’d 
His  aid  in  vain:  the  man  o’erpowers  the 
God. 

And  can  ye  see  this  righteous  Chief  atone, 
With  guiltless  blood,  for  vices  not  his  own  ? 
To  all  the  Gods  his  constant  vows  were 
paid; 

Sure,  tho’  he  wars  for  Troy,  he  claims  our 
aid. 

Fate  wills  not  this;  nor  thus  can  Jove  re- 
sign 

The  future  father  of  the  Dardan  line:  350 
The  first  great«ancestor  obtain’d  his  grace, 
And  still  his  love  descends  on  all  the  race. 
For  Priam  now,  and  Priam’s  faithless  kind, 
At  length  are  odious  to  th’ all-seeing  mind; 
On  great  iEneas  shall  devolve  the  reign, 
And  sons  succeeding  sons  the  lasting  line 
sustain.’ 

The  great  earth-shaker  thus:  to  whom 
replies 

Th’  imperial  Goddess  with  the  radiant  eyes: 
‘ Good  as  he  is,  to  immolate  or  spare 
The  Dardan  Prince,  O Neptune,  be  thy 
care;  360 

Pallas  and  I,  by  all  that  Gods  can  bind, 
Have  sworn  destruction  to  the  Trojan  kind ; 
Not  ev’11  an  instant  to  protract  their  fate, 
Or  save  one  member  of  the  sinking  state; 
Till  her  last  flame  be  quench’d  with  her 
last  gore, 

And  ev’11  her  crumbling  ruins  are  no  more.’ 

The  King  of  Ocean  to  the  fight  descends; 
Thro’  all  the  whistling  darts  his  course  he 
bends, 

Swift  interposed  between  the  warriors  flies, 
And  casts  thick  darkness  o’er  Achilles’ 
eyes.  37o 

From  great  iEneas’  shield  the  spear  he 
drew, 

And  at  its  master’s  feet  the  weapon  threw. 


THE  ILIAD 


483 


That  done,  with  force  divine  he  snatch’d 
on  high 

The  Dardan  Prince,  and  bore  him  thro’  the 
sky, 

Smooth-gliding  without  step,  above  the 
heads 

Of  warring  heroes  and  of  bounding  steeds. 

Till  at  the  battle’s  utmost  verge  they  light, 

i Where  the  slow  Caueons  close  the  rear  of 
fight: 

The  Godhead  there  (his  heav’nly  form  con- 
fess’d) 

With  words  like  these  the  panting  Chief 


address’d:  380 

' ‘What  Power,  O Prince,  with  force  in- 
ferior far 

Urged  thee  to  meet  Achilles’  arm  in  war  ? 
Henceforth  beware,  nor  antedate  thy  doom, 
Defrauding  Fate  of  all  thy  fame  to  come. 
But  when  the  day  decreed  (for  come  it 
must), 

Shall  lay  this  dreadful  hero  in  the  dust, 

Let  then  the  furies  of  that  arm  be  known, 
Secure  no  Grecian  force  transcends  thy 
own.’ 

With  that,  he  left  him  wond’ring  as  he 
lay,  389 

Then  from  Achilles  chased  the  mist  away: 
Sudden,  returning  with  the  stream  of  light, 
!The  scene  of  war  came  rushing  011  his  sight. 
Then  thus  amazed:  ‘What  wonders  strike 
my  mind! 

My  spear,  that  parted  on  the  wings  of 
wind, 

Laid  here  before  me!  and  the  Dardan  lord, 
'That  fell  this  instant,  vanish’d  from  my 


sword! 

I thought  alone  with  mortals  to  contend, 
But  Powers  celestial  sure  this  foe  defend. 
Great  as  he  is,  our  arm  he  scarce  will  try, 
Content  for  once,  with  all  his  Gods,  to  fly. 
Now  then  let  others  bleed.’  This  said, 
aloud  401 

He  vents  his  fury,  and  inflames  the  crowd : 

* O Greeks  ’ (he  cries,  and  every  rank 
alarms), 

‘ Join  battle,  man  to  man,  and  arms  to  arms! 

1 ’T  is  not  in  me,  tho’  favour’d  by  the  sky, 

To  mow  whole  troops,  and  make  whole 
armies  fly: 

No  God  can  singly  such  a host  engage, 

Not  Mars  himself,  nor  great  Minerva’s 
rage. 

But  whatsoe’er  Achilles  can  inspire, 

7 Whate’er  of  active  force,  or  acting  fire,  410 


Whate’er  this  heart  can  prompt,  or  hand 
obey; 

All,  all  Achilles,  Greeks,  is  yours  to-day. 
Thro’  yon  wide  host  this  arm  shall  scatter 
fear, 

And  thin  the  squadrons  with  my  single 
spear.’ 

He  said:  nor  less  elate  with  martial  joy, 
The  godlike  Hector  warm’d  the  troops  of 
Troy: 

‘ Trojans,  to  war!  think  Hector  leads  you  on ; 
Nor  dread  the  vaunts  of  Peleus’  haughty 
son. 

Deeds  must  decide  our  fate.  Ev’n  those 
with  words 

Insult  the  brave,  who  tremble  at  their 
swords;  420 

The  weakest  atheist-wretch  all  Heav’n  de- 
fies, 

But  shrinks  and  shudders,  when  the  thun- 
der flies. 

Nor  from  yon  boaster  shall  your  Chief 
retire, 

Not  tho’  his  heart  were  steel,  his  hands 
were  fire; 

That  fire,  that  steel,  your  Hector  should 
withstand, 

And  brave  that  vengeful  heart,  that  dread- 
ful hand.’ 

Thus  (breathing  rage  thro’  all)  the  hero 
said; 

A wood  of  lances  rises  round  his  head, 
Clamours  on  clamours  tempest  all  the  air; 
They  join,  they  throng,  they  thicken  to  the 
war.  430 

But  Phoebus  warns  him  from  high  Heav’n 
to  shun 

The  single  fight  with  Thetis’  godlike  son: 
More  safe  to  combat  in  the  mingled  band, 
Nor  tempt  too  near  the  terrors  of  his  hand. 
He  hears,  obedient  to  the  God  of  Light, 
And,  plunged  within  the  ranks,  awaits  the 
fight. 

Then  fierce  Achilles,  shouting  to  the 
skies, 

On  Troy’s  whole  force  with  boundless  fury 
flies. 

First  falls  Iphytion,  at  his  army’s  head; 
Brave  was  the  Chief,  and  brave  the  host  he 
led ; 440 

From  great  Otrynteus  he  derived  his  blood, 
His  mother  was  a Nais  of  the  flood; 
Beneath  the  shades  of  Tmolus,  crown’d 
with  snow, 

From  Hyde’s  walls  he  ruled  the  lands  below. 


484 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


Fierce  as  he  springs,  the  sword  his  head 
divides; 

The  parted  visage  falls  on  equal  sides: 
With  loud  resounding  arms  he  strikes  the 
plain; 

While  thus  Achilles  glories  o’er  the  slain: 

‘ Lie  there,  Otryntides  ! the  Trojan  earth 
Receives  thee  dead,  tho’  Gygae  boast  thy 
birth;  45o 

Those  beauteous  fields  where  Hyllus’  waves 
are  roll’d, 

And  plenteous  Hermus  swells  with  tides  of 
gold, 

Are  thine  no  more.’  Th’  insulting  hero  said, 
And  left  him  sleeping  in  eternal  shade. 

The  rolling  wheels  of  Greece  the  body  tore, 
And  dash’d  their  axles  with  no  vulgar  gore. 

Demoleon  next,  Antenor’s  offspring,  laid 
Breathless  in  dust,  the  price  of  rashness 
paid. 

Th’  impatient  steel  with  full  descending 
sway 

Forc’d  thro’  his  brazen  helm  its  furious 
way,  4 60 

Resistless  drove  the  batter’d  skull  before, 
And  dash’d  and  mingled  all  the  brains  with 
gore. 

This  sees  Hippodamas,  and,  seiz’d  with 
fright, 

Deserts  his  chariot  for  a swifter  flight: 

The  lance  arrests  him;  an  ignoble  wound 
The  panting  Trojan  rivets  to  the  ground. 
He  groans  away  his  soul:  not  louder  roars 
At  Neptune’s  shrine  on  Helices  high  shores 
The  victim  bull;  the  rocks  rebellow  round, 
And  ocean  listens  to  the  grateful  sound.  470 
Then  fell  on  Polvdore  his  vengeful  rage, 
The  youngest  hope  of  Priam’s  stooping  age 
(Whose  feet  for  swiftness  in  the  race  sur- 
pass’d) ; 

Of  all  bis  sons,  the  dearest  and  the  last. 

To  the  forbidden  field  he  takes  his  flight 
In  the  first  folly  of  a youthful  knight; 

To  vaunt  his  swiftness  wheels  around  the 
plain, 

But  vaunts  not  long,  with  all  his  swiftness 
slain ; 

Struck  where  the  crossing  belts  unite  be- 
hind, 

And  golden  rings  the  double  back-plate 
join’d.  480 

Forth  thro’  the  navel  burst  the  thrilling 
steel; 

And  on  his  knees  with  piercing  shrieks  he 
fell; 


The  rushing  entrails  pour’d  upon  the 
ground 

His  hands  collect:  and  darkness  wraps  him 
round. 

When  Hector  view’d,  all  ghastly  in  his  gore, 
Thus  sadly  slain,  th’  unhappy  Polydore; 

A cloud  of  sorrow  overcast  his  sight, 

His  soul  no  longer  brook’d  the  distant  fight; 
lull  in  Achilles’  dreadful  front  he  came, 
And  shook  his  jav’lin  like  a waving 
flame.  49“ 

The  son  of  Peleus  sees,  with  joy  possess’d, 
His  heart  high-bounding  in  his  rising 
breast: 

And,  ‘ Lo  ! the  man,  on  whom  black  fates 
attend  ; 

The  man  that  slew  Achilles  in  his  friend  ! 
No  more  shall  Hector’s  and  Pelides’  spear 
Turn  from  each  other  in  the  walks  of  war.’ 
Then  with  revengeful  eyes  he  scann’d  him 
o’er  — 

‘ Come,  and  receive  thy  Fate  ! ’ He  spake 
no  more. 

Hector,  undaunted,  thus:  ‘Such  words 
employ 

To  one  that  dreads  thee,  some  nnwarlikel 
boy : 5oo 

Such  we  could  give,  defying  and  defied, 
Mean  intercourse  of  obloquy  and  pride  ! 

I know  thy  force  to  mine  superior  far; 

But  Heav’n  alone  confers  success  in  war; 
Mean  as  I am,  the  Gods  may  guide  my 
dart, 

And  give  it  entrance  in  a braver  heart.’ 

Then  parts  the  lance:  but  Pallas’  heav’nly 
breath 

Far  from  Achilles  wafts  the  winged  death: 
The  bidden  dart  again  to  Hector  flies, 

And  at  the  feet  of  its  great  master  lies.  510' 
Achilles  closes  with  his  hated  foe, 

His  heart  and  eves  with  flaming  fury  glow: 
But,  present  to  his  aid,  Apollo  shrouds 
The  favour’d  hero  in  a veil  of  clouds. 

Thrice  struck  Pelides  with  indignant  heart. 
Thrice  in  impassive  air  he  plunged  the 
dart: 

The  spear  a fourth  time  buried  in  the  cloud, 
He  foams  with  fury,  and  exclaims  aloud: 

‘ Wreteh  ! thou  hast  ’scaped  again,  once 
more  thy  flight 

Has  saved  thee,  and  the  partial  God  of 
Light ; 520 

But  long  thou  shalt  not  thy  just  Fate  with- 
stand, 

If  any  Power  assist  Achilles’  hand. 


THE  ILIAD  485 


'ly  then  inglorious;  but  thy  flight  this  day 
VLole  hecatombs  of  Trojan  ghosts  shall 
pay.’ 

With  that  he  gluts  his  rage  on  numbers 
slain  : 

■hen  Dry  ops  tumbled  to  th’  ensanguin’d 
plain 

’ierc’d  thro’  the  neck:  he  left  him  panting 
there, 

and  stopp’d  Demuchus,  great  Philetor’s 
heir, 

rigantie  Chief  ! deep  gash’d  th’  enormous 
blade, 

Lnd  for  the  soul  an  ample  passage  made.  530 
|<aogonus  and  Dardanus  expire, 
f he  valiant  sons  of  an  unhappy  sire ; 
loth  in  one  instant  from  the  chariot  hurl’d, 
Mink  in  one  instant  to  the  nether  world; 

?his  difference  only  their  sad  fates  afford, 
?hat  one  the  spear  destroy’d,  and  one  the 
sword. 

Nor  less  unpitied,  young  Alastor  bleeds; 
n vain  his  youth,  in  vain  his  beauty  pleads: 
n vain  he  begs  thee,  with  a suppliant’s 
moan 

Co  spare  a form  and  age  so  like  thy 
, own ! 540 

In  happy  boy  ! no  prayer,  no  moving  art 
C’er  bent  that  fierce  inexorable  heart ! 
Vhile  yet  he  trembled  at  his  knees,  and 
cried, 

fhe  ruthless  falchion  oped  his  tender  side; 
['he  panting  liver  pours  a flood  of  gore, 
Chat  drowns  his  bosom  till  he  pants  no 
j more. 

Thro’  Mulius’  head  then  drove  th’  impet- 
: uons  spear; 

The  warrior  falls  transfix’d  from  ear  to  ear. 
Thy  life,  Echeclus  ! next  the  sword  be- 
reaves ; 

:)eep  thro’  the  front  the  pond’rous  falchion 
cleaves;  S5o 

farm’d  in  the  brain  the  smoking  weapon 
lies, 

The  purple  death  comes  floating  o’er  his 
eyes. 

Then  brave  Deucalion  died:  the  dart  was 
flung 

Where  the  knit  nerves  the  pliant  elbow 
strung: 

He  dropp’d  his  arm,  an  unassisting  weight, 
And  stood  all  impotent  expecting  Fate: 
-Pull  on  his  neck  the  falling  falchion  sped, 
Irom  his  broad  shoulders  hew’d  his  crested 
head: 


Forth  from  the  bone  the  spinal  marrow 
flies, 

And  sunk  in  dust  the  corpse  extended 
lies.  560 

Khigmus,  whose  race  from  fruitful  Thracia 
came 

(The  son  of  Pireus,  an  illustrious  name), 
Succeeds  to  Fate:  the  spear  his  belly  rends; 
Prone  from  his  car  the  thund’ring  Chief  de- 
scends ; 

The  squire  who  saw  expiring  on  the  ground 
His  prostrate  master,  rein’d  the  steeds 
around. 

His  back  scarce  turn’d,  the  Pelian  jav’lin 
gored, 

And  stretch’d  the  servant  o’er  his  dying 
lord. 

As  when  a flame  the  winding  valley  fills, 
And  runs  on  crackling  shrubs  between  the 
hills;  570 

Then  o'er  the  stubble  up  the  mountain 
flies, 

Fires  the  high  woods,  and  blazes  to  the 
skies, 

This  way  and  that  the  spreading  torrent 
roars ; 

So  sweeps  the  hero  thro’  the  wasted  shores: 
Around  him  wide  immense  destruction 
pours, 

And  earth  is  deluged  with  the  sanguine 
showers. 

As  with  autumnal  harvests  cover’d  o’er, 
And  thick  bestrown,  lies  Ceres’  sacred 
floor, 

When  round  and  round,  with  never-wearied 
pain, 

The  trampling  steers  beat  out  th’  unnum- 
ber’d grain:  580 

So  the  fierce  coursers,  as  the  chariot 
rolls, 

Tread  down  whole  ranks,  and  crush  out 
heroes’  souls. 

Dash’d  from  their  hoofs,  while  o’er  the 
dead  they  fly, 

Black,  bloody  drops  the  smoking  chariot 
dye: 

The  spiky  wheels  thro’  heaps  of  carnage 
tore; 

And  thick  the  groaning  axles  dropp’d  with 
gore. 

High  o’er  th©  scene  of  death  Achilles 
stood, 

All  grim  with  dust,  all  horrible  in  blood: 
Yet  still  insatiate,  still  with  rage  on  flame; 
Such  is  the  lust  of  never-dying  Fame  ! 50s 


486 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


BOOK  XXI 

THE  BATTLE  IN  THE  RIVER  SCAMANDER 
THE  ARGUMENT. 

The  Trojans  fly  before  Achilles,  some  towards 
the  town,  others  to  the  river  Scamander  ; he 
falls  upon  the  latter  with  great  slaughter, 
takes  twelve  captives  alive,  to  sacrifice  to  the 
shade  of  Patroclus;  and  kills  Lycaon  and 
Asteropaeus.  Scamander  attacks  him  with 
all  his  waves ; Neptune  and  Pallas  assist  the 
hero ; Simois  joins  Scamander ; at  length 
Vulcan,  by  the  instigation  of  Juno,  almost 
dries  up  the  river.  This  combat  ended,  the 
other  gods  engage  each  other.  Meanwhile 
Achilles  continues  the  slaughter,  and  drives 
the  rest  into  Troy  : Agenor  only  makes  a 
stand,  and  is  conveyed  away  in  a cloud  by 
Apollo  : who  (to  delude  Achilles)  takes  upon 
him  Agenor’s  shape,  and  while  he  pursues 
him  in  that  disguise,  gives  the  Trojans  an 
opportunity  of  retiring  into  their  city. 

The  same  day  continues.  The  scene  is  on  the 
banks  and  in  the  stream  of  Scamander. 

And  now  to  Xanthus’  gliding  stream 
they  drove, 

Xanthus,  immortal  progeny  of  Jove. 

The  river  here  divides  the  flying  train: 

Part  to  the  town  fly  diverse  o’er  the  plain, 

Where  late  their  troops  triumphant  bore 
the  fight, 

Now  chased  and  trembling  in  ignoble  flight 

(These  with  a gather’d  mist  Saturnia 
shrouds, 

And  rolls  behind  the  rout  a heap  of  clouds) ; 

Part  plunge  into  the  stream : old  Xanthus 
roars; 

The  flashing  billows  beat  the  whiten’d 
shores:  JO 

With  cries  promiscuous  all  the  banks  re- ' 
sound, 

And  here  and  there,  in  eddies  whirling 
round,  [ 

The  flouncing  steeds  and  shrieking  war- 
riors drown’d, 

As  the  scorch’d  locusts  from  their  fields 
retire, 

While  fast  behind  them  runs  the  blaze  of 
fire; 

Driv’n  from  the  land  before  the  smoky 
cloud, 

The  clust’ring  legions  rush  into  the  flood: 

So  plunged  in  Xanthus  by  Achilles’  force, 

Roars  the  resounding  surge  with  men  and 
horse. 


His  bloody  lance  the  hero  casts  aside  n 
(Which  spreading  tam’risks  on  the  margir 
hide), 

Then,  like  a God,  the  rapid  billows  braves, 
Arm’d  with  his  sword,  high  brandish’d  o’e] 
the  waves; 

Now  down  he  plunges,  now  he  whirls  il 
round, 

Deep  groan  the  waters  with  the  dying 
sound; 

Repeated  wounds  the  redd’ning  river  dyed 
And  the  warm  purple  circled  on  the  tide. 
Swift  thro’  the  foamy  flood  the  Trojans  fly 
And  close  in  rocks  or  winding  caverns  lie: 
So  the  huge  dolphin  tempesting  the  main,  3< 
In  shoals  before  him  fly  the  scaly  train; 
Confusedly  heap’d,  they  seek  their  inmost 
caves, 

Or  pant  and  heave  beneath  the  floating 
waves. 

Now,  tired  with  slaughter,  from  the  Tro- 
jan band 

Twelve  chosen  youths  he  drags  alive  tc 
land; 

With  their  rich  belts  their  captive  arim 
constrains 

(Late  their  proud  ornaments,  but  now  theii 
chains) ; 

These  his  attendants  to  the  ships  convey’d 
Sad  victims  ! destin’d  to  Patroclus’  shade. 

Then,  as  once  more  he  plunged  amid  the 
flood,  4c 

The  young  Lycaon  in  his  passage  stood; 
The  son  of  Priam,  whom  the  hero’s  hand 
But  late  made  captive  in  his  father’s  land 
(As  from  a sycamore  his  sounding  steel 
Lopp’d  the  green  arms  to  spoke  a chariot 
wheel), 

To  Lemnos’  isle  he  sold  the  royal  slave, 
Where  Jason’s  son  the  price  demanded 
gave: 

But  kind  Eetion,  touching  on  the  shore, 
The  ransom’d  Prince  to  fair  Arisbe  bore. 
Ten  days  were  past,  since  in  his  father’s 
reign  5c 

He  felt  the  sweets  of  liberty  again : 

The  next,  that  God  whom  men  in  vain 
withstand, 

Gives  the  same  youth  to  the  same  con- 
quering hand: 

Now  never  to  return  ! and  doom’d  to  go 
A sadder  journey  to  the  shades  below. 

His  well-known  face  when  great  Achilles 
eyed 

(The  helm  and  vizor  he  had  cast  aside 


THE  ILIAD 


487 


Vith  wild  affright,  and  dropp’d  upon  the 
field 

lis  useless  lance  and  unavailing  shield), 

Ls  trembling,  panting,  from  the  stream  he 
1 fled,  60 

Ind  knock’d  his  falt’ring  knees,  the  hero 
said: 

* Ye  mighty  Gods  ! what  wonders  strike 
1 my  view  ! 

s it  in  vain  our  conquering  arms  subdue  ? 
hire  I shall  see  yon  heaps  of  Trojans  kill’d, 
tise  from  the  shade,  and  brave  me  on  the 
field: 

Is  now  the  captive,  whom  so  late  I bound 
ind  sold  to  Lemnos,  stalks  on  Trojan 
ground  ! 

^ot  him  the  sea’s  unmeasur’d  deeps  de- 
tain, 

That  bar  such  numbers  from  their  native 
plain: 

jo  ! he  returns.  Try  then  my  flying 
spear  ! 70 

Try,  if  the  grave  can  hold  the  wanderer: 

'f  earth  at  length  this  active  Prince  can 
seize, 

Earth,  whose  strong  grasp  has  held  down 
Hercules.’ 

Thus  while  he  spake,  the  Trojan,  pale 
with  fears, 

Approach’d,  and  sought  his  knees  with  sup- 
pliant tears; 

Loath  as  he  was  to  yield  his  youthful 
breath, 

And  his  soul  shiv’ring  at  th’  approach  of 
death. 

Achilles  rais’d  the  spear,  prepared  to 
wound; 

He  kiss’d  his  feet,  extended  on  the  ground: 
And  while  above  the  spear  suspended 
stood,  80 

Longing  to  dip  its  thirsty  point  in  blood, 
Dne  hand  embraced  them  close,  one  stopp’d 
the  dart; 

While  thus  these  melting  words  attempt 
his  heart: 

‘ Thy  well-known  captive,  great  Achilles  ! 
see; 

Once  more  Lycaon  trembles  at  thy  knee; 
iSome  pity  to  a suppliant’s  name  afford, 
Who  shared  the  gifts  of  Ceres  at  thy 
board; 

Whom  late  thy  conquering  arm  to  Lemnos 
s bore, 

Far  from  his  father,  friends,  and  native 
shore ; 


A hundred  oxen  were  his  price  that  day,  90 
Now  sums  immense  thy  mercy  shall  repay. 
Scarce  respited  from  woes  I yet  appear, 

And  scarce  twelve  morning  suns  have  seen 
me  here: 

Lo  ! Jove  again  submits  me  to  thy  hands, 
Again,  her  victim  cruel  Fate  demands  ! 

I sprung  from  Priam,  and  Laothoe  fair 
(Old  Altes’  daughter,  and  Lelegia’s  heir; 
Who  held  in  Pedasus  his  famed  abode, 

And  ruled  the  fields  where  silver  Satnio 
flow’d);  99 

Two  sons  (alas!  unhappy  sons)  she  bore;") 
For  ah  ! one  spear  shall  drink  each  bro-  ! 
ther’s  gore, 

And  I succeed  to  slaughter’d  Polydore.  J 
How  from  that  arm  of  terror  shall  I fly  ? 
Some  demon  urges,  ’t  is  my  doom  to  die  ! 

If  ever  yet  soft  pity  touch’d  thy  mind, 

Ah  ! think  not  me  too  much  of  Hector’s 
kind  ! 

Not  the  same  mother  gave  thy  suppliant 
breath, 

With  his,  who  wrought  thy  lov’d  Patroclus’ 
death.’ 

These  words,  attended  with  a shower  of 
tears, 

The  youth  address’d  to  unrelenting  ears:  no 
‘ Talk  not  of  life,  or  ransom’  (he  replies), 

‘ Patroclus  dead,  whoever  meets  me,  dies: 
In  vain  a single  Trojan  sues  for  grace; 

But  least,  the  sons  of  Priam’s  hateful  race. 
Die  then,  my  friend  ! what  boots  it  to  de- 
plore ? 

The  great,  the  good  Patroclus  is  no  more! 
He,  far  thy  better,  was  foredoom’d  to  die, 
And  thou,  dost  thou  bewail  mortality? 
Seest  thou  not  me,  whom  Nature’s  gifts 
adorn,  119 

Sprung  from  a Hero,  from  a Goddess  born? 
The  day  shall  come  (which  nothing  can 
avert) 

When  by  the  spear,  the  arrow,  or  the  dart, 
By  night,  or  day,  by  force  or  by  design, 
Impending  death  and  certain  fate  are  mine. 
Die  then:’  he  said,  and  as  the  word  he 
spoke, 

The  fainting  stripling  sunk  before  the 
stroke ; 

His  hand  forgot  its  grasp,  and  left  the 
spear; 

While  all  his  trembling  frame  confess’d 
his  fear. 

Sudden  Achilles  his  broad  sword  display’d, 
And  buried  in  his  neck  the  reeking  blade. 


translations  from  homer 


488 


Rrone  fell  the  youth;  and,  panting  on  the 
land,  ,3I 

The  gushing  purple  dyed  the  thirsty  sand: 
The  victor  to  the  stream  the  carcass  gave, 
And  thus  insults  him,  floating  on  the  wave: 

‘ Lie  there,  Lycaon  ! let  the  fish  surround 
Thy  bloated  corse,  and  suck  thy  gory 
wound: 

There  no  sad  mother  shall  thy  funerals 
weep, 

But  swift  Scamander  roll  thee  to  the  deep, 
Whose  ev’ry  wave  some  wat’ry  monster 
brings, 

To  feast  unpunish’d  on  the  fat  of  Kings.  l4o 
So  perish  Troy,  and  all  the  Trojan  line  ! 
Such  ruin  theirs,  and  such  compassion 
mine. 

What  boots  ye  now  Scamander’s  worshipp’d 
stream, 

His  earthly  honours,  and  immortal  name  ? 
In  vain  your  immolated  bulls  are  slain, 
Your  living  coursers  glut  his  gulfs  in  vain: 
Thus  he  rewards  you  with  this  bitter  fate; 
Thus,  till  the  Greciau  vengeance  is  com- 
plete; 

Thus  is  atoned  Patroclus’  honour’d  shade, 
And  the  short  absence  of  Achilles  paid.’  150 
These  boastful  words  provoke  the  raging 
God; 

With  fury  swells  the  violated  flood. 

What  means  divine  may  yet  the  Power 
employ, 

To  check  Achilles,  and  to  rescue  Troy  ? 
Meanwhile  the  hero  springs  in  arms,  to 
dare 

The  great  Asteropseus  to  mortal  war; 

The  son  of  Pelagon,  whose  lofty  line 
Flows  from  the  source  of  Axius,  stream 
divine!  XS8 

(Fair  Peribaea’s  love  the  God  had  crown’d, 
With  all  his  refluent  waters  circled  round.) 
On  him  Achilles  rush’d:  he  fearless  stood, 
And  shook  two  spears,  advancing  from  the 
flood : 

The  flood  impell’d  him,  on  Pelides’  head 
T’  avenge  his  waters  choked  with  heaps  of 
dead. 

Near  as  they  drew,  Achilles  thus  began: 

* What  art  thou,  boldest  of  the  race  of  man  ? 
Who,  or  from  whence  ? Unhappy  is  the 
sire, 

Whose  son  encounters  our  resistless  ire.’ 

‘ O son  of  Peleus  ! what  avails  to  trace  ’ 
(Replied  the  warrior)  ‘ our  illustrious 
race  ? t7o 


From  rich  Pseonia’s  valleys  I command, 
Arm’d  with  protended  spears,  my  native 
band; 

Now  shines  the  tenth  bright  morning  since 
I came 

In  aid  of  Ilion  to  the  Fields  of  Fame: 
Axius,  who  swells  with  all  the  neighb’ring 
rills, 

And  wide  around  the  floated  region  fills, 
Begot  my  sire,  whose  spear  such  glory  won 
Now  lift  thy  arm,  and  try  that  hero’s  son!  : 

Threat’ning  he  said;  the  hostile  Chiefs 
advance;  17<- 

At  once  Asteropfeus  discharged  each  lance: 
(For  both  his  dext’rous  hands  the  lance 
could  wield); 

One  struck,  but  pierc’d  not  the  Yulcanian 
shield; 

One  razed  Achilles’  hand;  the  spouting 
blood 

Spun  forth,  in  earth  the  fasten’d  weapon 
stood. 

Like  lightning  next  the  Pelian  jav’lin  flies; 
Its  erring  fury  hiss’d  along  the  skies; 

Deep  in  the  swelling  bank  was  driv’n  the 
spear, 

Ev’n  to  the  middle  earth;  and  quiver’d 
there. 

Then  from  his  side  the  sword  Pelides  drew, 
And  on  his  foe  with  double  fury  flew;  iga 
The  foe  thrice  tugg’d,  and  shook  the  rooted 
wood, 

Repulsive  of  his  might  the  weapon  stood: 
The  fourth,  he  tries  to  break  the  spear,  in 
vain; 

Bent  as  he  stands  he  tumbles  to  the  plain; 
His  belly  open’d  with  a ghastly  wound, 

The  reeking  entrails  pour  upon  the  ground. 
Beneath  the  hero’s  feet  he  panting  lies, 

And  his  eye  darkens,  and  his  spirit  flies: 
While  the  proud  victor  thus  triumphing 
said,  jgg 

His  radiant  armour  tearing  from  the  dead: 

* So  ends  thy  glory ! such  the  fate  they 
prove 

Who  strive  presumptuous  with  the  sons  of 
Jove. 

Sprung  from  a river  didst  thou  boast  thy 
line  ? 

But  great  Saturiiius  is  the  source  of  mine. 
How  durst  thou  vaunt  thy  wat’ry  progeny  ? 
Of  Peleus,  Abacus,  and  Jove,  am  I; 

The  race  of  these  superior  far  to  those, 

As  he  that  thunders  to  the  stream  that 
flows. 


THE  ILIAD 


489 


AHiat  rivers  can,  Scamander  might  have 
1 shewn: 

3ut  Jove  he  dreads,  nor  wars  against  his 
son.  . 210 

3v’n  Acheloiis  might  contend  in  vain, 

\nd  all  the  roaring  billows  of  the  main. 

Th’  eternal  ocean,  from  whose  fountains 
flow 

The  seas,  the  rivers,  and  the  springs  below, 
The  thund’ring  voice  of  Jove  abhors  to 
hear, 

And  in  his  deep  abysses  shakes  with  fear.’ 

He  said:  then  from  the  bank  his  jav’lin 
tore, 

And  left  the  breathless  warrior  in  his  gore. 
The  floating  tides  the  bloody  carcass  lave, 
And  beat  against  it,  wave  succeeding  wave : 
Till,  roll’d  between  the  banks,  it  lies  the 
food  221 

Of  curling  eels,  and  fishes  of  the  flood. 

All  scatter’d  round  the  stream  (their  might- 
iest slain) 

TV  amazed  Pjeonians  scour  along  the  plain: 
He  vents  his  fury  on  the  flying  crew, 
Thrasius,  Astypylus,  and  Mnesus,  slew; 
Mydon,  Thersiloclms,  with  iEnius  fell; 

And  numbers  more  his  lance  had  plunged 
to  Hell, 

But  from  the  bottom  of  his  gulfs  profound, 
Scamander  spoke;  the  shores  return’d  the 
sound : 23° 

‘ O first  of  mortals  (for  the  Gods  are 
thine)  ! 

In  valour  matchless,  and  in  force  divine! 

If  Jove  have  giv’n  thee  ev’ry  Trojan  head, 
’T  is  not  on  me  thy  rage  should  heap  the 
dead. 

[See!  my  choked  streams  no  more  their 
course  can  keep, 

Nor  roll  their  wonted  tribute  to  the  deep. 
Turn  then,  impetuous!  from  our  injured 
( flood; 

[Content,  thy  slaughters  could  amaze  a God.’ 
I11  human  form  confess’d,  before  his 
eyes  _239 

The  River  thus;  and  thus  the  Chief  replies: 
* O sacred  stream ! thy  word  we  shall  obey ; 
But  not  till  Troy  the  destin’d  vengeance 

pay; 

Nor  till  within  her  towers  the  penur  d tram 
if  Shall  pant,  and  tremble  at  our  arms  again ; 
Not  till  proud  Hector,  guardian  of  her  wall, 
Or  stain  this  lance,  or  see  Achilles  fall.’ 

He  said:  and  drove  with  fury  on  the  foe. 
Then  to  the  Godhead  of  the  Silver  Bow 


The  yellow  Flood  began:  ‘O  Son  of  Jove! 
Was  not  the  mandate  of  the  Sire  above 
Full  and  express  ? that  Phoebus  should  em- 
ploy 25i 

His  sacred  arrows  in  defence  of  Troy, 

And  make  her  conquer,  till  Hyperion’s  fall 
In  awful  darkuess  hide  the  face  of  all  ? ’ 

He  spoke  in  vain:  the  Chief  without  dis- 
may 

Ploughs  thro’  the  boiling  surge  his  des- 
p’rate  way. 

Then,  rising  in  his  rage  above  the  shores, 
From  all  his  deep  the  bell’ wing  river  roars; 
Huge  heaps  of  slain  disgorges  on  the  coast, 
And  round  the  banks  the  ghastly  dead  are 
toss’d ; 260 

While  all  before,  the  billows  ranged  on 
high 

(A  wat’ry  bulwark)  screen  the  bands  who 
fly. 

Now  bursting  on  his  head  with  thund’ring 
sound, 

The  falling  deluge  whelms  the  hero  round: 
His  loaded  shield  bends  to  the  rushing  tide; 
His  feet,  upborne,  scarce  the  strong  flood 
divide, 

Slidd’ring,  and  stagg’ring.  On  the  border 
stood 

A spreading  elm,  that  overhung  the  flood; 
He  seiz’d  a bending  bough,  his  steps  to 
stay ; 2(S9 

The  plant  uprooted  to  his  weight  gave  way, 
Heaving  the  bank,  and  undermining  all; 
Loud  flash  the  waters  to  the  rushing  fall 
Of  the  thick  foliage.  The  large  trunk  dis- 
play’d 

Bridg’d  the  rough  flood  across:  the  hero 
stayed 

On  this  his  weight,  and,  rais’d  upon  his 
hand, 

Leap’d  from  the  channel,  and  regain’d  the 
land. 

Then  blacken’d  the  wild  waves;  the  mur- 
mur rose; 

The  God  pursues,  a huger  billow  throws, 
And  burst  the  bank,  ambitious  to  destroy 
The  man  whose  fury  is  the  Fate  of  Troy.  280 
He,  like  the  warlike  eagle,  speeds  his  pace 
(Swiftest  and  strongest  of  the  aerial  race). 
Far  as  a spear  can  fly,  Achilles  springs 
At  every  bound;  his. clanging  armour  rings: 
Now  here,  now  there,  he  turns  on  ev’ry 
side, 

And  winds  bis  course  before  the  foll’wiog 
tide; 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


49° 


The  waves  flow  after,  wheresoe’er  he 
wheels, 

And  gather  fast,  and  murmur  at  his  heels. 
So  when  a peasant  to  his  garden  brings 
Soft  rills  of  water  from  the  bubbling 
springs,  290 

And  calls  the  floods  from  high  to  bless  his 
bowers, 

And  feed  with  pregnant  streams  the  plants 
and  flowers; 

Soon  as  he  clears  whate’er  their  passage 
stay’d, 

And  marks  the  future  current  with  his 
spade, 

Swift  o’er  the  rolling  pebbles,  down  the 
hills 

Louder  and  louder  purl  the  falling  rills; 
Before  him  scattering,  they  prevent  his 
pains, 

And  shine  in  mazy  wand’rings  o’er  the 
plains.  298 

Still  flies  Achilles,  but  before  his  eyes 
Still  swift  Scamander  rolls  where’er  he  flies: 
Not  all  his  speed  escapes  the  rapid  floods; 
The  first  of  men,  but  not  a match  for  Gods: 
Oft  as  he  turn’d  the  torrent  to  oppose, 

And  bravely  try  if  all  the  Powers  were 
foes; 

So  oft  the  surge,  in  wat’ry  mountains 
spread, 

Beats  on  his  back,  or  bursts  upon  his  head. 
Yet  dauntless  still  the  adverse  flood  he 
braves, 

And  still  indignant  bounds  above  the  waves. 
Tired  by  the  tides,  his  knees  relax  with 
toil; 

Wash’d  from  beneath  him  slides  the  slimy 
soil ; 3 jo 

When  thus  (his  eyes  on  Heav’n’s  expansion 
thrown) 

Forth  bursts  the  hero  with  an  angry  groan: 

‘Is  there  no  God  Achilles  to  befriend, 

No  power  t’  avert  his  miserable  end  ? 
Prevent,  oh  Jove!  this  ignominious  date, 
And  make  my  future  life  the  sport  of  Fate: 
Of  all  Heav’n’s  oracles  believ’d  in  vain, 

But  most  of  Thetis,  must  her  son  complain: 
By  Phcebus’  darts  she  prophesied  my  fall, 

In  glorious  arms  before  the  Trojan  wall.  320 
Oh  ! had  I died  in  fields  of  battle  warm, 
Stretch’d  like  a Hero,  by  a Hero’s  arm; 
Might  Hector’s  spear  this  dauntless  bosom 
rend, 

And  my  swift  soul  o’ertake  my  slaughter’d 
friend  ! 


Ah  no  ! Achilles  meets  a shameful  fate, 

Oh  how  unworthy  of  the  brave  and  great ! 
Like  some  vile  swain,  whom,  on  a rainy 
day, 

Crossing  a ford,  the  torrent  sweeps  away,  ,V 
An  unregarded  carcass  to  the  sea.’  J 

Neptune  and  Pallas  haste  to  his  relief,  330 
And  thus  in  human  form  address  the  Chief: 
The  Power  of  Ocean  first:  ‘Forbear  thy 
fear, 

O son  of  Peleus  ! lo,  thy  Gods  appear  ! 
Behold  ! from  Jove  descending  to  thy  aid, 
Propitious  Neptune,  and  the  Blue-eved 
Maid.  J 

Stay,  and  the  furious  flood  shall  cease  to 
rave: 

’T  is  not  thy  fate  to  glut  his  angry  wave. 
But  thou  the  counsel  Heav’11  suggests  at- 
tend ; 

Nor  breathe  from  combat,  nor  thy  sword 
suspend, 

Till  Troy  receive  her  flying  sons,  till  all  34o 
Her  routed  squadrons  pant  behind  their 
wall: 

Hector  alone  shall  stand  his  fatal  chance, 
And  Hector’s  blood  shall  smoke  upon  thy 
lance; 

Thine  is  the  glory  doom’d.’  Thus  spake 
the  Gods: 

Then  swift  ascended  to  the  bright  abodes. 
Stung  with  new  ardour,  thus  by  Heav’n 
impell’d, 

He  spriMgs  impetuous,  and  invades  the 
field: 

O’er  all  th’  expanded  plain  the  waters 
spread; 

Heav’d  on  the  bounding  billows  danc’d  the 
dead, 

Floating  ’midst  scatter’d  arms:  while 
casques  of  gold,  35o 

And  turn’d-up  bucklers,  glitter’d  as  they 
roll’d. 

High  o’er  the  surging  tide,  by  leaps  and 
bounds, 

He  wades,  and  mounts;  the  parted  wave 
resounds. 

Not  a whole  river  stops  the  hero’  course, 
While  Pallas  fills  him  with  immortal  force. 
With  equal  rage  indignant  Xantlms  roars, 
And  lifts  his  billows,  and  o’erwhelms  his 
shores. 

Then  thus  to  Simois:  ‘ Haste,  my  bro- 
ther flood  ! 

And  check  this  mortal  that  controls  a God: 
Our  bravest  heroes  else  shall  quit  the  fight, 


THE  ILIAD 


49 1 


nd  Ilion  tumble  from  her  tow’ry  height.  361 
all  then  thy  subject  streams,  and  bid 
them  roar; 

rom  all  thy  fountains  swell  thy  wat’ry 
store  ; 

7ith  broken  rocks,  and  with  a load  of 
dead 

harge  the  black  surge,  and  pour  it  on  his 
1 head. 

[ark  how  resistless  thro’  the  floods  he 


goes, 

.nd  boldly  bids  the  warring  Gods  be  foes  ! 

I at  nor  that  force,  nor  form  divine  to 
sight, 

hall  aught  avail  him,  if  our  rage  unite: 
Whelm’d  under  our  dark  gulfs  those  harms 
shall  lie,  . 37° 

• ’hat  blaze  so  dreadful  in  each  Trojan  eye; 
aid  deep  beneath  a sandy  mountain  hurl’d, 
immers’d  remain  this  terror  of  the  world, 
uch  pond’rous  ruin  shall  confound  the 
place, 

To  Greeks  shall  e’er  his  perish’d  relics 


grace, 

To  hand  his  bones  shall  gather  or  inhume; 
these  his  cold  rites,  and  this  his  wat’ry 
tomb.’ 

He  said ; and  on  the  Chief  descends  amain, 
ncreas’d  with  gore,  and  swelling  with  the 
slain. 

irhen,  murm’ring  from  his  beds,  he  boils, 
he  raves,  380 

And  a foam  whitens  on  the  purple  waves: 

Vt  ev’ry  step,  before  Achilles  stood 
The  crimson  surge,  and  deluged  him  with 
blood. 

(Fear  touch’d  the  Queen  of  Heav’n:  she 
saw  dismay’d, 

she  call’d  aloud,  and  summon’d  Yulcan’s 
aid. 

* Rise  to  the  war ! th’  insulting  Flood  re- 
quires 

Thy  wasteful  arm:  assemble  all  thy  fires  ! 
While  to  their  aid,  by  our  command  en- 
join’d, 

Rush  the  swift  eastern  and  the  western 
wind: 

These  from  old  ocean  at  my  word  shall 
blow,  39° 

Tour  the  red  torrent  on  the  wat’ry  foe, 
Corses  and  arms  to  one  bright  ruin  turn, 
And  hissing  rivers  to  their  bottoms  burn. 
Go,  mighty  in  thy  rage  ! display  thy  power; 
Drink  the  whole  flood,  the  crackling  trees 
, devour; 


Scorch  all  the  banks!  and  (till  our  voice 
reclaim) 

Exert  th’  unwearied  furies  of  the  flame  ! ’ 
The  Power  Ignipotent  her  word  obeys: 
Wide  o’er  the  plain  he  pours  the  boundless 
blaze ; 

At  once  consumes  the  dead,  and  dries  the 
soil ; 4°o 

And  the  shrunk  waters  in  their  channel  boil. 
As  when  autumnal  Boreas  sweeps  the  sky, 
And  instant  blows  the  water’d  gardens  dry: 
So  look’d  the  field,  so  whiten’d  was  the 
ground, 

While  Vulcan  breathed  the  fiery  blast 
around. 

Swift  on  the  sedgy  reeds  the  ruin  preys; 
Along  the  margin  winds  the  running  blaze: 
The  trees  in  flaming  rows  to  ashes  turn, 

The  flow’ry  lotos  and  the  tam’risk  burn, 
Broad  elm,  and  cypress  rising  in  a spire; 

The  wat’ry  willows  hiss  before  the  fire. 

Now  glow  the  waves,  the  fishes  pant  for 
breath : 

The  eels  lie  twisting  in  the  pangs  of  death: 
Now  flounce  aloft,  now  dive  the  scaly  fry, 
Or  gasping,  turn  their  bellies  to  the  sky. 

At  length  the  River  rear’d  his  languid  head, 
And  thus,  short  panting,  to  the  God  he 
said: 

‘ Oh  Vulcan  ! oh  ! what  Power  resists 
thy  might  ? 

I faint,  I sink,  unequal  to  the  fight 

I yield  — let  Ilion  fall;  if  Fate  de- 
cree   420 

Ah  bend  no  more  thy  fiery  arms  on  me  ! ’ 

He  ceas’d;  while,  conflagration  blazing 
round, 

The  bubbling  waters  yield  a hissing  sound. 
As  when  the  flames  beneath  a caldron  rise, 
To  melt  the  fat  of  some  rich  sacrifice, 

Amid  the  fierce  embrace  of  circling  fires 
The  waters  foam,  the  heavy  smoke  aspires: 
So  boils  th’  imprison’d  flood,  forbid  to  flow, 
And,  choked  with  vapours,  feels  his  bottom 
glow. 

To  Juno  then,  imperial  Queen  of  Air,  430 
The  burning  River  sends  his  earnest  prayer: 

‘ Ah  why,  Saturnia  ! must  thy  son  engage 
Me,  only  me,  with  all  his  wasteful  rage  ? 
On  other  Gods  his  dreadful  arm  employ, 
For  mightier  Gods  assert  the  cause  of  Troy. 
Submissive  I desist,  if  thou  command, 

But  ah  ! withdraw  this  all-destroying  hand. 
Hear  then  my  solemn  oath,  to  yield  to  Fate 
1 Unaided  Ilion,  and  her  destin’d  state. 


49  2 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


Till  Greece  shall  gird  her  with  destructive 
flame,  440 

And  in  one  ruin  sink  the  Trojan  name.’ 

His  warm  entreaty  touch’d  Saturnia’s 
ear : 

She  bade  th’  Ignipotent  his  rage  forbear, 
Recall  the  flame,  nor  in  a mortal  cause 
Infest  a God:  th’ obedient  flame  withdraws: 
Again,  the  branching  streams  begin  to 
spread, 

And  soft  re-murmur  in  their  wonted  bed. 

While  these  by  Juno’s  will  the  strife 
resign, 

The  warring  Gods  in  fierce  contention  join: 
Rekindling  rage  each  heav’nly  breast 
alarms ; 450 

With  horrid  clangour  shock  th’  ethereal 
arms: 

Heav’n  in  loud  thunder  bids  the  trumpet 
sound; 

And  wide  beneath  them  groans  the  rending 
ground. 

Jove,  as  his  sport,  the  dreadful  scene  de- 
scries, 

And  views  contending  Gods  with  careless 
eyes. 

The  Power  of  Battles  lifts  his  brazen 
spear, 

And  first  assaults  the  radiant  Queen  of 
War. 

‘ What  mov’d  thy  madness,  thus  to  dis- 
unite 

Ethereal  minds,  and  mix  all  Heav’n  in 
fight  ? 

What  wonder  this,  when  in  thy  frantic 
mood  460 

Thou  drovest  a mortal  to  insult  a God  ? 
Thy  impious  hand  Tydides’  jav’lin  bore, 
And  madly  bathed  it  in  celestial  gore.’ 

He  spoke,  and  smote  the  loud-resound- 
ing shield, 

Which  bears  Jove’s  thunder  on  its  dread- 
ful field; 

The  adamantine  segis  of  her  sire, 

That  turns  the  glancing  bolt,  and  forked 
fire. 

Then  heav’d  the  Goddess  in  her  mighty 
hand 

A stone,  the  limit  of  the  neighb’ring  land, 
There  fix’d  from  eldest  times;  black, 
craggy,  vast.  _ _ 470 

This  at  the  heav’nly  homicide  she  cast. 
Thund’ring  he  falls;  a mass  of  monstrous 
size, 

And  sev’n  broad  acres  covers  as  he  lies. 


The  stunning  stroke  his  stubborn  nerves 
unbound ; 

Loud  o’er  the  fields  his  ringing  arms  re- 
sound: 

The  scornful  Dame  her  conquest  views 
with  smiles, 

And,  glorying,  thus  the  prostrate  God  re- 
viles: 

‘ Hast  thou  not  yet,  insatiate  fury  ! 
known 

How  far  Minerva’s  force  transcends  thy 
own  ? 

Juno,  whom  thou  rebellious  dar’st  with- 
stand, 48o 

Corrects  thy  folly  thus  by  Pallas’  hand; 

Thus  meets  thy  broken  faith  with  just  dis- 
grace, 

And  partial  aid  to  Troy’s  perfidious  race.’ 

The  Goddess  spoke,  and  turn’d  her  eyes 
away, 

That,  beaming  round,  diffused  celestial 
day. 

Jove’s  Cyprian  daughter,  stooping  on  the 
land, 

Lent  to  the  wounded  God  her  tender  hand: 

Slowly  he  rises,  scarcely  breathes  with 
pain, 

And  propt  on  her  fair  arm  forsakes  the 
plain: 

This  the  bright  Empress  of  the  Heav’ns 
survey’d,  49o 

And  scoffing  thus  to  War’s  victorious 
Maid: 

‘ Lo,  what  an  aid  on  Mars’s  side  is  seen  ! 

The  smiles’  and  loves’  unconquerable 
Queen  ! 

Mark  with  what  insolence,  in  open  view, 

She  moves:  let  Pallas,  if  she  dares,  pursue.’ 

Minerva  smiling  heard,  the  pair  o’ertook, 

And  slightly  on  her  breast  the  wanton 
struck: 

She,  unresisting,  fell  (her  spirits  fled); 

On  earth  together  lay  the  lovers  spread. 

‘ And  like  these  heroes,  be  the  fate  of 
all  ’ 500 

(Minerva  cries)  ‘ who  guard  the  Trojan 
wall  ! 

To  Grecian  Gods  such  let  the  Phrygian  be, 

So  dread,  so  fierce,  as  Venus  is  to  me; 

Then  from  the  lowest  stone  shall  Troy  be 
mov’d:  ’ 

Thus  she,  and  Juno  with  a smile  approv’d. 

Meantime,  to  mix  in  more  than  mortal 
fight, 

The  God  of  Ocean  dares  the  God  of  Light. 


THE  ILIAD 


493 


What  sloth  has  seiz’d  us,  when  the  fields 
around 

,ing  with  conflicting  Powers,  and  Heav’n 
returns  the  sound  ? 5°9 

hall,  ignominious,  we  with  shame  retire, 

0 deed  perform’d,  to  our  Olympian  sire  ? 
tome,  prove  thy  arm  ! for  first  the  war  to 

wage, 

iuits  not  my  greatness,  or  superior  age; 

.ash  as  thou  art,  to  prop  the  Trojan  ) 
throne  I 

Forgetful  of  my  wrongs,  and  of  thy  own),  | 
i nd  guard  the  race  of  proud  Laomedon!  j 
last  thou  forgot,  how,  at  the  Monarch’s 
prayer, 

■Ve  shared  the  lengthen’d  labours  of  a 
year  ? 

'roy’s  walls  I rais’d  (for  such  were  Jove’s 

: commands), 

aid  yon  proud  bulwarks  grew  beneath  my 
; hands;  520 

’hy  task  it  was  to  feed  the  bell’wing 

droves 

dong  fair  Ida’s  vales,  and  pendent  groves. 
!>ut  when  the  circling  seasons  in  their  train 
brought  back  the  grateful  day  that  crown’d 
our  pain ; 

Vith  menace  stern  the  fraudful  King  de- 
fied 

i)ur  latent  Godhead,  and  the  prize  denied : 
lad  as  he  was,  he  threaten’d  servile  bands, 
uid  doom’d  us  exiles  far  in  barb’rous 
lands. 

licens’d,  we  heavenward  fled  with  swiftest 
1 wing, 

aid  destin’d  vengeance  on  the  perjur’d 
King.  530 

dost  thou,  for  this,  afford  proud  Ilion 

I grace, 

ind  not,  like  us,  infest  the  faithless  race  ? 
nke  us,  their  present,  future  sons  destroy, 
ind  from  its  deep  foundations  heave  their 
Troy  ? ’ 

| Apollo  thus:  ‘ To  combat  for  mankind 

II  suits  the  wisdom  of  celestial  mind: 

(for  what  is  man  ? Calamitous  by  birth, 
’hey  owe  their  life  and  nourishment  to 
r earth : 

iike  yearly  leaves,  that  now,  with  beauty 
3 crown’d, 

mile  on  the  sun;  now,  wither  on  the 

1 ground;  540 

[•to  their  own  hands  commit  the  frantic 

scene, 

lor  mix  Immortals  in  a cause  so  mean.’ 


Then  turns  his  face,  far  beaming  heav’nly 
fires, 

And  from  the  senior  Power  submiss  re- 
tires; 

Him,  thus  retreating,  Artemis  upbraids, 

The  quiver’d  Huntress  of  the  sylvan 
Shades : 

* And  is  it  thus  the  youthful  Phcebus 
flies, 

And  yields  to  Ocean’s  hoary  Sire  the 
prize  ? 

How  vain  that  martial  pomp,  and  dreadful 
show 

Of  pointed  arrows,  and  the  silver  bow  ! 550 

Now  boast  no  more  in  yon  celestial  bower, 

Thy  force  can  match  the  great  earth-shak- 
ing Power.’ 

Silent  he  heard  the  Queen  of  Woods 
upbraid : 

Not  so  Satnrnia  bore  the  vaunting  maid; 

But  furious  thus:  ‘ What  insolence  has 
driv’n 

Thy  pride  to  face  the  Majesty  of  Heav’n  ? 

What  tho’  by  Jove  the  female  plague  de- 
sign’d, 

Fierce  to  the  feeble  race  of  womankind, 

The  wretched  matron  feels  thy  piercing 
dart; 

Thy  sex’s  tyrant,  with  a tiger’s  heart  ? 560 

What  tho’,  tremendous  in  the  woodland 
chase, 

Thy  certain  arrows  pierce  the  savage  race  ? 

How  dares  thy  rashness  on  the  Powers 
divine 

Employ  those  arms,  or  match  thy  force 
with  mine  ? 

Learn  hence,  no  more  unequal  war  to 
wage ’ — 

She  said,  and  seiz’d  her  wrists  with  eager 
rage; 

These  in  her  left  hand  lock’d,  her  right 
untied 

The  bow,  the  quiver,  and  its  plumy  pride. 

About  her  temples  flies  the  busy  bow; 

Now  here,  now  there,  she  winds  her  from 
the  blow;  570 

The  scatt’ring  arrows,  rattling  from  the 
case, 

Drop  round,  and  idly  mark  the  dusty  place. 

Swift  from  the  field  the  baffled  huntress 
flies, 

And  scarce  restrains  the  torrent  in  her 
eyes: 

So  when  the  falcon  wings  her  way  above 
1 To  the  cleft  cavern  speeds  the  gentle  dove 


494 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


(Not  fated  yet  to  die),  there  safe  retreats, 
Yet  still  her  heart  against  the  marble 
beats. 

To  her  Latona  hastes  with  tender  care; 
Whom  Hermes  viewing  thus  declines  the 
war:  580 

‘ How  shall  I face  the  Dame  who  gives 
delight 

To  him  whose  thunders  blacken  Heav’11 
with  night  ? 

Go,  matchless  Goddess  ! triumph  in  the 
skies, 

And  boast  my  conquest,  while  I yield  the 
prize.’ 

He  spoke,  and  pass’d:  Latona,  stooping 
low, 

Collects  the  scatter’d  shafts,  and  fallen 
bow, 

That,  glitt’ring  on  the  dust,  lay  here  and 
there; 

Dishonour’d  relics  of  Diana’s  war. 

Then  swift  pursued  her  to  her  blest  abode, 
Where,  all  confused,  she  sought  the  sov’- 
reigu  God;  590 

Weeping  she  grasp’d  his  knees:  th’  ambro- 
sial vest 

Shook  with  her  sighs,  and  panted  on  her 
breast. 

The  Sire  superior  smiled;  and  bade  her 
shew 

What  heav’nly  hand  had  caus’d  his  daugh- 
ter’s woe? 

Abash’d  she  names  his  own  imperial  spouse; 
And  the  pale  cresent  fades  upon  her  brows. 

Tims  they  above;  while,  swiftly  gliding 
down, 

Apollo  enters  Ilion’s  sacred  town: 

The  guardian  God  now  trembled  for  her 
wall, 

And  fear’d  the  Greeks,  tho’  Fate  forbade 
her  fall.  600 

Back  to  Olympus,  from  the  war’s  alarms, 
Return  the  shining  bands  of  Gods  in  arms; 
Some  proud  in  triumph,  some  with  rage  on 
fire; 

And  take  their  thrones  around  th’  ethereal 
Sire. 

Thro’  blood,  thro’  death,  Achilles  still 
proceeds, 

O’er  slaughter’d  heroes,  and  o’er  rolling 
steeds. 

As  when  avenging  flames,  with  fury  driv’n, 
On  guilty  towns  exert  the  wrath  of  Heav’n; 
The  pale  inhabitants,  some  fall,  some  fly; 
And  the  red  vapours  purple  all  the  sky:  610 


So  raged  Achilles:  death,  and  dire  dismay 
And  toils,  and  terror,  fill’d  the  dreadfi 
day. 

High  on  a turret  hoary  Priam  stands, 
And  marks  the  waste  of  his  destructiv 
hands; 

Views,  from  his  arm,  the  Trojans’  scatter’ 
flight, 

And  the  near  hero  rising  on  his  sight. 

No  stop,  no  check,  no  aid!'  With  feebl 
pace, 

And  settled  sorrow  on  his  aged  face, 

Fast  as  he  could,  he  sighing  quits  th 
walls  ! 

And  thus,  descending,  on  the  guards  h 
calls:  6: 

‘You,  to  whose  care  our  city  gates  be 
long, 

Set  wide  your  portals  to  the  flying  throng 
For  lo  ! he  comes,  with  unresisted  sway; 
He  comes,  and  desolation  marks  his  way  ! 
But  when  within  the  walls  our  troops  tali 
breath, 

Lock  fast  the  brazen  bars,  and  shut  oii 
death.’ 

Thus  charged  the  rev’rend  Monarch:  wid 
were  flung 

The  opening  folds  ! the  sounding  hinge 
rung. 

Phoebus  rush’d  forth,  the  flying  bands  t 
meet, 

Struck  slaughter  back,  and  cover’d  the  r< 
treat.  6; 

On  heaps  the  Trojans  crowd  to  gain  til 
gate, 

And  gladsome  see  their  last  escape  froi 
Fate: 

Thither,  all  parch’d  with  thirst,  a hear 
less  train, 

Hoary  with  dust,  they  beat  the  hollo 
plain; 

And  gasping,  panting,  fainting,  labour  on 
With  heavier  strides,  that  lengthen  tow’i 
the  town. 

Enraged  Achilles  follows  with  his  spear; 
Wild  with  revenge,  insatiable  of  war. 

Then  had  the  Greeks  eternal  prai: 
acquired, 

And  Troy  inglorious  to  her  walls  retired;  6 
But  he,  the  God  who  darts  ethereal  flame 
Shot  down  to  save  her,  and  redeem  hi 
fame. 

To  young  Agenor  force  divine  he  gave 
(Antenor’s  offspring,  haughty,  bold,  ar 
brave) : 


THE  ILIAD 


495 


n aid  of  him,  beside  the  beech  he  sat, 

Ind,  wrapt  iu  clouds,  restrain’d  the  hand 
of  Fate. 

Vhen  now  the  gen’rous  youth  Achilles 
spies, 

?hick  beats  his  heart,  the  troubled  motions 
1 rise 

So,  ere  a storm,  the  waters  heave  and 
roll): 

He  stops,  and  questions  thus  his  mighty 
soul:  650 

* What  ! shall  I fly  this  terror  of  the 
plain  ? 

iike  others  fly,  and  be  like  others  slain  ? 
fain  hope  ! to  shun  him  by  the  self-same 
road 

ron  line  of  slaughter’d  Trojans  lately  trod. 
Jo:  with  the  common  heap  I scorn  to 
j fall  — 

Vliat  if  they  pass’d  me  to  the  Trojan  wall, 
Vhile  I decline  to  yonder  path  that  leads 
?o  Ida’s  forests  and  surrounding  shades  ? 

>0  may  I reach,  conceal’d,  the  cooling 
flood, 

rom  my  tired  body  wash  the  dirt  and 
1 blood,  660 

aid,  soon  as  Night  her  dusky  veil  extends, 
Return  in  safety  to  my  Trojan  friends. 

Vliat  if  — ? But  wherefore  all  this  vain 
debate  ? 

tand  I to  doubt  within  the  reach  of  Fate  ? 
•Iv’n  now  perhaps,  ere  yet  I turn  the  wall, 
’he  fierce  Achilles  sees  me,  and  I fall: 

!ucli  is  his  swiftness,  ’t  is  in  vain  to  fly, 
md  such  his  valour,  that  who  stands  must 
1 die. 

lowe’er ’t  is  better,  fighting  for  the  state, 
lere,  and  in  public  view,  to  meet  my 
fate.  670 

'fet  sure  he  too  is  mortal;  he  may  feel 
Like  all  the  sons  of  earth)  the  force  of 

I steel : 

hie  only  soul  informs  that  dreadful  frame; 
aid  Jove’s  sole  favour  gives  him  all  his 
i fame.’ 

He  said,  and  stood,  collected  in  his 
J might; 

.nd  all  his  beating  bosom  claim’d  the  fight, 
o from  some  deep-grown  wood  a panther 

II  starts, 

Lous’d  from  his  thicket  by  a storm  of 
darts : 

jin  taught  to  fear  or  fly,  he  hears  the  sounds 
>f  shouting  hunters,  and  of  clam’rous 

houuds;  68q 


Tho’  struck,  tho’  wounded,  scarce  perceives 
the  pain, 

And  the  barb’d  jav’lin  stings  his  breast  in 
vain; 

On  their  whole  war,  untamed  the  savage 
flies; 

And  tears  his  hunter,  or  beneath  him  dies. 
Not  less  resolv’d  Antenor’s  valiant  heir 
Confronts  Achilles,  and  awaits  the  war, 
Disdainful  of  retreat:  high-held  before, 

His  shield  (a  broad  circumference)  he 
bore; 

Then,  graceful  as  he  stood,  in  act  to  throw 
The  lifted  jav’lin,  thus  bespoke  the  foe:  690 
‘ How  proud  Achilles  glories  in  his  fame! 
And  hopes  this  day  to  sink  the  Trojan 
name 

Beneath  her  ruins  ! Know,  that  hope  is 
vain; 

A thousand  woes,  a thousand  toils,  remain. 
Parents  and  children  our  just  arms  employ, 
And  strong,  and  many,  are  the  sons  of 
Troy: 

Great  as  thou  art,  ev’n  thou  may’st  stain 
with  gore 

These  Phrygian  fields,  and  press  a foreign 
shore.’ 

He  said;  with  matchless  force  the  jav’lin 
flung 

Smote  on  his  knee,  the  hollow  cuishes 
rung  7 00 

Beneath  the  pointed  steel;  but  safe  from 
harms 

He  stands  impassive  in  th’  ethereal  arms. 
Then,  fiercely  rushing  on  the  daring  foe, 
His  lifted  arm  prepares  the  fatal  blow; 

But,  jealous  of  his  fame,  Apollo  shrouds 
The  godlike  Trojan  in  a veil  of  clouds: 

Safe  from  pursuit,  and  shut  from  mortal 
view, 

Dismiss’d  with  fame,  the  favour’d  youth 
withdrew. 

Meanwhile  the  God,  to  cover  their  escape, 
Assumes  Agenor’s  habit,  voice,  and  shape, 
Flies  from  the  furious  Chief  in  this  dis- 
guise; . 7n 

The  furious  Chief  still  follows  where  he 
flies. 

Now  o’er  the  fields  they  stretch  with 
lengthen’d  strides, 

Now  urge  the  course  where  swift  Sca- 
mander  glides: 

The  God,  now  distant  scarce  a stride  before, 
Tempts  his  pursuit,  and  wheels  about  tho 
shore, 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


496 


While  all  the  flying  troops  their  speed  em- 

Ploy> 

And  pour  on  heaps  into  the  walls  of  Troy: 
No  stop,  no  stay:  no  thought  to  ask  or  tell, 
Who  ’scaped  by  flight,  or  who  by  battle 
fell.  720 

’T  was  tumult  all,  and  violence  of  flight; 
And  sudden  joy  confused,  and  mix’d  af- 
fright: 

Pale  Troy  against  Achilles  shuts  her  gate; 
And  nations  breathe,  deliver’d  from  their 
Fate. 


BOOK  XXII 

THE  DEATH  OF  HECTOR 
THE  ARGUMENT 

The  Trojans  being  safe  within  the  walls,  Hec- 
tor only  stays  to  oppose  Achilles.  Priam  is 
struck  at  his  approach,  and  tries  to  persuade 
his  son  to  re-enter  the  town.  Hecuba  joins 
her  entreaties,  but  in  vain.  Hector  consults 
within  himself  what  measures  to  take  ; but, 
at  the  advance  of  Achilles,  his  resolution 
fails  him,  and  he  flies : Achilles  pursues 
him  thrice  round  the  walls  of  Troy.  The 
Gods  debate  concerning  the  fate  of  Hector ; 
at  length  Minerva  descends  to  the  aid  of 
Achilles.  She  deludes  Hector  in  the  shape 
of  Deiphobus  ; he  stands  the  combat,  and  is 
slain.  Achilles  drags  the  dead  body  at  his 
chariot,  in  the  sight  of  Priam  and  Hecuba. 
Their  lamentations,  tears,  and  despair.  Their 
cries  reach  the  ears  of  Andromache,  who, 
ignorant  of  this,  was  retired  into  the  inner 
part  of  the  palace  ; she  mounts  up  to  the 
walls,  and  beholds  her  dead  husband.  She 
swoons  at  the  spectacle.  Her  excess  of  grief 
and  lamentation. 

The  thirtieth  day  still  continues.  The  scene 
lies  under  the  walls,  and  on  the  battlements 
of  Troy. 

Thus  to  their  bulwarks,  smit  with  panic 
fear, 

The  herded  Ilians  rush  like  driven  deer; 

There  safe,  they  wipe  the  briny  drops 
away, 

And  drown  in  bowls  the  labours  of  the  day. 

Close  to  the  walls,  advancing  o’er  the  fields, 

Beneath  one  roof  of  well-compacted  shields, 

March,  bending  on,  the  Greeks’  embodied 
powers, 

Far-stretching  in  the  shade  of  Trojan 
towers. 


Great  Hector  singly  stay’d;  chain’d  dowi 
by  Fate, 

There  fix’d  he  stood  before  the  Scaeai 
gate;  I( 

Still  his  bold  arms  determin’d  to  employ, 
The  guardian  still  of  long-defended  Troy. 

Apollo  now  to  tired  Achilles  turns 
(The  Power  confess’d  in  all  his  glor) 
burns), 

‘ And  what  ’ (he  cries)  ‘ has  Peleus’  son  ii 
view, 

With  mortal  speed  a Godhead  to  pursue  ? 
For  not  to  thee  to  know  the  Gods  is  giv’11, 
Unskill’d  to  trace  the  latent  marks  oi 
Heav’n. 

What  boots  thee  now,  that  Troy  forsool 
tlie  plain  ? J( 

Vain  thy  past  labour,  and  thy  presem 
vain: 

Safe  in  their  walls  are  now  her  troop* 
bestow’d, 

While  here  thy  frantic  rage  attacks  ; 
God.’ 

The  Chief  incens’d:  ‘Too  partial  God  o: 
Day  ! 

To  check  my  conquest  in  the  middh 
way: 

How  few  in  Ilion  else  had  refuge  found  ! 
What  gasping  numbers  now  had  bit  tin 
ground  ! 

Thou  robb’st  me  of  a glory  justly  mine, 
Powerful  of  Godhead,  and  of  fraud  divine 
Mean  fame,  alas ! for  one  of  heav’nl} 
strain, 

To  cheat  a mortal  who  repines  in  vain.’  3c 

Then  to  the  city,  terrible  and  strong, 
With  high  and  haughty  steps  he  tower’d 
along: 

So  the  proud  courser,  victor  of  the  prize, 
To  the  near  goal  with  double  ardour  flies. 
Him,  as  he  blazing  shot  across  the  field, 
The  careful  eyes  of  Priam  first  beheld. 

Not  half  so  dreadful  rises  to  the  sight, 
Thro’  the  thick  gloom  of  some  tempestuous 
night, 

Orion’s  dog  (the  year  when  autumr. 
weighs), 

And  o’er  the  feebler  stars  exerts  his  rays;  4< 
Terrific  glory  ! for  his  burning  breath 
Taints  the  red  air  with  fevers,  plagues,  and 
death. 

So  flamed  his  fiery  mail.  Then  wept  the 
sage : 

He  strikes  his  rev’rend  head,  now  white 
with  age; 


THE  ILIAD 


497 


e lifts  his  wither’d  arms;  obtests  the 
skies; 

e calls  his  much-lov’d  son  with  feeble 
cries: 

he  son,  resolv’d  Achilles’  force  to  dare, 
lull  at  the  Scfean  gate  expects  the  war: 
Fhile  the  sad  father  on  the  rampart 
stands,  49 

nd  thus  adjures  him  with  extended  hands: 

‘ Ah  stay  not,  stay  not  ! guardless  and 
alone ; 

„ ector,  my  lov’d,  my  dearest,  bravest  son  ! 
tethinks  already  I behold  thee  slain, 
jnd  stretch’d  beneath  that  fury  of  the 
plain. 

nplacable  Achilles  ! might’st  thou  be 
o all  the  Gods  no  dearer  than  to  me  ! 
thee,  vultures  wild  should  scatter  round 
the  shore, 

nd  bloody  dogs  grow  fiercer  from  thy  gore  ! 
ow  many  valiant  sons  I late  enjoy’d, 
aliant  in  vain  ! by  thy  curs’d  arm  de- 
stroy’d: 60 

r,  worse  than  slaughter’d,  sold  in  distant 
isles 

o shameful  bondage  and  unworthy  toils, 
wo,  while  I speak,  my  eyes  in  vain  ex- 'l 
plore, 

wo  from  one  mother  sprung,  my  Poly-  > 
dore 

.nd  loved  Lycaon;  now  perhaps  no  more  ! J 
' h ! if  in  yonder  hostile  camp  they  live, 
That  heaps  of  gold,  what  treasures  would 
I give  ! 

Their  grandsire’s  wealth,  by  right  of  birth 
their  own, 

onsign’d  his  daughter  with  Lelegia’s 
throne):  69 

ut  if  (which  Heav’n  forbid)  already  lost, 
11  pale  they  wander  on  the  Stygian  coast, 
/Eat  sorrows  then  must  their  sad  mother 
know, 

Hiat  anguish  I ! unutterable  woe  ! 

[ et  less  that  anguish,  less  to  her,  to  me, 
ess  to  all  Troy,  if  not  deprived  of  thee, 
jet  shun  Achilles  ! enter  yet  the  wall; 
nd  spare  thyself,  thy  father,  spare  us  all  ! 
ive  thy  dear  life : or  if  a soul  so  brave 
eglect  that  thought,  thy  dearer  glory  save, 
ojity,  while  yet  I live,  these  silver  hairs;  80 
Vhile  yet  thy  father  feels  the  woes  he 
( bears, 

et  curs’d  with  sense  ! a wretch,  whom  in 
' his  rage 

All  trembling  on  the  verge  of  helpless  age) 


Great  Jove  has  placed,  sad  spectacle  of 
pain  ! 

The  bitter  dregs  of  fortune’s  cup  to  drain: 
To  fill  with  scenes  of  death  his  closing 
eyes, 

And  number  all  his  days  by  miseries  ! 

My  heroes  slain,  my  bridal  bed  o’erturn’d, 
My  daughters  ravish’d,  and  my  city  burn’d, 
My  bleeding  infants  dash’d  against  the 
floor;  90 

These  I have  yet  to  see,  perhaps  yet  more  ! 
Perhaps  ev’11  I,  reserv’d  by  angry  Fate 
The  last  sad  relic  of  my  ruin’d  state 
(Dire  pomp  of  sovereign  wretchedness  !), 
must  fall 

And  stain  the  pavement  of  my  regal  hall; 
Where  famish’d  dogs,  late  guardians  of  my 
door, 

Shall  lick  their  mangled  master’s  spatter’d 
gore. 

Yet  for  my  sons  I thank  ye,  Gods  ! ’t  was 
well : 

Well  have  they  perish’d,  for  in  fight  they 
fell. 

Who  dies  in  youth  and  vigour,  dies  the 
best,  100 

Struck  thro’  with  wounds,  all  honest  on 
- the  breast. 

But  when  the  Fates,  in  fulness  of  their 
rage, 

Spurn  the  hoar  head  of  unresisting  age, 

In  dust  the  rev’rend  lineaments  deform, 
And  pour  to  dogs  the  life-blood  scarcely 
warm ; 

This,  this  is  misery  ! the  last,  the  worst, 
That  man  can  feel:  man,  fated  to  be 
curs’d  ! ’ 

He  said,  and  acting  what  no  words  could 
say, 

Rent  from  his  head  the  silver  locks  away. 
With  him  the  mournful  mother  bears  a 
part:  no 

Yet  all  their  sorrows  turn  not  Hector’s 
heart: 

The  zone  unbraced,  her  bosom  she  dis- 
play’d; 

And  thus,  fast-falling  the  salt  tears,  she 
said : 

‘ Have  mercy  on  me,  O my  son  ! revere 
The  words  of  age ; attend  a parent’s  prayer  i 
If  ever  thee  in  these  fond  arms  I press’d, 
Or  still’d  thy  infant  clamours  at  this 
.breast; 

Ah  ! do  not  thus  our  helpless  years  forego, 
But,  by  our  walls  secured,  repel  the  foe. 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


498 


Against  his  rage  if  singly  thou  proceed,  120 
Should’st  thou  (but  Heav’11  avert  it  !) 
should’st  thou  bleed, 

Nor  must  thy  corse  lie  honour’d  on  the 
bier, 

Nor  spouse,  nor  mother,  grace  thee  with  a 
tear; 

Far  from  our  pious  rites,  those  dear  re- 
mains 

Must  feast  the  vultures  on  the  naked 
plains/ 

So  they,  while  down  their  cheeks  the 
torrents  roll  I 

But  fix’d  remains  the  purpose  of  bis  soul; 
Resolv’d  he  stands,  and  with  a fiery  glance 
Expects  the  hero’s  terrible  advance.  129 
So,  roll’d  up  in  his  den,  the  swelling  snake 
Beholds  the  traveller  approach  the  brake; 
When,  fed  with  noxious  herbs,  his  turgid 
veins 

Have  gather’d  half  the  poisons  of  the 
plains; 

He  burns,  he  stiffens  with  collected  ire, 
And  his  red  eyeballs  glare  with  living 
fire. 

Beneath  a turret,  on  his  shield  reclin’d, 

He  stood,  and  question’d  thus  his  mighty 
mind: 

‘ Where  lies  my  way  ? To  enter  in  the 
wall? 

Honour  and  shame  th’  ungen’rous  thought 
recall: 

Shall  proud  Polydamas  before  the  gate  140 
Proclaim,  his  counsels  are  obey’d  too  late, 
Which  timely  follow’d  but  the  former 
night, 

What  numbers  had  been  saved  by  Hector’s 
flight  ? 

That  wise  advice  rejected  with  disdain, 

I feel  my  folly  in  my  people  slain. 

Methinks  my  suff’ring  country’s  voice  I 
hear, 

But  most,  her  worthless  sons  insult  my 
ear, 

On  my  rash  courage  charge  the  chance  of 
war, 

And  blame  those  virtues  which  they  can- 
not share. 

No  — If  I e’er  return,  return  I must  150 
Glorious,  my  country’s  terror  laid  in  dust: 
Or  if  I perish,  let  her  see  my  fall 
I11  field  at  least,  and  fighting  for  her  Wall. 
And  yet  suppose  these  measures  I forego, 
Approach  unarm’d,  and  parley  with  the 
foe, 


The  warrior-shield,  the  helm,  and  lance  lay 
down, 

And  treat  on  terms  of  peace  to  save  the 
town : 

The  wife  withheld,  the  treasure  ill-de- 
tain’d 

(Cause  of  the  war,  and  grievance  of  the 
land), 

With  honourable  justice  to  restore;  160 
And  add  half  Ilion’s  yet  remaining  store, 
Which  Troy  shall,  sworn,  produce;  that 
injur’d  Greece 

May  share  our  wealth,  and  leave  our  walls 
in  peace. 

But  why  this  thought  ? unarm’d  if  I ' 
should  go, 

What  hope  of  mercy  from  this  vengeful 
foe, 

But  woman-like  to  fall,  and  fall  without  i 
a blow  ? J 

We  greet  not  here,  as  man  conversing 
man, 

Met  at  an  oak,  or  journeying  o’er  a plain; 
No  season  now  for  calm,  familiar  talk, 

Like  youths  and  maidens  in  an  ev’ning 
walk:  t70 

War  is  our  business,  but  to  whom  is ' 
giv’n 

To  die  or  triumph,  that  determine  Heav’11!  ’ 
Tims  pond’ring,  like  a God  the  Greek 
drew  nigh: 

His  dreadful  plumage  nodded  from  on 
high; 

The  Pelian  jav’lin,  in  his  better  hand, 

Shot  trembling  rays  that  glitter’d  o’er  the 
land ; 

And  on  his  breast  the  beamy  splendours 
shone 

Like  Jove’s  own  lightning,  or  the  rising 
sun. 

As  Hector  sees,  unusual  terrors  rise, 

Struck  by  some  God,  he  fears,  recedes,  and 
flies:  18® 

He  leaves  the  gates,  he  leaves  the  walls 
behind; 

Achilles  follows  like  the  winged  wind. 

Thus  at  the  panting  dove  the  falcon  flies 
(The  swiftest  racer  of  the  liquid  skies); 

Just  when  he  holds,  or  thinks  he  holds,  his 
prey, 

Obliquely  wheeling  thro’  th’  abrial  way, 
With  open  beak  and  shrilling  cries  he 
springs, 

And  aims  his  claws,  and  shoots  upon  his 
Wings: 


THE  ILIAD 


499 


0 less  fore-right  the  rapid  chase  they 

held,  189 

lie  urged  by  fury,  one  by  fear  impellM; 
o\v  circling  round  the  walls  their  course 
] maintain, 

/here  the  high  watch-tower  overlooks  the 

1 plain ; 

ow  where  the  fig-trees  spread  their  uin- 
I brage  broad 

\ wider  compass),  smoke  along  the  road, 
ext  by  Scamander’s  double  source  they 
bound, 

/here  two  famed  fountains  burst  the 
parted  ground: 

his  hot  thro’  scorching  clefts  is  seen  to 
| rise, 

l/ith  exhalations  steaming  to  the  skies; 
hat  the  green  banks  in  summer’s  heat 
o’ernows, 

ike  crystal  clear,  and  cold  as  winter 
snows.  200 

ach  gushing  fount  a marble  cistern  fills, 
/hose  polish’d  bed  receives  the  falling 
rills; 

/here  Trojan  dames  (ere  yet  alarm’d  by 
Greece) 

j/asli’d  their  fair  garments  in  the  days  of 
peace. 

y these  they  pass’d,  one  chasing,  one  in 
flight 

The  mighty  fled,  pursued  by  stronger 
might); 

wift  was  the  course;  no  vulgar  prize  they 
play, 

To  vulgar  victim  must  reward  the  day 
Such  as  in  races  crown  the  speedy  strife); 
.'lie  prize  contended  was  great  Hector’s 
life.  210 

As  when  some  hero’s  funerals  are  de- 
creed, 

a grateful  honour  of  the  mighty  dead; 

,7 here  high  rewards  the  vig’rous  youth 
l inflame 

(Some  golden  tripod,  or  some  lovely  dame), 
'he  panting  coursers  swiftly  turn  the 
goal, 

aid  with  them  turns  the  rais’d  spectator’s 
soul : 

'll  us  three  times  round  the  Trojan  wall 
they  fly; 

lie  gazing  Gods  lean  forward  from  the 
1 sky: 

'o  whom,  while  eager  on  the  chase  they 
I look,  219 

'he  Sire  of  mortals  and  immortals  spoke: 


‘ Unworthy  sight  ! the  man,  belov’d  of 
Heav’n, 

Behold,  inglorious  round  yon  city  driv’n  ! 
My  heart  partakes  the  gen’rous  Hector’s 
pain; 

Hector,  whose  zeal  whole  hecatombs  has 
slain, 

Whose  grateful  fumes  the  Gods  receiv’d 
with  joy, 

From  Ida’s  summits,  and  the  towers  of 
Troy: 

Now  see  him  flying  ! to  his  fears  resign’d, 
And  Fate,  and  fierce  Achilles,  close  be- 
hind. 

Consult,  ye  Powers  (’t  is  worthy  your  de- 
bate) 

Whether  to  snatch  him  from  impending 
Fate,  230 

Or  let  him  bear,  by  stern  Pelides  slain 
(Good  as  he  is),  the  lot  imposed  on  man  ? ’ 

Then  Pallas  thus:  ‘Shall  he  whose  ven- 
geance forms 

The  forky  bolt,  and  blackens  Heav’n  with 
storms, 

Shall  he  prolong  one  Trojan’s  forfeit 
breath, 

A man  a mortal,  pre-ordain’d  to  death  ? 
And  will  no  murmurs  fill  the  courts  above  ? 
No  Gods  indignant  blame  their  partial 
Jove  ? ’ 

‘ Go  then  ’ (return’d  the  Sire),  ‘ without 
delay; 

Exert  thy  will:  I give  the  Fates  their 
way.’  240 

Swift  at  the  mandate  pleas’d  Tritonia  flies, 
And  stoops  impetuous  from  the  cleaving 
skies. 

As  thro’  the  forest,  o’er  the  vale  and 
lawn, 

The  well-breathed  beagle  drives  the  flying 
fawn; 

In  vain  he  tries  the  covert  of  the  brakes, 
Or  deep  beneath  the  trembling  thicket 
shakes: 

Sure  of  the  vapour  in  the  tainted  dews, 

The  certain  hound  his  various  maze  pur- 
sues: 

Thus  step  by  step,  where’er  the  Trojan 
wheel’d, 

There  swift  Achilles  compass’d  round  the 
field.  2 so 

Oft  as  to  reach  the  Dardan  gates  he 
bends, 

And  hopes  th’  assistance  of  his  pitying 
friends 


5°° 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


(Whose  show’ring  arrows,  as  he  cours’d 
below, 

From  the  high  turrets  might  oppress  the 
foe), 

So  oft  Achilles  turns  him  to  the  plain: 

He  eyes  the  city,  but  he  eyes  in  vain. 

As  men  in  slumbers  seem  with  speedy 
pace 

One  to  pursue,  and  one  to  lead  the  chase, 
Their  sinking  limbs  the  fancied  course  for- 
sake, 

Nor  this  can  fly,  nor  that  can  overtake:  260 
No  less  the  lab’ring  heroes  pant  and  strain; 
While  that  but  flies,  and  this  pursues,  in 
vain. 

What  God,  O Muse  ! assisted  Hector’s 
force, 

With  Fate  itself  so  long  to  hold  the  course  ? 
Phcebus  it  was:  who,  in  his  latest  hour, 
Endued  his  knees  with  strength,  his  nerves 
with  power; 

And  great  Achilles,  lest  some  Greek’s 
advance 

Should  snatch  the  glory  from  his  lifted 
lance, 

Sign’d  to  the  troops,  to  yield  his  foe  the 
way, 

And  leave  untouch’d  the  honours  of  the 
day.  270 

Jove  lifts  the  golden  balances,  that  show 
The  fates  of  mortal  men,  and  things  below: 
Here  each  contending  hero’s  lot  he  tries, 
And  weighs,  with  equal  hand,  their  des- 
tinies. 

Low  sinks  the  scale  surcharg’d  with  Hec- 
tor’s fate; 

Heavy  with  death  it  sinks,  and  Hell  re- 
ceives the  weight. 

Then  Phcebus  left  him.  Fierce  Minerva 
flies 

To  stern  Pelides,  and,  triumphing,  cries: 
‘Oh  lov’d  of  Jove!  this  day  our  labours 
cease, 

And  conquest  blazes  with  full  beams  on 
Greece.  280 

Great  Hector  falls;  that  Hector  famed  so 
far, 

Drunk  with  renown,  insatiable  of  war, 

Falls  by  thy  hand,  and  mine  ! nor  force  nor 
flight 

Shall  more  avail  him,  nor  his  God  of  Light. 
See,  where  in  vain  he  supplicates  above, 
Roll’d  at  the  feet  of  unrelenting  Jove  ! 
Rest  here:  myself  will  lead  the  Trojan  on, 
And  urge  to  meet  the  fate  he  cannot  shun.’ 


Her  voice  divine  the  Chief  with  joyfu 
mind 

Obey’d,  and  rested,  on  his  lance  reclin’d.  29 
While  like  Deiphobus  the  Martial  Dame 
(Her  face,  her  gesture,  and  her  arms,  tin 
same), 

I11  show  an  aid,  by  hapless  Hector’s  side 
Approach’d,  and  greets  him  thus  with  voic 
belied: 

‘ Too  long,  O Hector  ! have  I borne  tin 
sight 

Of  this  distress,  and  sorrow’d  in  thy  flight 
It  fits  us  now  a noble  stand  to  make, 

And  here,  as  brothers,  equal  fates  par 
take.’ 

Then  he:  ‘ O Prince  ! allied  in  blood  am 
fame,  29 

Dearer  than  all  that  own  a brother’s  name 
Of  all  that  Hecuba  to  Priam  bore, 

Long  tried,  long  lov’d;  much  lov’d,  bu 
honour’d  more  ! 

Since  you  of  all  our  numerous  race  alone 
Defend  my  life,  regardless  of  your  own.’ 

Again  the  Goddess:  ‘ Much  my  father’ 
prayer, 

And  much  my  mother’s,  press’d  me  to  for 
bear: 

My  friends  embraced  my  knees,  adjured 
my  stay, 

But  stronger  love  impell’d,  and  I obe}\ 
Come  then,  the  glorious  conflict  let  us  try, 
Let  the  steel  sparkle  and  the  jav’lin  fly;  31 
Or  let  us  stretch  Achilles  on  the  field, 

Or  to  his  arm  our  bloody  trophies  yield.’ 

Fraudful  she  said;  then  swiftly  march’* 
before; 

The  Dardan  hero  shuns  his  foe  no  more. 
Sternly  they  met.  The  silence  Hecto 
broke; 

His  dreadful  plumage  nodded  as  he  spoke 

‘ Enough,  O son  of  Peleus  ! Troy  ha 
view’d 

Her  walls  thrice  circled,  and  her  Chie 
pursued. 

But  now  some  God  within  me  bids  me  try 
Thine,  or  my  fate:  I kill  thee,  or  I die.  32 
Yet  on  the  verge  of  battle  let  us  stay, 

And  for  a moment’s  space  suspend  th 
day: 

Let  Heav’n’s  high  Powers  be  call’d  to  arbi 
trate 

The  just  conditions  of  this  stern  debate 
(Eternal  witnesses  of  all  below, 

And  faithful  guardians  of  the  treasure* 
vow)! 


THE  ILIAD 


> them  I swear  : if,  victor  in  the  strife, 
-ve  by  these  hands  shall  shed  thy  noble 
! life, 

0 vile  dishonour  shall  thy  corse  pursue; 

1 ripp’d  of  its  arms  alone  (the  conqueror’s 

due),  330 

le  rest  to  Greece  uninjur’d  I ’ll  restore : 
)w  plight  thy  mutual  oath,  I ask  110 
more.’ 

‘ Talk  not  of  oaths  ’ (the  dreadful  Chief 
replies, 

/hile  anger  flash’d  from  his  disdainful 
eyes), 

Retested  as  thou  art,  and  ought  to  be, 
pr  oath  nor  pact  Achilles  plights  with 
thee ; 

ch  pacts,  as  lambs  and  rabid  wolves 
combine, 

ch  leagues,  as  men  and  furious  lions 
t join, 

> such  I call  the  Gods  ! one  constant 

state 

lasting  rancour  and  eternal  hate:  34o 

) thought  but  rage,  and  never-ceasing 
strife, 

11  death  extinguish  rage,  and  thought, 
and  life, 

>use  then  thy  forces  this  important  hour, 
fleet  thy  soul,  and  call  forth  all  thy 
power. 

)>  farther  subterfuge,  no  farther  chance; 
is  Pallas,  Pallas  gives  thee  to  my  lance, 
ch  Grecian  ghost  by  thee  deprived  of. 
breath, 

>w  hovers  round,  and  calls  thee  to  thy 
death.’ 

He  spoke,  and  launch’d  his  jav’lin  at  the 
t foe; 

t Hector  sliunn’d  the  meditated  blow:  350 
stoop’d,  while  o’er  his  head  the  flying 
; spear 

ng  innocent,  and  spent  its  force  in  air. 

1 nerva  watch’d  it  falling  on  the  land, 
en  drew,  and  gave  to  great  Achilles’ 
r hand, 

seen  of  Hector,  who,  elate  with  joy, 
w shakes  his  lance,  and  braves  the  dread 
1 of  Troy: 

he  life  you  boasted  to  that  jav’lin  giv’n, 
nee  ! you  have  miss’d.  My  fate  de- 
pends on  Heav’n. 

thee  (presumptuous  as  thou  art)  un- 
known 

what  must  prove  my  fortune,  or  thy 
own.  360 


501 


Boasting  is  but  an  art,  onr  fears  to  blind, 
And  with  false  terrors  sink  another’s  mind= 
But  know,  whatever  fate  I am  to  try, 

By  no  dishonest  wound  shall  Hector  die; 

I shall  not  fall  a fugitive  at  least, 

My  soul  shall  bravely  issue  from  my  breast. 
But  first,  try  thou  my  arm;  and  may  this 
dart 

End  all  my  country’s  woes,  deep  buried  in 
thy  heart  ! ’ 

The  weapon  flew,  its  course  unerring 
held;  . 369 

Unerring,  but  the  heav’nly  shield  repell’d 
The  mortal  dart;  resulting  with  a bound 
From  off  the  ringing  orb,  it  struck  the 
ground. 

Hector  beheld  his  jav’lin  fall  in  vain, 

Nor  other  lance  nor  other  hope  remain; 

He  calls  Deiphobus,  demands  a spear, 

In  vain,  for  no  Deiphobus  was  there. 

All  comfortless  he  stands:  then,  with  a 

sigh, 

‘ ’T  is  so  — Heav’n  wills  it,  and  my  hour  is 
nigh  ! 

I deem’d  Deiphobus  had  heard  my  call, 
But  he  secure  lies  guarded  in  the  wall.  380 
A God  deceiv’d  me;  Pallas,  ’twas  thy 
deed : 

Death  and  black  Fate  approach ! ’t  is  I 
must  bleed: 

No  refuge  now,  no  succour  from  above, 
Great  Jove  deserts  me,  and  the  son  of 
Jove, 

Propitious  once,  and  kind  ! Then  welcome 
Fate! 

’T  is  true  I perish,  yet  I perish  great: 

Yet  in  a mighty  deed  I shall  expire, 

Let  future  ages  hear  it,  and  admire  ! ’ 
Fierce,  at  the  word,  his  weighty  sword 
he  drew, 

And,  all  collected,  on  Achilles  flew.  390 
So  Jove’s  bold  bird,  high  balanc’d  in  the 
air, 

Stoops  from  the  clouds  to  truss  the  quiv’ring 
hare. 

Nor  less  Achilles  his  fierce  soul  prepares; 
Before  his  breast  the  flaming  shield  he 
bears, 

Refulgent  orb  ! above  his  fourfold  cone 
The  gilded  horse-hair  sparkled  in  the  sun, 
Nodding  at  ev’ry  step  (Vulcanian  frame)! 
And  as  he  mov’d,  his  figure  seem’d  on 
flame. 

As  radiant  Hesper  shines  with  keener  light. 
Far-beaming  o’er  the  silver  host  of  night, 


5°2 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


When  all  the  starry  train  emblaze  the 
sphere:  4 01 

So  shone  the  point  of  great  Achilles’  spear. 
I11  his  right  hand  he  waves  the  weapon 
round, 

Eyes  the  whole  man,  and  meditates  the 
wound : 

But  the  rich  mail  Patroclus  lately  wore, 
Securely  cased  the  warrior’s  body  o’er. 

One  place  at  length  he  spies,  to  let  in  Fate, 
Where  ’twixt  the  neck  and  throat  the 
jointed  plate 

Gave  entrance:  thro’  that  penetrable  part 
Furious  he  drove  the  well-directed  dart:  410 
Nor  pierc’d  the  windpipe  yet,  nor  took  the 
power 

Of  speech,  unhappy  ! from  thy  dying  hour. 
Prone  on  the  field  the  bleeding  warrior  lies, 
While  thus,  triumphing,  stern  Achilles 
cries: 

‘At  last  is  Hector  stretch’d  upon  the 
plain, 

Who  fear’d  no  vengeance  for  Patroclus 
slain: 

Then,  Prince ! you  should  have  fear’d, 
what  now  you  feel; 

Achilles  absent  was  Achilles  still. 

Yet  a short  space  the  great  avenger  stay’d, 
Then  low  in  dust  thy  strength  and  glory 
laid.  420 

Peaceful  he  sleeps,  with  all  our  rites  adorn’d, 
For  ever  honour’d,  and  for  ever  mourn’d: 
While,  cast  to  all  the  rage  of  hostile  power, 
Thee  birds  shall  mangle,  and  thee  dogs 
devour.’ 

Then  Hector,  fainting  at  th’  approach  of 
death: 

‘ By  thy  own  soul ! by  those  who  gave  thee 
breath  ! 

By  all  the  sacred  prevalence  of  prayer; 

Ah,  leave  me  not  for  Grecian  dogs  to  tear  ! 
The  common  rites  of  sepulture  bestow,  429 
To  soothe  a father’s  and  a mother’s  woe; 
Let  their  large  gifts  procure  an  urn  at 
least, 

And  Hector’s  ashes  in  his  country  rest.’ 

‘ No,  wretch  aecurs’d  ! ’ relentless  he  re- 
plies 

(Flames,  as  he  spoke,  shot  flashing  from 
his  eyes), 

‘ Not  those  who  gave  me  breath  should  bid 
me  spare, 

Nor  all  the  sacred  prevalence  of  prayer. 
Could  I myself  the  bloody  banquet  join  l 
N o — to  the  dogs  that  carcass  I resign. 


Should  Troy  to  bribe  me  bring  forth  all 
her  store, 

And,  giving  thousands,  offer  thousand? 

more;  44c 

Should  Dardan  Priam,  and  his  weeping 
came, 

Drain  their  whole  realm  to  buy  one  funeral 
flame;  ' 

Their  Hector  on  the  pile  they  should  no! 
see, 

Nor  rob  the  vultures  of  one  limb  of  thee.’ 

Then  thus  the  Chief  his  dying  accents 
drew: 

‘ Thy  rage,  implacable  ! too  well  I knew: 
The  Furies  that  relentless  breast  hav( 
steel’d, 

And  curs’d  thee  with  a heart  that  cannoi 
yield.  v 

Yet  think,  a day  will  come,  when  Fate’i 

decree 

And  angry  Gods  shall  wreak  this  wrong  01 
thee;  45 

Phoebus  and  Paris  shall  avenge  my  fate, 
And  stretch  thee  here,  before  this  Scseai 
gate.’ 

He  ceas’d:  the  Fates  suppress’d  his  la 
b’ring  breath, 

And  his  eyes  stiffen’d  at  the  hand  0 
death; 

To  the  dark  realm  the  spirit  wings  its  way 
(The  manly  body  left  a load  of  clay), 

And  plaintive  glides  along  the  drear; 

• coast, 

A naked,  wand ’ring,  melancholy  ghost  ! 

Achilles,  musing  as  he  roll’d  his  eyes 
O’er  the  dead  hero,  thus  (unheard)  re 
plies:  4^ 

* Die  thou  the  first  ! when  Jove  and  Heav’ 

ordain, 

I follow  thee.’  He  said,  and  stripp’d  th 
slain. 

Then,  forcing  backward  from  the  gapin  ,, 
wound 

The  reeking  jav’lin,  cast  it  on  the  ground  [ 
The  thronging  Greeks  behold  with  woe 
d’ring  eyes  • 

His  manly  beauty  and  superior  size:  1 

While  some,  ignobler,  the  great  dead  ch 
face 

With  wounds  ungen’rous,  or  with  taunt  | 
disgrace. 

‘ How  changed  that  Hector  ! who,  likj. 
Jove,  of  late 

Sent  lightning  on  our  fleets  and  scatter’ 11 
Fate  l’  4 ' 


THE  ILIAD 


High  o’er  the  slain  the  great  Achilles 
stands, 

jegirt  with  heroes  and  surrounding  bands; 
nd  thus  aloud,  while  all  the  host  attends: 
Princes  and  leaders  1 countrymen  and 
friends  ! 

nee  now  at  length  the  powerful  will  of 
Heav’n 

he  dire  destroyer  to  our  arm  has  giv’n, 
not  Troy  fall’n  already  ? Haste,  ye 
Powers  1 

3e  if  already  their  deserted  towers 
re  left  unmann’d;  or  if  they  yet  retain 
he  souls  of  heroes,  their  great  Hector 
slain  ? 480 

at  what  is  Troy,  or  glory  what  to  me  ? 
r why  reflects  my  mind  on  aught  but 
thee, 

ivine  Patroclus  ! Death  has  seal’d  his 
eyes; 

nwept,  unhonour’d,  uninterr’d  he  lies  ! 
in  his  dear  image  from  my  soul  depart, 
bng  as  the  vital  spirit  moves  my  heart  ? 

, in  the  melancholy  shades  below, 
he  flames  of  friends  and  lovers  cease  to 
glow, 

let  mine  shall  sacred  last;  mine,  unde- 
cay’d, 

irn  on  thro’  death,  and  animate  my 
shade.  49o 

ean  while,  ye  sons  of  Greece,  in  triumph 
bring 

he  corse  of  Hector,  and  your  Pseans 
# sing. 

3 this  the  song,  slow  moving  tow’rd  the 
shore, 

Hector  is  dead,  and  Ilion  is  no  more.”  ’ 
Then  his  fell  soul  a thought  of  vengeance 
bred 

Jn  worthy  of  himself,  and  of  the  dead); 
he  nervous  ancles  bored,  his  feet  he 
bound 

ith  thongs  inserted  thro’  the  double 
wound; 

lese  fix’d  up  high  behind  the  rolling 
wain, 

is  graceful  head  was  trail’d  along  the 
( plain.  Soo 

•oud  on  his  car  th’  insulting  victor  stood, 
id  bore  aloft  his  arms,  distilling  blood. 

3 smites  the  steeds  ; the  rapid  chariot 
1 flies; 

ie  sudden  clouds  of  circling  dust  arise, 
iw  lost  is  all  that  formidable  air; 
ie  face  divine,  and  long^descending  hair, 


5°3 


Purple  the  ground,  and  streak  the  sable 
sand ; 

Deform’d,  dishonour’d,  in  his  native  land  ! 
Giv’n  to  the  rage  of  an  insulting  throng  ! 
And,  in  his  parents’  sight,  now  dragg’d 

along.  510 

The  mother  first  beheld  with  sad  sur-  ) 
vey;  I 

She  rent  her  tresses,  venerably  grey,  f 

And  cast  far  off  the  regal  veils  away.  J 
With  piercing  shrieks  his  bitter  fate  she 
moans, 

While  the  sad  father  answers  groans  with 
groans; 

Tears  after  tears  his  mournful  cheeks  o’er- 
flow, 

And  the  whole  city  wears  one  face  of  woe: 
No  less  than  if  the  rage  of  hostile  fires, 
From  her  foundations  curling  to  her  spires, 
O’er  the  proud  citadel  at  length  should 
rise,  520 

And  the  last  blaze  send  Ilion  to  the  skies. 
The  wretched  Monarch  of  the  falling  state, 
Distracted,  presses  to  the  Dardan  gate: 
Scarce  the  whole  people  stop  his  desp’rate 
course, 

While  strong  affliction  gives  the  feeble 
force : 

Grief  tears  his  heart,  and  drives  him  to 
and  fro, 

In  all  the  raging  impotence  of  woe. 

At  length  he  roll’d  in  dust,  and  thus 
begun, 

Imploring  all,  and  naming  one  by  one: 

‘ Ah  ! let  me,  let  me  go  where  sorrow 
calls;  530 

I,  only  I,  will  issue  from  your  walls 
(Guide  or  companion,  friends  ! I ask  ye 
none), 

And  bow  before  the  mnrd’rer  of  mv  son: 
My  grief  perhaps  his  pity  may  engage; 
Perhaps  at  least  he  may  respect  my  age. 
He  has  a father  too;  a man  like  me; 

One  not  exempt  from  age  and  misery 
(Vig’rous  no  more,  as  when  his  young  em- 
brace 

Begot  this  pest  of  me,  and  all  my  race). 
How  many  valiant  sons,  in  early  bloom,  540 
Has  that  curs’d  hand  sent  headlong  to  the 
tomb  I 

Thee,  Hector  ! last;  thy  loss  (divinely 
brave)  ! 

Sinks  my  sad  soul  with  sorrow  to  the  grave. 
Oh  had  thv  gentle  spirit  pass’d  in  peace, 
The  son  expiring  in  the  sire’s  embrace, 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


5°4 


While  both  thy  parents  wept  thy  fatal 
hour, 

And,  bending  o’er  thee,  mix’d  the  tender 
shower  ! 

Some  comfort  that  had  been,  some  sad 
relief, 

To  melt  in  full  satiety  of  grief  ! ’ 

Thus  wail’d  the  father,  grov’ling  on  the 
ground,  550 

And  all  the  eyes  of  Ilion  stream’d  around. 

Amidst  her  matrons  Hecuba  appears 
(A  mourning  Princess,  and  a train  in 
tears) : 

‘ Ah  ! why  has  Heav’n  prolong’d  this  hated 
breath, 

Patient  of  horrors,  to  behold  thy  death  ? 

O Hector  ! late  thy  parents’  pride  and  joy, 
The  boast  of  nations  ! the  defence  of  Troy  ! 
To  whom  her  safety  and  her  fame  she 
owed, 

Her  Chief,  her  hero,  and  almost  her  God  ! 
O fatal  change  ! become  in  one  sad  day  560 
A senseless  corse  ! inanimated  clay  ! ’ 

But  not  as  yet  the  fatal  news  had  spread 
To  fair  Andromache,  of  Hector  dead ; 

As  yet  no  messenger  had  told  his  Fate, 

Nor  ev’n  his  stay  without  the  Scsean  gate. 
Far  in  the  close  recesses  of  the  dome 
Pensive  she  plied  the  melancholy  loom; 

A growing  work  employ’d  her  secret  hours, 
Confusedly  gay  with  intermingled  flowers. 
Her  fair-hair’d  handmaids  heat  the  brazen 
urn,  570 

The  bath  preparing  for  her  lord’s  return: 
In  vain:  alas  ! her  lord  returns  no  more  ! 
Unbathed  he  lies,  and  bleeds  along  the 
shore  ! 

Now  from  the  walls  the  clamours  reach 
her  ear 

And  all  her  members  shake  with  sudden 
fear; 

Forth  from  her  iv’ry  hand  the  shuttle 
falls, 

As  thus,  astonish’d,  to  her  maids  she  calls: 
‘ Ah,  follow  me  ’ (she  cried)  ! ‘ what 

plaintive  noise 

Invades  my  ear  ? ’T  is  sure  my  mother’s 
voice. 

My  falt’ring  knees  their  trembling  frame 
desert,  580 

A pulse  unusual  flutters  at  my  heart. 

Some  strange  disaster,  some  reverse  of 
fate 

(Ye  Gods  avert  it  !)  threats  the  Trojan 
state. 


Far  be  the  omen  which  my  thoughts  sug- 
gest ! 

But  much  I fear  my  Hector’s  dauntless 
breast 

Confronts  Achilles;  chased  along  the  plain, 
Shut  from  our  walls  ! I fear,  I fear  him 
slain  ! 

Safe  in  the  crowd  he  ever  scorn’d  to  wait, 
And  sought  for  glory  in  the  jaws  of  Fate: 
Perhaps  that  noble  heat  has  cost  his 
breath,  5g0 

Now  quench’d  for  ever  in  the  arms  of 
death.’ 

She  spoke;  and,  furious,  with  distracted 
pace, 

Fears  in  her  heart,  and  anguish  in  her  face, 
Flies  thro’  the  dome  (the  maids  her  step 
pursue), 

And  mounts  the  walls,  and  sends  around 
her  view. 

Too  soon  her  eyes  the  killing  object  found, 
The  godlike  Hector  dragg’d  along  the 
ground. 

A sudden  darkness  shades  her  swimming 
eyes: 

She  faints,  she  falls;  her  breath,  her  colour, 
flies. 

Her  hair’s  fair  ornaments,  the  braids  that 
bound,  6oc| 

The  net  that  held  them,  and  the  wreath 
that  crown’d, 

The  veil  and  diadem,  flew  far  away 
(The  gift  of  Venus  on  her  bridal  day). 
Around,  a train  of  weeping  sisters  stands, 
To  raise  her  sinking  with  assistant  hands. 
Scarce  from  the  verge  of  death  recall’d, 
again 

She  faints,  or  but  recovers  to  complain: 

‘ O wretched  liusba,nd  of  a wretched 
wife  ! 

Born  with  one  fate,  to  one  unhappy  life  ! 
For  sure  one  star  its  baneful  beam  dis- 
play’d 610 

On  Priam’s  roof,  and  Hippoplacia’s  shade. 
From  diff’rent  parents,  diff’rent  climes,  we 
came, 

At  diff’rent  periods,  yet  our  fate  the  same! 
Why  was  my  birth  to  great  Eetion  owed, 
And  why  was  all  that  tender  care  be- 
stow’d ? 

Would  I had  never  been  ! — Oh  thou,  the 
ghost 

Of  my  dead  husband  ! miserably  lost  S 
Thou  to  the  dismal  realms  for  ever  gone  I 
And  I abandon’d,  desolate,  alone  ! 


THE  ILIAD 


505 


in  only  child,  once  coinfort  of  my  pains,  620 
lad  product  now  of  hapless  love,  remains  ! 
lo  more  to  smile  upon  his  sire  ! no  friend 
.'0  help  him  now  ! no  father  to  defend  ! 

'•or  should  he  ’scape  the  sword,  the  common 
doom, 

W hat  wrongs  attend  him,  and  what  griefs 
to  come  ! 

jSv’n  from  his  own  paternal  roof  expell’d, 
|ome  stranger  ploughs  his  patrimonial 
I field. 

iihe  day  that  to  the  shades  the  father 
sends, 

lobs  the  sad  orphan  of  his  father’s  friends: 
le,  wretched  outcast  of  mankind  ! ap- 
pears 630 

<\>r  ever  sad,  for  ever  bathed  in  tears; 
kmongst  the  happy,  unregarded  he 
Tangs  on  the  robe  or  trembles  at  the  knee; 
Virile  those  his  father’s  former  bounty  fed, 
'lor  reach  the  goblet,  nor  divide  the  bread: 
The  kindest  but  his  present  wants  allay, 

To  leave  him  wretched  the  succeeding  day. 
frugal  compassion  ! Heedless,  they  who 
boast 

Toth  parents  still,  nor  feel  what  he  has 
lost, 

ihall  cry,  Begone  ! thy  father  feasts  not 
here : 640 

The  wretch  obeys,  retiring  with  a tear. 

Thus  wretched,  thus  retiring  all  in  tears, 

Co  my  sad  soul  Astyanax  appears  ! 
forc’d  by  repeated  insults  to  return, 

And  to  his  widow’d  mother  vainly  mourn, 
le  who,  with  tender  delicacy  bred, 

With  Princes  sported,  and  on  dainties  fed, 
bid,  when  still  ev’ning  gave  him  up  to 
rest, 

feunk  soft  in  down  upon  the  nurse’s  breast, 
dust  — ah  what  must  he  not?  Whom 
Ilion  calls  650 

Astyanax,  from  her  well-guarded  walls, 
s now  that  name  no  more,  unhappy  boy  ! 
mice  now  no  more  thy  father  guards  his 
Troy. 

$ut  thou,  my  Hector  ! liest  exposed  in  air, 
i’ar  from  thy  parents’  and  tliy  consort’s 
care, 

Whose  hand  in  vain,  directed  by  her  love, 
Che  martial  scarf  and  robe  of  triumph 
i|  wove. 

Cow  to  devouring  flames  be  these  a prey, 
^Jseless  to  thee,  from  this  accursed  day  ! 
fet  let  the  sacrifice  at  least  be  paid,  660 
Ln  honour  to  the  living,  not  the  dead  ! * 


So  spake  the  mournful  dame:  her  ma- 
trons hear, 

Sigh  back  her  sighs,  and  answer  tear  with 
tear. 


BOOK  XXIII 

FUNERAL  GAMES  IN  HONOUR  OF  PATROCLUS 
THE  ARGUMENT 

Achilles  and  the  Myrmidons  do  honours  to  the 
body  of  Patroclus.  After  the  funeral  feast 
he  retires  to  the  sea-shore,  where,  falling 
asleep,  the  ghost  of  his  friend  appears  to 
him,  and  demands  the  rites  of  burial : the 
next  morning  the  soldiers  are  sent  with 
mules  and  wagons  to  fetch  wood  for  the 
pyre.  The  funeral  procession,  and  the  of- 
fering their  hair  to  the  dead.  Achilles 
sacrifices  several  animals,  and  lastly,  twelve 
Trojan  captives,  at  the  pile ; then  sets  fire  to 
it.  He  pays  libations  to  the  winds,  which 
(at  the  instance  of  Iris)  rise,  and  raise  the 
flame.  When  the  pile  has  burned  all  night, 
they  gather  the  bones,  place  them  in  an  urn 
of  gold,  and  raise  the  tomb.  Achilles  in- 
stitutes the  funeral  games  : the  chariot-race, 
the  fight  of  the  csestus,  the  wrestling,  the 
foot-race,  the  single  combat,  the  discus,  the 
shooting  with  arrows,  the  darting  the  javelin  : 
the  various  descriptions  of  which,  and  the 
various  success  of  the  several  antagonists, 
make  the  greatest  part  of  the  book. 

In  this  book  ends  the  thirtieth  day : the  night 
following,  the  ghost  of  Patroclus  appears  to 
Achilles  : the  one-and-thirtieth  day  is  em- 
ployed in  felling  the  timber  for  the  pile  ; the 
two-and-thirtieth  in  burning  it ; and  the 
three-and-thirtieth  in  the  games.  The 
scene  is  generally  on  the  sea-shore. 

Thus  humbled  in  the  dust,  the  pensive 
train 

Thro’  the  sad  city  mourn’d  her  hero  slain. 

The  body  soil’d  with  dust,  and  black  with 
gore, 

Lies  on  broad  Hellespont’s  resounding 
shore : 

The  Grecians  seek  their  ships,  and  clear 
the  strand, 

All  but  the  martial  Myrmidonian  band: 

These  yet  assembled  great  Achilles  holds. 

And  the  stern  purpose  of  his  mind  unfolds: 
‘ Not  yet  (my  brave  companions  of  the 
war) 

Release  your  smoking  coursers  from  the 
car;  10 


5°6 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


But  with  his  chariot  each  in  order  led, 
Perform  due  honours  to  Patroclus  dead; 
Ere  yet  from  rest  or  food  we  seek  relief, 
Some  rites  remain,  to  glut  our  rage  of 
grief.’ 

The  troops  obey’d;  and  thrice  in  order 
led 

(Achilles  first)  their  coursers  round  the 
dead 

And  thrice  their  sorrows  and  laments  re- 
new; 

Tears  bathe  their  arms,  and  tears  the  sands 
bedew. 

For  such  a warrior  Thetis  aids  their  woe, 
Melts  their  strong  hearts,  and  bids  their 
eyes  to  flow.  20 

But  chief,  Pelides;  thick-succeeding  sighs 
Burst  from  his  heart,  and  torrents  from  his 
eyes: 

His  slaught’ring  hands,  yet  red  with  blood, 
he  laid 

On  his  dead  friend’s  cold  breast,  and  thus 
he  said: 

‘All  hail,  Patroclus  ! let  thy  honour’d 
ghost 

Hear  and  rejoice  on  Pluto’s  dreary  coast; 
Behold  ! Achilles’  promise  is  complete; 

The  bloody  Hector  stretch’d  before  thy 
feet. 

Lo  ! to  the  dogs  his  carcass  I resign;  29 
And  twelve  sad  victims  of  the  Trojan  line, 
Sacred  to  vengeance,  instant  shall  expire, 
Their  lives  effused  around  thy  funeral 
pyre.’ 

Gloomy  he  said,  and  (horrible  to  view) 
Before  the  bier  the  bleeding  Hector  threw, 
Prone  on  the  dust.  The  Myrmidons 
around 

Unbraced  their  armour,  and  the  steeds  un- 
bound. 

All  to  Achilles’  sable  ship  repair, 

Frequent  and  full,  the  genial  feast  to 
share. 

Now  from  the  well-fed  swine  black  smokes 
aspire, 

The  bristly  victims  hissing  o’er  the  fire;  40 
The  huge  ox  bell’wing  falls;  with  feebler 
cries 

Expires  the  goat;  the  sheep  in  silence  dies. 
Around  the  hero’s  prostrate  body  flow’d, 

In  one  promiscuous  stream,  the  reeking 
blood. 

And  now  a band  of  Argive  Monarchs 
brings 

The  glorious  victor  to  the  King  of  Kings, 


From  his  dead  friend  the  pensive  warrio 
went, 

With  steps  unwilling,  to  the  regal  tent. 
Th’  attending  heralds,  as  by  office  bound, 
With  kindled  flames  the  tripod- vase  sui 
round;  c 

To  cleanse  his  conquering  hands  from  hot 
tile  gore, 

They  urged  in  vain;  the  Chief  refused,  an 
swore, 

‘No  drop  shall  touch  me,  by  Almight 
Jove! 

The  first  and  greatest  of  the  Gods  above  ! 
Till  on  the  pyre  I place  thee;  till  I rear 
The  grassy  mound,  and  clip  thy  sacre 
hair. 

Some  ease  at  least  those  pious  rites  ma 
give, 

And  soothe  my  sorrows,  while  I bear  t 
live. 

Howe’er,  reluctant  as  I am,  I stay, 

And  share  your  feast;  but,  with  the  daw 
of  day  < 

(O  King  of  Men  !)  it  claims  thy  royal  cart 
That  Greece  the  warrior’s  funeral  pile  pre 
pare, 

And  bid  the  forests  fall  (such  rites  ar 
paid 

To  heroes  slumb’ring  in  eternal  shade). 
Then,  when  his  earthly  part  shall  mount  i 
fire, 

Let  the  leagued  squadrons  to  their  post 
retire.’ 

He  spoke:  they  hear  him,  and  the  word ' 
obey; 

The  rage  of  hunger  and  of  thirst  allay, 
Then  ease  in  sleep  the  labours  of  the  day. 
But  great  Pelides,  stretch’d  along  th 
shore,  ; 

Where  dash’d  on  rocks  the  broken  billow 
roar, 

Lies  inly  groaning;  while  on  either  hand 
The  martial  Myrmidons  confusedly  stand 
Along  the  grass  his  languid  members  fall 
Tired  with  his  chase  around  the  Troja 
wall ; 

Hush’d  by  the  murmurs  of  the  rollin 
deep, 

At  length  he  sinks  in  the  soft  arms  c 
sleep. 

When  lo  ! the  shade  before  his  closing  ey< 
Of  sad  Patroclus  rose,  or  seem’d  to  rise: 
In  the  same  robe  he  living  wore,  he  came. 
In  stature,  voice,  and  pleasing  look,  tl 
same. 


THE  ILIAD 


S°7 


he  form  familiar  hover'd  o’er  his  head,1 
nd,  ‘Sleeps  Achilles’  (thus  the  phan-  1 
tom  said),  | 

Sleeps  my  Achilles,  his  Patroclus  dead  ? J 
'dying,  I seem’d  his  dearest,  tenderest 
care, 

iut  now  forgot,  I wander  in  the  air: 

(et  my  pale  corse  the  rites  of  burial  know, 
Lid  give  me  entrance  in  the  realms  below; 
’ill  then,  the  spirit  finds  no  resting-place, 
tut  here  and  there  th’  unbodied  spectres 
chase  ' 9° 

l he  vagrant  dead  around  the  dark  abode, 
"orbid  to  cross  th’  irremeable  flood. 

Tow  give  thy  hand;  for  to  the  farther 
shore 

Vhen  once  we  pass,  the  soul  returns  no 
more. 

Vhen  once  the  last  funereal  flames  ascend, 
To  more  shall  meet  Achilles  and  his  friend; 
To  more  our  thoughts  to  those  we  love 
make  known, 

)r  quit  the  dearest  to  converse  alone, 
de  Fate  has  sever’d  from  the  sons  of  earth, 
The  Fate  foredoom’d  that  waited  from  my 
birth:  100 

Thee  too  it  waits;  before  the  Trojan  wall 
*3v’n  great  and  godlike  thou  art  doom’d  to 
fall. 

dear  then;  and  as  in  Fate  and  love  we  join, 
Ui,  suffer  that  my  bones  may  rest  with 
thine  ! 

together  have  we  liv’d,  together  bred, 
pne  house  receiv’d  us,  and  one  table  fed  ! 
That  golden  urn  thy  goddess-mother  gave, 
day  mix  our  ashes  in  one  common  grave.’ 

‘ And  is  it  thou  ? ’ (he  answers)  ‘ To  my 
sight 

Dnce  more  return’st  thou  from  the  realms 
of  night  ? no- 

Oh  more  than  brother  ! think  each  office 
. paid 

Whate’er  can  rest  a discontented  shade; 

But  grant  one  last  embrace,  unhappy  boy  ! 
■Afford  at  least  that  melancholy  joy.’ 

He  said,  and  with  his  longing  arms  es- 
j say’d 

In  vain  to  grasp  the  visionary  shade; 

Like  a thin  smoke  he  sees  the  spirit  fly, 
And  hears  a feeble,  lamentable  cry. 

, .Confused  he  wakes;  amazement  breaks'! 

the  bands  I 

Of  golden  sleep,  and,  starting  from  the  )~ 
sands,  120  | 

Pensive  he  muses  with  uplifted  hands:  J 


‘ ’T  is  true,  ’t  is  certain;  man,  tho’  dead, 
retains 

Part  of  himself;  th’  immortal  mind  re- 
mains: 

The  form  subsists,  without  the  body’s  aid, 
Aerial  semblance,  and  an  empty  shade  ! 

This  night,  my  friend,  so  late  in  battle 
lost, 

Stood  at  my  side  a pensive,  plaintive  ghost; 
Ev’n  now  familiar,  as  in  life,  he  came, 

Alas,  how  different ! yet  how  like  the 
same  ! ’ 

Thus  while  he  spoke,  each  eye  grew  big 
with  tears ; x3o 

And  now  the  rosy-finger’d  morn  appears, 
Shows  every  mournful  face  with  tears  o’er- 
spread, 

And  glares  on  the  pale  visage  of  the  dead. 
But  Agamemnon,  as  the  rites  demand, 

With  mules  and  wagons  sends  a chosen 
band 

To  load  the  timber,  and  the  pile  to  rear; 

A charge  consign’d  to  Merion’s  faithful 
care. 

With  proper  instruments  they  take  the 
road, 

Axes  to  cut,  and  ropes  to  sling  the  load  139 
First  march  the  heavy  mules,  securely  slow, 
O’er  hills,  o’er  dales,  o’er  crags,  o’er  rocks 
they  go: 

Jumping,  high  o’er  the  shrubs  of  the  rough 
ground, 

Rattle  the  clatt’ring  cars,  and  the  shock’d 
axles  bound, 

But  when  arrived  at  Ida’s  spreading  woods 
(Fair  Ida,  water’d  with  descending  floods), 
Loud  sounds  the  axe,  redoubling  strokes  on 
strokes ; 

On  all  sides  round  the  forest  hurls  her 
oaks 

Headlong.  Deep-echoing  groan  the  thick- 
ets brown; 

Then  rustling,  crackling,  crashing,  thunder 
down: 

The  wood  the  Grecians  cleave,  prepared  to 
burn;  150 

And  the  slow  mules  the  same  rough  road 
return. 

The  sturdy  woodmen  equal  burthens  bore 
(Such  charge  was  giv’n  them)  to  the  sandy 
shore; 

There  on  the  spot  which  great  Achilles 
show’d, 

They  eas’d  their  shoulders  and  disposed 
the  load; 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


5 08 


Circling  around  the  place,  where  times  to 
come 

Shall  view  Patroclus’  and  Achilles’  tomb. 
The  hero  bids  his  martial  troops  appear 
High  on  their  cars,  in  all  the  pomp  of  war: 
Each  in  refulgent  arms  his  limbs  attires,  160 
All  mount  their  chariots,  combatants  and 
squires. 

The  chariots  first  proceed,  a shining  train; 
Then  clouds  of  foot  that  smoke  along  the 
plain; 

Next  these  a melancholy  band  appear; 
Amidst,  lay  dead  Patroclus  on  the  bier: 
O’er  all  the  corse  their  scatter’d  locks  they 
throw: 

Achilles  next,  oppress’d  with  mighty  woe, 
Supporting  with  his  hands  the  hero’s  head, 
Bends  o’er  th’  extended  body  of  the  dead.  169 
Patroclus  decent  on  th’  appointed  ground 
They  place,  and  heap  the  sylvan  pile 
around. 

But  great  Achilles  stands  apart  in  prayer, 
And  from  his  head  divides  the  yellow  hair; 
Those  curling  locks  which  from  his  youth 
he  vow’d, 

And  sacred  grew  to  Sperchius’  honour’d 
flood: 

Then,  sighing,  to  the  deep  his  looks  he 
cast, 

And  roll’d  his  eyes  around  the  wat’ry 
waste: 

* jSperchins  ! whose  waves,  in  mazy 
errors  lost, 

Delightful  roll  along  my  native  coast  ! 179 

To  whom  we  vainly  vow’d,  at  our  return, 
These  locks  to  fall,  and  hecatombs  to  burn; 
Full  fifty  rams  to  bleed  in  sacrifice, 

Where  to  the  day  thy  silver  fountains  rise, 
And  where  in  shade  of  consecrated  bowers 
Thy  altars  stand,  perfumed  with  native 
flowers  ! 

So  vow’d  my  father,  but  he  vow’d  in  vain; 
No  more  Achilles  sees  his  native  plain; 

In  that  vain  hope  these  hairs  no  longer 
grow,  188 

Patroclus  bears  them  to  the  shades  below.’ 

Thus  o’er  Patroclus  while  the  hero  pray’d, 
On  his  cold  hand  the  sacred  lock  he  laid. 
Once  more  afresh  the  Grecian  sorrows  flow: 
And  now  the  sun  had  set  upon  their  woe; 
But  to  the  King  of  Men  thus  spoke  the 
Chief: 

‘ Enough,  Atrides  ! give  the  troops  relief: 
Permit  the  mourning  legions  to  retire, 

And  let  the  Chiefs  alone  attend  the  pyre; 


The  pious  care  be  ours,  the  dead  to  burn.’ 
He  said:  the  people  to  their  ships  re 
turn:  ,9. 

While  those  deputed  to  inter  the  slain, 
Heap  with  a rising  pyramid  the  plain; 

A hundred  foot  in  length,  a hundred  wide 
The  growing  structure  spreads  on  ev’ry 
side; 

High  on  the  top  the  manly  corse  they  lay, 
And  well-fed  sheep  and  sable  oxen  slay: 
Achilles  cover’d  with  their  fat  the  dead, 
And  the  piled  victims  round  the  bod} 
spread ; 

Then  jars  of  honey  and  of  fragrant  oil 
Suspends  around,  low-bending  o’er  the  pile, 
Four  sprightly  coursers,  with  a deadl) 
groan,  2I( 

Pour  forth  their  lives,  and  on  the  pyre  are 
thrown. 

Of  nine  large  dogs,  domestic  at  his  board, 
Fall  two,  selected  to  attend  their  lord. 
Then  last  of  all,  and  horrible  to  tell, 

Sad  sacrifice  ! twelve  Trojan  captives  fell; 
On  these  the  rage  of  fire  victorious  preys,  1 
Involves,  and  joins  them  in  one  common 
blaze. 

Smear’d  with  the  bloody  rites  he  stands  on 
high, 

And  calls  the  spirit  with  a dreadful  cry: 

‘ All  hail,  Patroclus  ! let  thy  vengeful 
ghost  22c 

Hear  and  exult  on  Pluto’s  dreary  coast. 
Behold  Achilles’  promise  fully  paid, 
Twelve  Trojan  heroes  offer’d  to  thy  shade; 
But  heavier  fates  on  Hector’s  corse  attend, 
Saved  from  the  flames,  for  hungry  dogs  to 
rend.’ 

So  spake  he,  threat’ning:  but  the  Gods 
made  vain 

His  threat,  and  guard  inviolate  the  slain: 
Celestial  Venus  hover’d  o’er  his  head, 

And  roseate  unguents,  heav’nly  fragrance*! 
shed : 

She  watch’d  him  all  the  night,  and  all  the 
day,  23o 

And  drove  the  bloodhounds  from  their  des- 
tin’d prey. 

Nor  sacred  Phoebus  less  employ’d  his  care: 
He  pour’d  around  a veil  of  gather’d  air, 
And  kept  the  nerves  undried,  the  flesh 
entire, 

Against  the  solar  beam  and  Sirian  fire. 

Nor  yet  the  pile,  where  dead  Patroclus 
lies, 

Smokes,  nor  as  yet  the  sullen  flames  arise; 


THE  ILIAD 


509 


ut,  fast  beside,  Achilles  stood  in  prayer, 
invoked  the  Gods  whose  spirit  moves  the 
air, 

nd  victims  promis’d,  and  libations  cast,  240 
o gentle  Zephyr  and  the  Boreal  blast: 

|e  call’d  th’  aerial  Powers,  along  the  skies 
t.'o  breathe,  and  whisper  to  the  fires  to  rise, 
he  winged  Iris  heard  the  hero's  call, 
i.nd  instant  hasten’d  to  their  airy  hall, 
/here,  in  old  Zephyr’s  open  courts  on  high, 
at  all  the  blust’ring  brethren  of  the  sky. 
ike  shone  amidst  them,  011  her  painted 
bow; 

he  rocky  pavement  glitter’d  with  the 
» show.  249 

i  ll  from  the  banquet  rise,  and  each  invites 
he  various  Goddess  to  partake  the  rites. 
Not  so  ’.  (the  Dame  replied),  ‘ I haste  to 
go 

,0  sacred  Ocean,  and  the  floods  below; 
tv’ii  now  our  solemn  hecatombs  attend, 
nd  Heav’11  is  feasting  on  the  world’s 
green  end, 

7ith  righteous  iEthiops  (uncorrupted 

1 train)  ! 

ar  on  th’  extremest  limits  of  the  main. 
i>ut  Peleus’  son  entreats,  with  sacrifice, 
he  Western  spirit,  and  the  North  to  rise; 
et  on  Patroclus’  pile  your  blast  be 

2 driv’n,  260 

aid  bear  the  blazing  honours  high  to 

Heav’n.’ 

Swift  as  the  word,  she  vanish’d  from 

3 their  view: 

iwift  as  the  word,  the  winds  tumultuous 
( flew; 

orth  burst  the  stormy  band  with  tliun- 

d’ring  roar, 

.nd  heaps  on  heaps  the  clouds  are  toss’d 
before. 

0 the  wide  main  then  stooping  from  the 

1 skies, 

he  heaving  deeps  in  wat’ry  mountains 
I rise : 

froy  feels  the  blast  along  her  shaking 
( walls, 

ill  on  the  pile  the  gather’d  tempest  falls. 
Le  structure  crackles  in  the  roaring 
fires,  270 

! nd  all  the  night  the  plenteous  flame  as- 
J pires: 

11  night  Achilles  hails  Patroclus’  soul, 
ijfith  large  libation  from  the  golden  bowl, 
s a poor  father,  helpless  and  undone, 
lourns  o’er  the  ashes  of  an  only  sou, 


Takes  a sad  pleasure  the  last  bones  to 
burn, 

And  pour  in  tears,  ere  yet  they  close  the 
urn: 

So  stay’d  Achilles,  circling  round  the  shore, 
So  watch’d  the  flames,  till  now  they  flame 
no  more. 

’T  was  when,  emerging  thro’  the  shades  of 
night,  280 

The  morning  planet  told  th’  approach  of 
light; 

And,  fast  behind,  Aurora’s  warmer  ray 
O’er  the  broad  ocean  pour’d  the  golden 
day: 

Then  sunk  the  blaze,  the  pile  no  longer 
burn’d, 

And  to  their  caves  the  whistling  winds 
return’d: 

Across  the  Thracian  seas  their  course  they 
bore; 

The  ruffled  seas  beneath  their  passage  roar. 

Then,  parting  from  the  pile,  he  ceas’d  to 
weep, 

And  sunk  to  quiet  in  th’  embrace  of  sleep, 
Exhausted  with  his  grief:  meanwhile  the 
crowd  290 

Of  thronging  Grecians  round  Achilles 
stood: 

The  tumult  waked  him:  from  his  eyes  he 
shook 

Unwilling  slumber,  and  the  Chief  bespoke: 

‘ Ye  Kings  and  Princes  of  th’  Achaian 
name  ! 

First  let  us  quench  the  yet  remaining  flame 
With  sable  wine;  then  (as  the  rites  direct) 
The  hero’s  bones  with  careful  view  select 
(Apart,  and  easy  to  be  known  they  lie, 
Amidst  the  heap,  and  obvious  to  the  eye: 
The  rest  around  the  margins  will  be  seen, 
Promiscuous,  steeds  and  immolated  men). 
These,  wrapp’d  in  double  cauls  of  fat,  pre- 
pare ; 302 

And  in  the  golden  vase  dispose  with  care; 
There  let  them  rest,  with  decent  honour 
laid, 

Till  I shall  follow  to  tli’  infernal  shade. 
Meantime  erect  the  tomb  with  pious  hands, 
A common  structure  on  the  humble  sands; 
Hereafter  Greece  some  nobler  work  may 
raise, 

And  late  posterity  record  our  praise.’ 

The  Greeks  obey;  where  yet  the  embers 
glow,  310 

Wide  o’er  the  pile  the  sable  wine  they 
throw, 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


510 


And  deep  subsides  the  ashy  heap  below. 
Next  the  white  bones  his  sad  companions 
place, 

With  tears  collected,  in  the  golden  vase. 

The  sacred  relics  to  the  tent  they  bore; 

The  urn  a veil  of  linen  cover’d  o’er. 

That  done,  they  bid  the  sepulchre  aspire, 
And  cast  the  deep  foundations  round  the 
pyre; 

High  in  the  midst  they  heap  the  swelling 
bed 

Of  rising  earth,  memorial  of  the  dead.  320 
The  swarming  populace  the  Chief  de- 
tains, 

And  leads  amidst  a wide  extent  of  plains; 
There  placed  them  round;  then  from  the 
ships  proceeds 

A train  of  oxen,  mules,  and  stately  steeds, 
Vases  and  tripods,  for  the  funeral  games, 
Resplendent  brass,  and  more  resplendent 
dames. 

First  stood  the  prizes  to  reward  the  force 
Of  rapid  racers  in  the  dusty  course: 

A woman  for  the  first,  in  beauty’s  bloom, 
Skill’d  in  the  needle,  and  the  lab’ring 
loom ; 330 

And  a large  vase,  where  two  bright  handles 
rise, 

Of  twenty  measures  its  capacious  size. 

The  second  victor  claims  a mare  unbroke, 
Big  with  a mule,  unknowing  of  the  yoke; 
The  third,  a charger  yet  untouch’d  by 
flame; 

Four  ample  measures  held  the  shining 
frame: 

Two  golden  talents  for  the  fourth  were 
placed; 

An  ample  double  bowl  contents  the  last. 
These  in  fair  order  ranged  upon  the  plain, 
The  hero,  rising,  thus  address’d  the  train: 

‘ Behold  the  prizes,  valiant  Greeks  ! de- 
creed 341 

To  the  brave  rulers  of  the  racing  steed; 
Prizes  which  none  beside  ourself  could 
gain, 

Should  our  immortal  coursers  take  the 
plain 

(A  race  unri vail’d,  which  from  Ocean’s  God 
Peleus  receiv’d,  and  on  his  sou  bestow’d). 
But ’t  is  no  time  our  vigour  to  display, 

Nor  suit  with  them  the  games  of  this  sad 
day: 

Lost  is  Patroclus  now,  that  wont  to  deck 
Their  flowing  manes,  and  sleek  their  glossy 
neck,  359 


Sad,  as  they  shared  in  human  grief,  they 
stand, 

And  trail  those  graceful  honours, on  the 
sand  ! 

Let  others  for  the  noble  task  prepare, 

Who  trust  the  courser,  and  the  flying  car.’  I 
Fired  at  his  word,  the  rival  racers  rise; 
But,  far  the  first,  Eumelus  hopes  the  prize;  j 
Famed  tlirc’  Pieria  for  the  fleetest  breed, 
And  skill’d  to  manage  the  high-bounding 
steed. 

With  equal  ardour  bold  Tydides  swell’d, 
The  steeds  of  Tros  beneath  his  yoke  com- 
pell’d  360 

(Which  late  obey’d  the  Dardan  Chief’s 
command, 

When  scarce  a God  redeem’d  him  from  his  1 
hand). 

Then  Menelaiis  his  Podargus  brings, 

And  the  famed  courser  of  the  King  of 
Kings: 

Whom  rich  Echepolus  (more  rich  than 
brave), 

To  ’scape  the  wars,  to  Agamemnon  gave 
(iEthe  her  name),  at  home  to  end  his  days, 
Base  wealth  preferring  to  eternal  praise. 
Next  him  Antilochus  demands  the  course, 
With  beating  heart,  and  cheers  his  Pylian 
horse.  _ 370 

Experienc’d  Nestor  gives  his  son  the  reins, 
Directs  his  judgment,  and  his  heat  re- 
strains ; 

Nor  idly  warns  the  hoary  sire,  nor  hears 
The  prudent  son  with  unattending  ears: 

* My  son  ! tho’  youthful  ardour  fire  thy 
breast, 

The  Gods  have  lov’d  thee,  and  with  arts 
have  bless’d.  1 

Neptune  and  Jove  on  thee  conf err’d  the 
skill 

Swift  round  the  goal  to  turn  the  flying 
wheel. 

To  guide  thy  conduct,  little  precept  needs; 
But  slow,  and  past  their  vigour,  are  my 
steeds.  > 38c 

Fear  not  thv  rivals,  tho’  for  swiftness  known. 
Compare  those  rivals’  judgment,  and  thy 
own: 

It  is  not  strength,  but  art,  obtains  the 
prize, 

And  to  be  swift  is  less  than  to  be  wise: 

’T  is  more  by  art,  than  force  of  numerous 
strokes, 

The  dext’rous  woodman  shapes  the  stub- 
I born  oaks; 


THE  ILIAD 


511 


/ <art  the  pilot,  tliro’  the  boiling  deep 
id  howling  tempests,  steers  the  fearless 
ship; 

:id ’t  is  the  artist  wins  the  glorious  course, 
ot  those  who  trust  in  chariots  and  in 
horse.  390 

vain,  unskilful,  to  the  goal  they  strive, 
;id  short,  or  wide,  th’  ungovern’d  courser 
drive: 

i'hile  with  sure  skill,  tho’  with  inferior 
steeds, 

le  knowing  racer  to  his  end  proceeds; 
x’d  on  the  goal  his  eye  fore-runs  the 
course, 

is  hand  unerring  steers  the  steady  horse, 
id  now  contracts,  or  now  extends,  the 
rein, 

Dserving  still  the  foremost  on  the  plain, 
ark  then  the  goal,  ’t  is  easy  to  be  found ; 
ini  aged  trunk,  a cubit  from  the  ground; 

some  once-stately  oak  the  last  remains, 

? hardy  fir,  unperish’d  with  the  rains:  402 
lclosed  with  stones,  conspicuous  from 
afar, 

id  round,  a circle  for  the  wheeling  car 
ome  tomb  perhaps  of  old,  the  dead  to 
grace ; 

,r  then,  as  now,  the  limit  of  a race). 

;ar  close  to  this,  and  warily  proceed, 
little  bending  to  the  left-hand  steed; 
it  urge  the  right,  and  give  him  all  the 
reins; 

File  thy  strict  hand  his  fellow’s  head 
restrains,  410 

id  turns  him  short;  till,  doubling  as  they 
roll, 

le  wheel’s  round  naves  appear  to  brush 
the  goal ; # 

it  (not  to  break  the  car,  or  lame  the 
horse), 

ear  of  the  stony  heap  direct  the  course; 
:st,  thro’  incaution  failing,  thou  may’st  be 
; joy  to  others,  a reproach  to  me. 
j shalt  thou  pass  the  goal,  secure  of  mind, 
a!id  leave  unskilful  swiftness  far  behind, 

10’  thy  fierce  rival  drove  the  matchless 
j steed  419 

hich  bore  Adrastus,  of  celestial  breed; 
d*  the  famed  race  thro’  all  the  regions 
known, 

lat  whirl’d  the  car  of  proud  Laomedon.’ 
(lThus  (nought  unsaid)  the  much-advising 
sage 

includes;  then  sat,  stiff  with  unwieldy 
age. 


Next  bold  Meriones  was  seen  to  rise, 

The  last,  but  not  least  ardent  for  the  prize. 
They  mount  their  seats;  the  lots  their  place 
dispose 

(Roll’d  in  his  helmet,  these  Achilles 
throws) ; 

Young  Nestor  leads  the  race;  Eumelus 
then; 

And  next,  the  brother  of  the  King  of 
Men:  430 

Thy  lot,  Meriones,  the  fourth  was  cast; 
And,  far  the  bravest,  Diomed,  was  last. 
They  stand  in  order,  an  impatient  train; 
Pelides  points  the  barrier  on  the  plain, 

And  sends  before  old  Phoenix  to  the  place, 
To  mark  the  racers,  and  to  judge  the  race. 
At  once  the  coursers  from  the  barrier 
bound; 

The  lifted  scourges  all  at  once  resound; 
Their  heart,  their  eyes,  their  voice,  they 
send  before; 

And  up  the  champaign  thunder  from  the 
shore : 440 

Thick,  where  they  drive,  the  dusty  clouds 
arise, 

And  the  lost  courser  in  the  whirlwind  flies; 
Loose  011  their  shoulders  the  long  manes 
reclin’d, 

Float  in  their  speed,  and  dance  upon  the 
wind : 

The  smoking  chariots,  rapid  as  they  bound, 
Now  seem  to  touch  the  sky,  and  now  the 
ground; 

While  hot  for  Fame,  and  conquest  all  their 
care 

(Each  o’er  his  flying  courser  hung  in  air), 
Erect  with  ardour,  pois’d  upon  the  rein, 
They  pant,  they  stretch,  they  shout  along 
the  plain:  45o 

Now  (the  last  compass  fetch’d  around  the 
goal) 

At  the  near  prize  each  gathers  all  his  soul, 
Each  burns  with  double  hope,  with  double 
pain 

Tears  up  the  shore,  and  thunders  tow’rd 
the  main. 

First  flew  Eumelus  on  Pheretian  steeds; 
With  those  of  Tros,  bold  Diomed  succeeds: 
Close  on  Eumelus’  back  they  puff  the  wind, 
And  seem  just  mounting  on  his  car  behind; 
Full  on  his  neck  he  feels  the  sultry  breeze, 
And,  hov’ring  o’er,  their  stretching  shadows 
sees.  460 

Then  had  he  lost,  or  left  a doubtful  prize; 
But  angry  Phcebus  to  Tydides  flies, 


512 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


Strikes  from  liis  hand  the  scourge,  and  ren- 
ders vain 

His  matchless  horses’  labour  on  the  plain. 

Rage  fills  his  eye  with  anguish,  to  survey, 

Snatch’d  from  his  hope,  the  glories  of  the 
day. 

The  fraud  celestial  Pallas  sees  with  pain, 

Springs  to  her  knight,  and  gives  the  scourge 
again, 

And  fills  his  steeds  with  vigour.  At  a 
stroke, 

She  breaks  his  rival’s  chariot  from  the 
yoke:  . 47o 

No  more  their  way  the  startled  horses 
held; 

The  car  revers’d  came  rattling  on  the 
field; 

Shot  headlong  from  his  seat,  beside  the 
wheel, 

Prone  on  the  dust  th’  unhappy  master 
fell; 

His  batter’d  face  and  elbows  strike  the 
ground: 

Nose,  mouth,  and  front  one  undistinguish’d 
wound: 

Grief  stops  his  voice,  a torrent  drowns  his 
eyes; 

Before  him  far  the  glad  Tydides  flies; 

Minerva’s  spirit  drives  his  matchless  pace, 

And  crowns  him  victor  of  the  labour’d 
race.  480 

The  next,  tho’  distant,  Menelaus  suc- 
ceeds; 

While  thus  young  Nestor  animates  his 
steeds: 

‘ Now,  now,  my  gen’rous  pair,  exert  your 
force ; 

Not  that  we  hope  to  match  Tydides’  horse; 

Since  great  Minerva  wings  their  rapid 
way, 

And  gives  their  lord  the  honours  of  the 
day. 

But  reach  Atrides  ! shall  his  mare  out-go 

Your  swiftness  ? vanquish’d  by  a female 
foe  ? 

Thro’  your  neglect,  if,  lagging  on  the 
plain, 

The  last  ignoble  gift  be  all  we  gain,  490 

No  more  shall  Nestor’s  hand  your  food 
supply ; 

The  old  man’s  fury  rises,  and  ye  die. 

Haste  then  ! yon  narrow  road  before  our 
sight 

Presents  th’  occasion,  could  we  use  it 
right.* 


Thus  he.  The  coursers  at  their  master’s 
threat 

With  quicker  steps  the  sounding  chain' 
paign  beat. 

And  now  Antilochus,  with  nice  survey, 
Observes  the  compass  of  the  hollow  way. 
’T  was  where  by  force  of  wintry  torrents 
torn, 

Fast  by  the  road  a precipice  was  worn:  50c 
Here,  where  but  one  could  pass,  to  shun 
the  throng, 

The  Spartan  hero’s  chariot  smoked  along. 
Close  up  the  venturous  youth  resolves  to 
keep, 

Still  edging  near,  and  bears  him  tow’rd 
the  steep. 

Atrides,  trembling,  casts  his  eye  below, 
And  wonders  at  the  rashness  of  his  foe: 

‘ HolJ,  stay  your  steeds — what  madness 
thus  to  ride 

This  narrow  way  ! Take  larger  field  ’ (ho 
cried), 

‘ Or  both  must  fall.’  Atrides  cried  in  vain 
He  flies  more  fast,  and  throws  up  all  tho 
rein.  s« 

Far  as  an  able  arm  the  disc  can  send, 
When  youthful  rivals  their  full  force  ex- 
tend, 

So  far,  Antilochus  ! thy  chariot  flew 
Before  the  King  : he,  cautious,  backward 
drew 

His  horse  compell’d;  foreboding  in  his 
fears 

The  rattling  ruin  of  the  clashing  cars, 

The  flound’ring  coursers  rolling  on  tho 
plain, 

And  conquest  lost  thro’  frantic  haste  to 
gain.  , 

But  thus  upbraids  his  rival  as  he  flies: 

‘ Go,  furious  youth  ! ungen’rous  and  un- 
wise ! s2‘ 

Go,  but  expect  not  I ’ll  the  prize  resign; 
Add  perjury  to  fraud,  and  make  it  thine.’ 
Then  to  his  steeds  with  all  his  force  lie 
cries: 

‘Be  swift,  be  vig’rous,  and  regain  tho 
prize  ! 

Your  rivals,  destitute  of  youthful  force, 
With  fainting  knees  shall  labour  in  tin 
course, 

And  yield  the  glory  yours.’  The  steeds'! 
obey ; 

Already  at  their  heels  they  wing  their  } 
way, 

And  seem  already  to  retrieve  the  day.  J 


THE  ILIAD 


Meantime  the  Grecians  in  a ring  be- 
held 53o 

'he  coursers  bounding  o’er  the  dusty  field, 
'he  first  who  mark’d  them  was  the  Cretan 
King; 

ligh  on  a rising  ground,  above  the  ring, 
i'lie  Monarch  sat;  from  whence  with  sure 
survey 

(e  well  observ’d  the  Chief  who  led  the 
way, 

,.nd  heard  from  far  his  animating  cries, 

,.nd  saw  the  foremost  steed  with  sharpen’d 
eyes; 

'n  whose  broad  front  a blaze  of  shining 
white, 

like  the  full  moon,  stood  obvious  to  the 
sight.  . > S39 

.e  saw;  and,  rising,  to  the  Greeks  begun: 
Are  yonder  horse  discern’d  by  me  alone  ? 
r can  ye,  all,  another  Chief  survey, 
ind  other  steeds,  than  lately  led  the  way  ? 
hose,  tho’  the  swiftest,  by  some  God  with- 
held, 

ie  sure  disabled  in  the  middle  field: 

;or  since  the  goal  they  doubled,  round  the 
plain 

search  to  find  them,  but  I search  in  vain, 
erchance  the  reins  forsook  the  driver’s 
hand, 

nd,  turn’d  too  short,  he  tumbled  on  the 
strand, 

lot  from  the  chariot;  while  his  coursers 
stray  SSo 

rith  frantic  fury  from  the  destin’d  way. 
ise  then  some  other,  and  inform  my 
sight 

?or  these  dim  eyes,  perhaps,  discern  not 
right); 

et  sure  he  seems  (to  judge  by  shape  and 
air) 

:he  great  iEtolian  Chief,  renown’d  in  war.’ 
‘Old  man!  ’ (Oi'leus  rashly  thus  replies), 
?hy  tongue  too  hastily  confers  the  prize. 

|f  those  who  view  the  course,  not  sharpest 
eyed, 

ipr  youngest,  yet  the  readiest  to  decide, 
imelus’  steeds  high-bounding  in  the 
chase,  560 

ill,  as  at  first,  nnri vail’d  lead  the  race; 
kvell  discern  him,  as  he  shakes  the  rein, 
id  hear  his  shouts  victorious  o’er  the 
plain.’ 

•nus  he.  Idomeneus  incens’d  rejoin’d: 
►arb’rous  of  words ! and  arrogant  of 
mind  ! 


513 


Contentious  Prince  ! of  all  the  Greeks  be- 
side 

The  last  in  merit,  as  the  first  in  pride  ! 

To  vile  reproach  what  answer  can  we 
make  ? 

A goblet  or  a tripod  let  us  stake, 

And  be  the  King  the  judge.  The  most 
unwise  570 

Will  learn  their  rashness,  when  they  pay 
the  price.’ 

He  said:  and  Ajax,  by  mad  passion 
borne, 

Stern  had  replied;  fierce  scorn  enhancing 
scorn 

To  fell  extremes.  But  Thetis’  godlike  son, 
Awful,  amidst  them  rose;  and  thus  begun: 

‘ Forbear,  ye  Chiefs  ! reproachful  to ' 
contend: 

Much  would  ye  blame,  should  others  thus 
offend: 

And  lo  ! tli’  approaching  steeds  your  con- 
test end.’ 

No  sooner  had  he  spoke,  but,  thund’ring 
near, 

Drives,  thro’  a stream  of  dust,  the  chario- 
teer; 580 

High  o’er  his  head  the  circling  lash  he 
wields; 

His  bounding  horses  scarcely  touch  the 
fields: 

His  car  amidst  the  dusty  whirlwind  roll’d, 
Bright  with  the  mingled  blaze  of  tin  and 
gold, 

Refulgent  thro’  the  cloud:  no  eye  could 
find 

The  track  his  flying  wheels  had  left  be- 
hind : 

And  the  fierce  coursers  urged  their  rapid 
pace 

So  swift,  it  seem’d  a flight,  and  not  a race. 
Now  victor  at  the  goal  Tydides  stands, 
Quits  his  bright  car,  and  springs  upon  the 
sands;  S90 

From  the  hot  steeds  the  sweaty  torrents 
stream ; 

The  well-plied  whip  is  hung  athwart  the 
beam : 

With  joy  brave  Sthenelus  receives  the 
prize, 

The  tripod-vase,  and  dame  with  radiant 
eyes: 

These  to  the  ships  his  train  triumphant 
leads, 

The  Chief  himself  unyokes  the  panting 
steeds. 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


5H 


Young  Nestor  follows  (who  by  art,  not 
force, 

O’erpass’d  Atrides),  second  in  the  course. 
Behind,  Atrides  urged  the  race,  more  near 
Than  to  the  courser  in  his  swift  career  600 
The  foll’wing  car,  just  touching  with  his 
heel 

And  brushing  with  his  tail  the  whirling 
wheel: 

Such,  and  so  narrow,  now  the  space  be- 
tween 

The  rivals,  late  so  distant  on  the  green; 

So  soon  swift  iEthe  her  lost  ground  re 
gain’d, 

One  length,  one  moment,  had  the  race  ob- 
tain’d. 

Merion  pursued,  at  greater  distance 
still, 

With  tardier  coursers,  and  inferior  skill. 
Last  came,  Admetus  ! thy  unhappy  son ; ) 
Slow  dragg’d  the  steeds  his  batter’d  I 
chariot  on;  610  f 

Achilles  saw,  and  pitying  thus  begun:  J 

‘ Behold  ! the  man  whose  matchless  art 
surpass’d 

The  sons  of  Greece  ! the  ablest,  yet  the 
last  ! 

Fortune  denies,  but  justice  bids  us  pay  ] 
(Since  great  Tydides  bears  the  first  away)  '>■ 
To  him  the  second  honours  of  the  day.’  J 
The  Greeks  consent  with  loud  applaud- 
ing cries, 

And  then  Eumelus  had  receiv’d  the  prize, 
But  youthful  Nestor,  jealous  of  his  fame, 
Th’  award  opposes,  and  asserts  his  claim:  620 
‘ Think  not  ’ (he  cries),  ‘ I tamely  will  re- 
sign, 

O Peleus’  son  ! the  mare  so  justly  mine. 
What  if  the  Gods,  the  skilful  to  confound, 
Have  thrown  the  horse  and  horseman  to 
the  ground  ? 

Perhaps  he  sought  not  Heav’n  by  sacrifice, 
And  vows  omitted  forfeited  the  prize. 

If  yet  (distinction  to  thy  friend  to  show, 
And  please  a soul  desirous  to  bestow) 

Some  gift  must  grace  Eumelus,  view  thy 
store 

Of  beauteous  handmaids,  steeds,  and  shin- 
ing ore;  630 

An  ample  present  let  him  thence  receive, 
And  Greece  shall  praise  thy  gen’rous  thirst 
to  give. 

But  this,  my  prize,  I never  shall  forego; 
This,  who  but  touches,  Warriors  " is  my 
foe.’ 


Thus  spake  the  youth,  nor  did  his  words 
offend ; 

Pleas’d  with  the  well-turn’d  flattery  of  a 
friend, 

Achilles  smiled:  ‘The  gift  proposed’  (he 
cried), 

‘ Antilochus  ! we  shall  ourselves  provide. 
With  plates  of  brass  the  corslet  cover’d 
o’er 

(The  same  renown’d  Asteropseus  wore),  64c 
Whose  glitt’ring  margins  rais’d  with  silver 
shine 

(No  vulgar  gift),  Eumelus,  shall  be  thine. 

He  said  : Automedon  at  his  command 
The  corslet  brought,  and  gave  it  to  his 
hand. 

Distinguish’d  by  his  friend,  his  bosom  glows 
With  gen’rous  joy;  then  Menelaus  rose; 
The  herald  placed  the  sceptre  in  his  hands 
And  still’d  the  clamour  of  the  shouting 
bands. 

Not  without  cause  incens’d  at  Nestor’s  son 
And  inly  grieving,  thus  the  King  begun: 

‘ The  praise  of  wisdom,  in  thy  youth  ob- 
tain’d,  651 

An  act  so  rash,  Antilochus,  has  stain’d. 
Robb’d  of  my  glory  and  my  just  reward, 
To  you,  O Grecians!  be  my  wrong  de- 
clared : 

So  not  a leader  shall  our  conduct  blame, 
Or  judge  me  envious  of  a rival’s  fame. 

But  shall  not  we,  ourselves,  the  trutt 
maintain  ? 

What  needs  appealing  in  a fact  so  plain  ? 
What  Greek  shall  blame  me,  if  I bid  tlie< 
rise 

And  vindicate  by  oath  th’  ill-gotten  prize? 
Rise,  if  thou  darest,  before  thy  chariol 
stand,  66 

The  driving  scourge  high  lifted  in  thy  hand 
And  touch  thy  steeds,  and  swear  thy  wlioh 
intent 

Was  but  to  conquer,  not  to  circumvent. 
Swear  by  that  God  whose  liquid  arms  sur 
round 

The  globe,  and  whose  dread  earthquake 
heave  the  ground.’ 

The  prudent  Chief  with  calm  attentioi 
heard ; 

Then  mildly  thus:  ‘Excuse,  if  youth  hav< 
err’d ; 

Superior  as  thou  art,  forgive  th’  offence, 
Nor  I thv  equal,  or  in  years,  or  sense  67 
Thou  know’st  the  errors  of  unripen’d  age, 
Weak  are  its  counsels,  headlong  is  its  rage 


THE  ILIAD 


5T5 


The  prize  I quit,  if  thou  thy  wrath  resign; 
The  mare,  or  aught  thou  ask’st,  be  freely 
thine, 

Ere  I become  (from  thy  dear  friendship 
torn) 

Hateful  to  thee,  and  to  the  Gods  forsworn.’ 

So  spoke  Antiloch  us;  and  at  the  word 
The  mare  contested  to  the  King  restor’d. 
Joy  swells  his  soul,  as  when  the  vernal  grain 
Lifts  the  green  ear  above  the  springing 
plain,  680 

The  fields  their  vegetable  life  renew, 

And  laugh  and  glitter  with  the  morning 
dew: 

jSuch  joy  the  Spartan’s  shining  face  o’er- 
spread, 

And  lifted  his  gay  heart,  while  thus  he  said : 

« Still  may  our  souls,  O gen’rous  youth  ! 
agree; 

’T  is  now  Atrides’  turn  to  yield  to  thee. 
Rash  heat  perhaps  a moment  might  con- 
trol, 

Not  break,  the  settled  temper  of  thy  soul. 
Not  but  (my  friend)  t’  is  still  the  wiser  way 
To  waive  contention  with  superior  sway: 

For  ah  ! how  few,  who  should  like  thee 
offend,  # 69i 

Like  thee,  have  talents  to  regain  the  friend? 
To  plead  indulgence,  and  thy  fault  atone, 
Suffice  thy  father’s  merits,  and  thy  own: 
Gen’rous  alike,  for  me  the  sire  and  son 
Have  greatly  suffer’d,  and  have  greatly 
done. 

I yield  that  all  may  know  my  soul  can 
bend, 

Nor  is  my  pride  preferr’d  before  my 
friend.’ 

He  said : and  pleas’d  his  passion  to  com- 
mand, 

Resign’d  the  courser  to  Noe  moil’s  hand,  700 
Friend  of  the  youthful  Chief:  himself  con- 
tent, 

The  shining  charger  to  his  vessel  sent. 

, The  golden  talents  Merion  next  obtain’d; 
The  fifth  reward,  the  double  bowl,  re- 
main’d. 

Achilles  this  to  rev’rend  Nestor  bears, 

, And  thus  the  purpose  of  his  gift  declares: 

‘ Accept  thou  this,  O sacred  Sire  ’ (he 
said), 

‘ In  dear  memorial  of  Patroclus  dead; 

Dead,  and  for  ever  lost,  Patroclus  lies,  709 
For  ever  snatch’d  from  our  desiring  eyes! 
Take  thou  this  token  of  a grateful  heart: 
Tho’  ’t  is  not  thine  to  hurl  the  distant  dart, 


The  quoit  to  toss,  the  pond’rous  mace  to 
wield, 

Or  urge  the  race,  or  wrestle  on  the  field: 
Thy  pristine  vigour  age  has  overthrown, 
But  left  the  glory  of  the  past  thy  own.’ 

He  said,  and  placed  the  goblet  at  his 
side: 

With  joy  the  venerable  King  replied: 

‘ Wisely  and  well,  my  son,  thy  words  have 
prov’d 

A senior  honour’d  and  a friend  belov’d!  720 
Too  true  it  is,  deserted  of  my  strength, 
These  wither’d  arms  and  limbs  have  fail’d 
at  length. 

Oh  ! had  I now  that  force  I felt  of  yore, 
Known  thro’  Buprasium  and  the  Pylian 
shore  ! 

Victorious  then  in  ev’ry  solemn  game, 
Ordain’d  to  Amarynces’  mighty  name; 

The  brave  Epeians  gave  my  glory  way, 
iEtolians,  Pylians,  all  resign’d  the  day. 

I quell’d  Clytomedes  in  fights  of  hand, 

And  backward  hurled  Aucseus  on  the 
sand,  730 

Surpassed  Iphiclus  in  the  swift  career, 
Phyleus  and  Polydorus,  with  the  spear: 

The  sons  of  Actor  won  the  prize  of  horse, 
But  won  by  numbers,  not  by  art  or  force: 
For  the  famed  twins,  impatient  to  survey 
Prize  after  prize  by  Nestor  borne  away, 
Sprung  to  their  car;  and  with  united  pains 
One  lash’d  the  coursers,  while  one  ruled 
the  reins. 

Such  once  I was  ! Now  to  these  tasks  suc- 
ceeds 739 

A younger  race,  that  emulate  our  deeds: 

I yield,  alas  ! (to  age  who  must  not  yield?) 
Tho’  once  the  foremost  hero  of  the  field. 

Go  thou,  my  son  ! bv  gen’rous  friendship 
led, 

With  martial  honours  decorate  the  dead; 
While  pleas’d  I take  the  gift  thy  hands 
present 

(Pledge  of  benevolence,  and  kind  intent); 
Rejoic’d,  of  all  the  numerous  Greeks,  to  see 
Not  one  but  honours  sacred  age  and  me: 
Those  due  distinctions  thou  so  well  canst 
pay,  ^ 749 

May  the  just  Gods  return  another  day.’ 

Proud  of  the  gift,  thus  spake  the  Full  of 
Days : 

Achilles  heard  him,  prouder  of  the  praise. 

The  prizes  next  are  order’d  to  the  field, 
For  the  bold  champions  who  the  csestus 
wield. 


516 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


A stately  mule,  as  yet  by  toils  unbroke, 

Of  six  years’  age,  unconscious  of  the  yoke, 
Is  to  the  circus  led,  and  firmly  bound; 
Next  stands  a goblet,  massy,  large,  and 
round. 

Achilles  rising  thus:  ‘ Let  Greece  excite 
Two  heroes  equal  to  this  hardy  fight;  760 
Who  dares  his  foe  with  lifted  arms  pro- 
voke, 

And  rush  beneath  the  long- descending 
stroke. 

On  whom  Apollo  shall  the  palm  bestow, 
And  whom  the  Greeks  supreme  by  con- 
quest know, 

This  mule  his  dauntless  labour  shall  re- 

pay; 

The  vanquish’d  bear  the  massy  bowl  away.’ 

The  dreadful  combat  great  Epeiis  chose: 
High  o’er  the  crowd,  enormous  bulk  ! he 
rose, 

And  seiz’d  the  beast,  and  thus  began  to  say : 
‘ Stand  forth  some  man,  to  bear  the  bowl 
away  ! 77o 

(Price  of  his  ruin)  for  who  dares  deny 
This  mule  my  right  ? th’  undoubted  vic- 
tor I. 

Others,  ’t  is  own’d,  in  fields  of  battle  shine, 
But  the  first  honours  of  this  fight  are  mine; 
For  who  excels  in  all?  Then  let  my  foe 
Draw  near,  but  first  his  certain  fortune 
know, 

Secure,  this  band  shall  his  whole  frame 
confound, 

Mash  all  his  bones,  and  all  his  body 
pound: 

So  let  his  friends  be  nigh,  a needful  train, 
To  heave  the  batter’d  carcass  off  the 
plain.’  78o 

Tire  Giant  spoke;  and  in  a stupid  gaze 
The  host  beheld  him,  silent  with  amaze  ! 

’T  was  thon,  Enryalus  J who  durst  aspire 
To  meet  his  might,  and  emulate  thy  sire, 
The  great  Meeistheus;  wdio  in  days  of  yore 
In  Theban  games  the  noblest  trophy  bore 
(The  games  ordain’d  dead  CEdipus  to 
grace), 

And  singly  vanquish’d  the  Cadmean  race. 
Him  great  Tydides  urges  to  contend, 

Warm  with  the  hopes  of  conquest  for  his 
friend ; 7go 

Officious  with  the  cincture  girds  him  round; 
And  to  his  wrist  the  gloves  of  death  are 
bound. 

Amid  the  circle  now  each  champion  stands, 
And  poises  high  in  air  his  iron  hands: 


With  clashing  gauntlets  now  they  fiercely  ) 
close, 

Their  crackling  jaws  re-echo  to  the  blows,  > 
And  painful  sweat  from  all  their  mem-  I 
bers  flows.  J 

At  length  Epeiis  dealt  a weighty  blow 
lull  on  the  cheek  of  his  unwary  foe;  799 
Beneath  that  pond’rous  arm’s  resistless  sway 
Down  dropp’d  he,  nerveless,  and  extended 
lay. 

As  a large  fish,  when  winds  and  waters 
roar, 

By  some  huge  billow  dash’d  against  the 
shore, 

Lies  panting  : not  less  batter’d  with  his 
wound, 

The  bleeding  hero  pants  upon  the  ground, 
To  rear  his  fallen  foe  the  victor  lends, 
Scornful,  his  hand;  and  gives  him  to  his 
friends; 

Whose  arms  support  him,  reeling  thro’  the 
throng. 

And  dragging  his  disabled  legs  along; 
Nodding,  his  head  hangs  down,  his  shoulder 
o’er;  8lo 

His  mouth  and  nostrils  pour  the  clotted 
gore; 

Wrapp’d  round  in  mists  he  lies,  and  lost  to 
thought; 

His  friends  receive  the  bowl,  too  dearly 
bought. 

The  third  bold  game  Achilles  next  de- 
mands, 

And  calls  the  wrestlers  to  the  level  sands  : 
A massy  tripod  for  the  victor  lies, 

Of  twice  six  oxen  its  reputed  price: 

And  next,  the  loser’s  spirits  to  restore, 

A female  captive,  valued  but  at  four; 
Scarce  did  the  Chief  the  vig’rous  strife  pro- 
pose, . 820 

When  tower-like  Ajax  and  Ulysses  rose. 
Amid  the  ring  each  nervous  rival  stands. 
Embracing  rigid  with  implicit  hands: 

Close  lock’d  above,  their  heads  and  arms 
are  mix’d; 

Below,  their  planted  feet  at  distance  fix’d: 
Like  two  strong  rafters,  which  the  builder 
forms 

Proof  to  the  wintry  winds  and  howling 
storms, 

Their  tops  connected,  bnt  at  wider  space 
Fix’d  on  the  centre  stands  their  solid  base. 
Now  to  the  grasp  each  manly  body 
bends;  830 

The  humid  sweat  from  every  pore  descends; 


THE  ILIAD 


5*7 


'heir  bones  resound  with  blows  : sides, 
shoulders,  thighs, 

well  to  each  gripe,  and  bloody  tumours 
rise. 

Tor  could  Ulysses,  for  his  art  renown’d, 
Verturn  the  strength  of  Ajax  on  the 
I ground; 

Tor  could  the  strength  of  Ajax  overthrow 

The  watchful  caution  of  his  artful  foe. 

VTiile  the  long  strife  ev’n  tired  the  lookers- 

i on, 

'hus  to  Ulysses  spoke  great  Telamon: 

‘Or  let  me  lift  thee,  Chief,  or  lift  thou 
me:  840 

'rove  we  our  force,  and  Jove  the  rest  de- 
cree.’ 

He  said:  and,  straining,  heav’d  him  off 
the  ground 

iVith  matchless  strength:  that  time  Ulysses 
found 

'he  strength  t’  evade,  and  where  the  nerves 
combine 

[is  ankle  struck:  the  giant  fell  supine; 
JTlysses  foil’ wing,  on  his  bosom  lies; 
houts  of  applause  run  rattling  thro’  the 
i skies. 

. jax  to  lift,  Ulysses  next  essays, 
le  barely  stirr’d  him,  but  he  could  not 
raise ; 

dis  knee  lock’d  fast,  the  foe’s  attempt  de- 
nied; 850 

aid,  grappling  close,  they  tumble  side  by 
side. 

)efiled  with  honourable  dust,  they  roll, 
till  breathing  strife,  and  unsubdued  of 
soul: 

Lgain  they  rage,  again  to  combat  rise; 

VTien  great  Achilles  thus  divides  the  prize: 
1 ‘ Your  noble  vigour,  oh  my  friends,  re- 
« strain; 

Tor  weary  out  your  gen’rous  strength  in 
vain. 

re  both  have  won:  let  others  who  excel, 
Tow  prove  that  prowess  you  have  prov’d 
so  well.’  859 

The  hero’s  words  the  willing  Chiefs" 
obey, 

'rom  their  tired  bodies  wipe  the  dust  I 
away, 

md,  clothed  anew,  the  foll’wing  games 
survey. 

And  now  succeed  the  giftsordain’d  to  grace 
?he  youths  contending  in  the  rapid  race: 

L silver  urn  that  full  six  measures  held, 
iy  none  in  weight  or  workmanship  excell’d; 


Sidonian  artists  taught  the  frame  to  shine, 
Elaborate,  with  artifice  divine; 

Whence  Tyrian  sailors  did  the  prize  trans- 
port, 869 

And  gave  to  Thoas  at  the  Lemnian  port: 
From  him  descended,  good  Eunseus  heir’d  ) 
The  glorious  gift;  and,  for  Lycaon  spared,  >• 
To  brave  Patroelus  gave  the  rich  reward. ) 
Now,  the  same  hero’s  funeral  rites  to  grace, 
It  stands  the  prize  of  swiftness  in  the  race. 
A well-fed  ox  was  for  the  second  placed; 
And  half  a talent  must  content  the  last. 
Achilles  rising  then  bespoke  the  train: 

‘ Who  hope  the  palm  of  swiftness  to  ob- 
tain, 

Stand  forth,  and  bear  these  prizes  from  the 
plain.’  880 

The  hero  said,  and,  starting  from  his 
place, 

Oflean  Ajax  rises  to  the  race ; 

Ulysses  next;  and  he  whose  speed  sur- 
pass’d 

His  youthful  equals,  Nestor’s  son  the  last. 
Hanged  in  a line  the  ready  racers  stand ; 
Pelides  points  the  barrier  with  his  hand: 
All  start  at  once;  Oileus  led  the  race; 

The  next  Ulysses,  measuring  pace  with  pace: 
Behind  him,  diligently  close,  he  sped,  889 
As  closely  foll’wing  as  the  running  thread 
The  spindle  follows,  and  displays  the 
charms 

Of  the  fair  spinster’s  breast,  and  moving 
arms: 

Graceful  in  motion  thus,  his  foe  he  plies, 
And  treads  each  footstep  ere  the  dust  can 
rise: 

His  glowing  breath  upon  his  shoulders 
plays; 

Th’  admiring  Greeks  loud  acclamations 
raise: 

To  him  they  give  their  wishes,  hearts,  and 
eyes, 

And  send  their  souls  before  him  as  he  flies. 
Now  three  times  turn’d  in  prospect  of  the 
goal, 

The  panting  chief  to  Pallas  lifts  Ills  soul:  90a 
‘ Assist,  O Goddess  ! ’ (thus  in  thought  he 
pray’d) 

And,  present  at  his  thought,  descends  the 
maid. 

Buoy’d  by  her  heav’nly  force,  he  seems  to 
swim, 

And  feels  a pinion  lifting  ev’rv  limb. 

All  fierce,  and  ready  now  the  prize  to  gain* 
Unhappy  Ajax  stumbles  on  the  plain 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


5* 


(O’erturn’d  by  Pallas)  where  the  slipp’ry 
shore 

Was  clogg’d  with  slimy  dung,  and  mingled 
gore 

(The  self-same  place  beside  Patroclus’  pyre, 
Where  late  the  slaughter’d  victims  fed  the 
fire)  l 910 

Besmear’d  with  filth,  and  blotted  o’er  with 
clay, 

Obscene  to  sight,  the  rueful  racer  lay: 

The  well-fed  bull  (the  second  prize)  he 
shared, 

And  left  the  urn  Ulysses’  rich  reward. 
Then,  grasping  by  the  horn  the  mighty 
beast, 

The  baffied  hero  thus  the  Greeks  address’d: 

‘Accursed  Fate  ! the  conquest  I forego; 
A mortal  I,  a Goddess  was  my  fae: 

She  urged  her  fav’rite  on  the  rapid  way, 
And  Pallas,  not  Ulysses,  won  the  day.’  920 

Thus  sourly  wail’d  he,  sputt’ring  dirt  and 
gore ; 

A burst  of  laughter  echoed  thro’  the  shore. 
Antilochus,  more  humorous  than  the  rest, 
Takes  the  last  prize  and  takes  it  with  a 
jest: 

‘ Why  with  our  wiser  elders  should  we 
strive  ? 

The  Gods  still  love  them,  and  they  always 
thrive. 

Ye  see,  to  Ajax  I must  yield  the  prize; 

He  to  Ulysses,  still  more  aged  and  wise 
(A  green  old  age  unconscious  of  decays, 
That  proves  the  hero  born  in  better 
days) ; 930 

Behold  his  vigour  in  this  active  race  ! 
Achilles  only  boasts  a swifter  pace: 

For  who  can  match  Achilles  ? He  who 
can, 

Must  yet  be  more  than  hero,  more  than 
man.’ 

Th’  effect  succeeds  the  speech.  Pelides 
cries, 

‘ Thy  artful  praise  deserves  a better  prize. 
Nor  Greece  in  vain  shall  hear  thy  friend 
extoll’d; 

Receive  a talent  of  the  purest  gold.’ 

The  youth  departs  content.  The  host  ad- 
mire 

The  son  of  Nestor,  worthy  of  his  sire.  940 

Next  these  a buckler,  spear,  and  helm  he 
brings; 

Cast  on  the  plain  the  brazen  burthen  rings: 
Arms,  which  of  late  divine  Sarpedon  wore, 
And  great  Patroclus  in  short  triumph  bore. 


‘ Stand  forth,  the  bravest  of  our  host  ’ (h< 
cries), 

‘ Whoever  dares  deserve  so  rich  a prize  ! 
Now  grace  the  lists  before  our  army’ 
sight, 

And,  sheathed  in  steel,  provoke  his  foe  ti 
fight. 

Who  first  the  jointed  armour  shall  ex 
plore, 

And  stain  his  rival’s  mail  with  issuing 
gore;  95 

The  sword  Asteropsetis  possess’d  of  old 
(A  Thracian  blade,  distinct  with  studs  o 
gold), 

Shall  pay  the  stroke,  and  grace  the  strik 
er’s  side; 

These  arms  in  common  let  the  chief: 
divide: 

For  each  brave  champion,  when  the  com 
bat  ends, 

A sumptuous  banquet  at  our  tent  attends. 

Fierce  at  the  word,  up  rose  great  Tydeus 
son, 

And  the  huge  bulk  of  Ajax  Telamon: 

Clad  in  refulgent  steel,  on  either  hand,  95 
The  dreadful  chiefs  amid  the  circle  stand : 
Low’ring  they  meet,  tremendous  to  tin 
sight ; 

Each  Argive  bosom  beats  with  fierce  de 
light. 

Opposed  in  arms  not  long  they  idly  stood, 
But  thrice  they  closed,  and  thrice  the  charg 
renew’d. 

A furious  pass  the  spear  of  Ajax  made 
Thro’  the  broad  shield,  but  at  the  corsle 
stay’d: 

Not  thus  the  foe;  his  jav’lin  aim’d  above 
The  buckler’s  margin,  at  the  neck  he  drove 
But  Greece,  now  trembling  for  her  hero’ 
life, 

Bade  share  the  honours,  and  surcease  th 
strife.  97 

Yet  still  the  victor’s  due  Tydides  gains, 
With  him  the  sword  and  studded  belt  re 
mains. 

Then  hurl’d  the  hero,  thund’ring  on  th 
ground, 

A mass  of  iron  (an  enormous  round), 
Whose  weight  and  size  the  circling  Greek 
admire, 

Rude  from  the  furnace,  and  but  shaped  b 
fire. 

This  mighty  quoit  Eetion  wont  to  rear, 
And  from  his  whirling  arm  dismiss  ii 
air: 


THE  ILIAD 


ST9 


1 The  giant  by  Achilles  slain,  he  stow’d 
Among  his  spoils  this  memorable  load.  980 
For  this  he  bids  those  nervous  artists  vie, 
That  teach  the  disc  to  sound  along  the  sky: 

‘ Let  him  whose  might  can  hurl  this  bowl, 
arise; 

Who  farthest  hurls  it,  takes  it  as  his 
prize: 

If  he  be  one  enrich’d  with  large  domain 
Of  downs  for  flocks,  and  arable  for  grain, 
Small  stock  of  iron  needs  that  man  pro- 
vide; 

His  hinds  and  swains  whole  years  shall  be 
supplied 

From  hence  ; nor  ask  the  neighb’ring  city’s 
aid 

For  ploughshares,  wheels,  and  all  the  ru- 
ral trade.’  990 

Stern  Polypcetes  stepp’d  before  the 
throng, 

And  great  Leonteus,  more  than  mortal 
strong: 

Whose  force  with  rival  forces  to  oppose, 

Up  rose  great  Ajax;  up  Epeiis  rose. 

Each  stood  in  order:  first  Epeiis  threw; 

I High  o’er  the  wond’ring  crowds  the  whirl- 
ing circle  flew. 

Leonteus  next  a little  space  surpass’d, 

And  third,  the  strength  of  godlike  Ajax 
cast: 

O’er  both  their  marks  it  flew;  till,  fiercely 
j flung 

From  Polypcetes’  arm,  the  discus  sung:  1000 
Far  as  a swain  his  whirling  sheephook 
throws, 

That  distant  falls  among  the  grazing  cows, 
So  past  them  all  the  rapid  circle  flies: 

His  friends  (while  loud  applauses  shake 

the  skies)  > 

With  force  conjoin’d  heave  off  the 
weighty  prize.  J 

, Those  who  in  skilful  archery  contend 
He  next  invites,  the  twanging  bow  to  bend: 

1 And  twice  ten  axes  casts  amidst  the  round 
(Ten  doubie-edg’d,  and  ten  that  singly 
wound). 

The  mast,  which  late  a first-rate  galley 
bore,  1010 

1 The  hero  fixes  in  the  sandy  shore: 

To  the  tall  top  a milk-white  dove  they  tie, 

1 The  trembling  mark  at  which  their  arrows 
%• 

‘Whose  weapon  strikes  yon  flutt’ring  bird 
shall  bear 

These  two-edg’d  axes,  terrible  in  war: 


The  single,  he  whose  shaft  divides  the 
cord.’ 

He  said:  experienc’d  Merion  took  the  word; 
And  skilful  Teucer:  in  the  helm  they  threw 
Their  lots  inscribed,  and  forth  the  latter 
flew. 

Swift  from  the  string  the  sounding  arrow 
flies;  1020 

But  flies  unblest  ! No  grateful  sacrifice, 
No  firstling  lambs,  unheedful  ! didst  thou 
vow 

To  Phoebus,  patron  of  the  shaft  and  bow. 
For  this,  thy  well-aiin’d  arrow,  turn’d 
aside, 

Err’d  from  the  dove,  yet  cut  the  cord  that 
tied: 

Adown  the  main-mast  fell  the  parted 
string, 

And  the  free  bird  to  Heav’n  displays  her 
wing: 

Seas,  shores,  and  skies  with  loud  applause 
resound, 

And  Merion  eager  meditates  the  wound: 

He  takes  the  bow,  directs  the  shaft  above, 
And,  foll’wing  with  his  eye  the  soaring 
dove,  1031 

Implores  the  God  to  speed  it  thro’  the 
skies, 

With  vows  of  firstling  lambs,  and  grateful 
sacrifice. 

The  dove,  in  airy  circles  as  she  wheels, 
Amid  the  clouds  the  piercing  arrow  feels; 
Quite  thro’  and  thro’  the  point  its  passage 
found, 

And  at  his  feet  fell  bloody  to  the  ground. 
The  wounded  bird,  ere  yet  she  breathed 
her  last 

With  flagging  wings  alighted  on  the  mast, 
A moment  hung,  and  spread  her  pinions 
there,  1040 

Then  sudden  dropp’d,  and  left  her  life  in 
air. 

From  the  pleas’d  crowd  new  peals  of  thun- 
der rise, 

And  to  the  ships  brave  Merion  bears  the 
prize. 

To  close  the  funeral  games,  Achilles  last 
A massy  spear  amid  the  circle  placed, 

And  ample  charger  of  unsullied  frame, 
With  flowers  high  wrought,  not  blacken’d 
yet  by  flame. 

For  these  he  bids  the  heroes  prove  their 
art, 

Whose  dext’rous  skill  directs  the  flying 
dart. 


$20 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


Here  too  great  Meriort  hopes  the  noble 
prize  | 1050 

Nor  here  disdain'd  tile  King  of  Men  to  rise. 
With  joy  Pelides  saw  the  honour  paid, 

Rose  to  the  Monarch,  and  respectful  said: 

‘ Thee  first  in  virtue,  as  in  power  supreme, 
O King  of  Nations!  all  thy  Greeks  proclaim; 
In  ev’ry  martial  game  thy  worth  attest, 
And  know  thee  both  their  greatest  and 
their  best; 

Take  then  the  prize,  but  let  brave  Merion 
bear 

This  beamy  jav’lin  in  thy  brother’s  war.’ 

Pleas’d  from  the  hero’s  lips  his  praise  to 
hear,  1060 

The  King  to  Merion  gives  the  brazen  spear; 
But,  set  apart  for  sacred  use,  commands 
The  glitt’ring  charger  to  Talthybius’  hands. 


BOOK  XXIV 

THE  REDEMPTION  OF  THE  BODY  OF  HECTOR 
THE  ARGUMENT 

The  Gods  deliberate  about  the  redemption  of 
Hector’s  body.  Jupiter  sends  Thetis  to 
Achilles  to  dispose  him  for  the  restoring  it, 
and  Iris  to  Priam,  to  encourage  him  to  go  in 
person,  and  treat  for  it.  The  old  King,  not- 
withstanding the  remonstrances  of  his  Queen, 
makes  ready  for  the  journey,  to  which  he  is 
encouraged  by  an  omen  from  Jupiter.  He 
sets  forth  in  his  chariot,  with  a wagon  loaded 
with  presents,  under  the  charge  of  Idaeus  the 
herald.  Mercury  descends  in  the  shape  of  a 
young  man,  and  conducts  him  to  the  pavilion 
of  Achilles.  Their  conversation  on  the  way. 
Priam  finds  Achilles  at  his  table,  casts  him- 
self at  his  feet,  and  begs  for  the  body  of  his 
son  : Achilles,  moved  with  compassion, 
rants  his  request,  detains  him  one  night  in 
is  tent,  and  the  next  morning  sends  him 
home  with  the  body  : the  Trojans  run  out  to 
meet  him.  The  lamehtation  of  Andromache, 
Hecuba,  and  Helen,  with  the  solemnities  of 
the  funeral. 

The  time  of  twelve  days  is  employed  in  this 
book,  while  the  body  of  Hector  lies  in  the 
tent  of  Achilles.  And  as  many  more  are 
Bpent  in  the  truce  allowed  for  his  interment. 
The  scene  is  partly  in  Achilles’B  camp,  and 
partly  in  Troy. 

Now  from  the  finish’d  games  the  Gre- 
cian band 

Seek  their  black  ships,  and  clear  the 
crowded  strand: 


All  stretch’d  at  ease  the  genial  banquet 
share, 

And  pleasing  slumbers  quiet  all  their  care. 
Not  so  Achilles:  he,  to  grief  resign’d, 

His  friend’s  dear  image  present  to  his 
mind, 

Takes  his  sad  couch,  more  unobserv’d  to 
weep, 

Nor  tastes  the  gifts  of  all-composing  sleep; 
Restless  he  roll’d  around  his  weary  bed, 
And  all  bis  soul  011  his  Patroclus  fed:  10 

The  form  so  pleasing,  and  the  heart  so 
kind, 

That  youthful  vigour,  and  that  manly 
mind, 

What  toils  they  shared,  what  martial  works 
they  wrought, 

What  seas  they  measured,  and  what  fields 
they  fought; 

All  pass’d  before  him  in  remembrance 
dear, 

Thought  follows  thought,  and  tear  succeeds 
to  tear. 

And  now  supine,  now  prone,  the  hero  lay, 
Now  shifts  his  side,  impatient  for  the  day: 
Then  starting  up,  disconsolate  he  goes  19 
Wide  on  the  lonely  beach  to  vent  his  woes. 
There  as  the  solitary  mourner  raves, 

The  ruddy  morning  rises  o’er  the  waves: 
Soon  as  it  rose,  his  furious  steeds  he  join’d; 
The  chariot  flies,  and  Hector  trails  behind. 
And  thrice,  Patroclus  ! round  thy  monu- 
ment 

Was  Hector  dragg’d,  then  hurried  to  the 
tent. 

There  sleep  at  last  o’ercomes  the  hero’s  'l 
eyes: 

While  foul  in  dust  th’  unhonour’d  carcass  >• 
lies, 

But  not  deserted  by  the  pitying  skies.  29  J 
For  Phoebus  watch’d  it  with  superior  care, 
Preserv’d  from  gaping  wounds,  and  taint- 
ing air; 

And,  ignominious  as  it  swept  the  field, 
Spread  o’er  the  sacred  corse  his  golden 
shield. 

All  Heav’n  was  mov’d,  and  Hermes  will’d 
to  go 

By  stealth  to  snatch  him  from  th’  insulting 
foes 

But  Neptune  this,  and  Pallas  this  denies, 
And  th’  unrelenting  Empress  of  the  Skies: 
E’er  since  that  day  implacable  to  Troy, 
What  time  young  Paris,  simple  shepherd 

boy,  39 


THE  ILIAD 


521 


Won  by  destructive  lust  (reward  obscene) 
Their  charms  rejected  for  the  Cyprian 
Queen. 

But  when  the  tenth  celestial  morning  broke, 
To  Heav’n  assembled,  thus  Apollo  spoke: 

* Unpitying  Powers  ! how  oft  each  holy 

fane 

Has  Hector  tinged  with  blood  of  victims 
slain  ? 

And  can  ye  still  his  cold  remains  pursue  ? 
Still  grudge  his  body  to  the  Trojans’  view  ? 
Deny  to  consort,  mother,  son,  and  sire, 

The  last  sad  honours  of  a funeral  fire  ? 

Is  then  the  dire  Achilles  all  your  care  ? 50 
That  iron  heart,  inflexibly  severe; 

A lion,  not  a man,  who  slaughters  wide 
In  strength  of  rage  and  impotence  of  pride, 
Who  hastes  to  murder  with  a savage  joy, 
Invades  around,  and  breathes  but  to  de- 
stroy. 

Shame  is  not  of  his  soul ; nor  understood, 
,'The  greatest  evil  and  the  greatest  good. 
Still  for  one  loss  he  rages  unresign’d, 
Repugnant  to  the  lot  of  all  mankind; 

To  lose  a friend,  a brother,  or  a son,  60 
Heav’n  dooms  each  mortal,  and  its  will  is 
done: 

Awhile  they  sorrow,  then  dismiss  their  care ; 
Fate  gives  the  wound,  and  man  is  born  to 
bear. 

But  this  insatiate  the  commission  giv’n 
By  Fate,  exceeds;  and  tempts  the  wrath  of 
Heav’n: 

Lo  how  his  rage  dishonest  drags  along 
Hector’s  dead  earth,  insensible  of  wrong  ! 
Brave  tho’  he  be,  yet  by  no  reason  awed, 
He  violates  the  laws  of  man  and  God  ! ’ 

* If  equal  honours  by  the  partial  skies  70 
Are  doom’d  both  heroes ’(Juno  thus  re- 
plies), 

‘ If  Thetis’  son  must  no  distinction  know, 

, Then  hear,  ye  Gods  ! the  Patron  of  the 
Bow. 

But  Hector  only  boasts  a mortal  claim, 
fHis  birth  deriving  from  a mortal  dame: 
Achilles  of  your  own  ethereal  race 
j Springs  from  a Goddess,  by  a man’s  em- 
brace 

(A  Goddess  by  ourself  to  Peleus  giv’n, 

A man  divine,  and  chosen  friend  of 
Heav’n) : 

To  grace  those  nuptials,  from  the  bright 
abode  80 

Yourselves  were  present;  where  this  Min- 
strel God 


(Well-pleas’d  to  share  the  feast)  amid  the 
quire 

Stood  proud  to  hymn,  and  tune  his  youth- 
ful lyre.’ 

Then  thus  the  Thund’rer  checks  th’' 
Imperial  Dame: 

‘Let  not  thy  wrath  the  Court  of  Heav’n 
inflame  ; 

Their  merits,  nor  their  honours,  are  the 
same. 

But  mine,  and  ev’ry  God’s  peculiar  grace 
Hector  deserves,  of  all  the  Trojan  race: 
Still  on  our  shrines  his  grateful  off’rings 
lay 

(The  only  honours  men  to  Gods  can  pay),  90 
Nor  ever  from  our  smoking  altar  ceas’d 
The  pure  libation,  and  the  holy  feast. 
Howe’er,  by  stealth  to  snatch  the  corse 
away, 

We  will  not:  Thetis  guards  it  night  and  day. 
But  haste,  and  summon  to  our  courts  above 
The  azure  Queen:  let  her  persuasior  move 
Her  furious  son  from  Priam  to  receive 
The  proffer’d  ransom,  and  the  corse  to 
leave.’ 

He  added  not:  and  Iris  from  the  skies, 
Swift  as  a whirlwind,  on  the  message 
flies;  100 

Meteorous  the  face  of  ocean  sweeps, 
Refulgent  gliding  o’er  the  sable  deeps. 
Between  where  Samos  wide  his  forests 
spreads, 

And  rocky  Imbrus  lifts  its  pointed  heads, 
Down  plunged  the  Maid  (the  parted  waves 
resound) ; 

She  plunged,  and  instant  shot  the  dark  pro- 
found. 

As,  bearing  death  in  the  fallacious  bait, 
From  the  bent  angle  sinks  the  leaden 
weight ; 

So  pass’d  the  Goddess  thro’  the  closing 
wave,  109 

Where  Thetis  sorrow’d  in  her  secret  cave: 
There  placed  amidst  her  melancholy  train 
(The  blue-hair’d  Sisters  of  the  Sacred 
Main) 

Pensive  she  sat,  revolving  fates  to  come, 
And  wept  her  godlike  son’s  approaching 
doom. 

Then  thus  the  Goddess  of  the  Painted 
Bow: 

‘ Arise,  O Thetis  ! from  thy  seats  below; 

’T  is  Jove  that  calls.’  ‘ And  why  ’ (the 
Dame  replies) 

* Calls  Jove  his  Thetis  to  the  hated  skies  ? 


522 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


Sad  object  as  I am  for  heav’nly  sight  ! 

Ah  ! may  my  sorrows  ever  shun  the 
light  ! 120 

Howe’er,  be  Heav’n’s  almighty  Sire  obey’d.’ 
She  spake,  and  veil’d  her  head  in  sable 
shade, 

Which,  flowing  long,  her  graceful  person 
clad; 

And  forth  she  paced  majestically  sad. 

Then  thro’  the  world  of  waters  they  re- 
pair 

(The  way  fair  Iris  led)  to  upper  air. 

The  deeps  dividing,  o’er  the  coast  they 
rise, 

And  touch  with  momentary  flight  the  skies. 
There  in  the  lightning’s  blaze  the  sire  they 
found,  129 

And  all  the  Gods  in  shining  synod  round. 
Thetis  approach’d  with  anguish  in  her  face 
(Minerva  rising  gave  the  mourner  place), 
Ev’n  Juno  sought  her  sorrows  to  console, 
And  offer’d  from  her  hand  the  nectar  bowl: 
She  tasted,  and  resign’d  it:  then  began 
The  sacred  Sire  of  Gods  and  mortal  Man: 

‘ Thou  com’st,  fair  Thetis,  but  with  grief 
o’ercast, 

Maternal  sorrows,  long,  ah  long  to  last  ! 
Suffice,  we  know,  and  we  partake,  thy 
cares: 

But  yield  to  Fate,  and  hear  what  Jove  de- 
clares. 140 

Nine  days  are  past,  since  all  the  court 
above 

In  Hector’s  cause  have  mov’d  the  ear  of 
Jove; 

’T  was  voted,  Hermes  from  his  godlike 
foe 

By  stealth  should  bear  him,  but  we  will’d 
not  so: 

We  will,  thy  son  himself  the  corse  re- 
store, 

And  to  his  conquest  add  this  glory  more. 
Then  hie  thee  to  him,  and  our  mandate 
bear; 

Tell  him  he  tempts  the  wrath  of  Heav’n 
too  far: 

Nor  let  him  more  (our  anger  if  he  dread) 
Vent  his  mad  vengeance  on  the  sacred 
dead:  150 

But  yield  to  ransom  and  the  father’s 
prayer. 

The  mournful  father  Iris  shall  prepare, 
With  gifts  to  sue;  and  offer  to  his  hands 
Whate’er  his  honour  asks  or  heart  de- 
mands.’ 


His  word  the  Silver-footed  Queen  at- 
tends, 

And  from  Olympus’  snowy  tops  descends. 
Arrived,  she  heard  the  voice  of  loud  la- 
ment, 

And  echoing  groans  that  shook  the  lofty 
tent. 

His  friends  prepare  the  victim,  and  dis- 
pose 

Repast  unheeded,  while  he  vents  his 
woes.  160 

The  Goddess  seats  her  by  her  pensive 
son; 

She  press’d  his  hand,  and  tender  thus  be- 
gun: 

‘ How  long,  unhappy  ! shall  thy  sorrows 
flow  ? 

And  thy  heart  waste  with  life-consuming 
woe  ? 

Mindless  of  food,  or  love,  whose  pleasing 
reign 

Soothes  weary  life,  and  softens  human 
pain. 

O snatch  the  moments  yet  within  thy 
power; 

Not  loug  to  live,  indulge  the  am’rous  hour! 
Lo!  Jove  himself  (for  Jove’s  command  I 
bear), 

Forbids  to  tempt  the  wrath  of  Heav’n  too 
far.  170 

No  longer  then  (his  fury  if  thou  dread) 
Detain  the  relics  of  great  Hector  dead ; 
Nor  vent  on  senseless  earth  thy  vengeance 
vain, 

But  yield  to  ransom,  and  restore  the 
slain.’ 

To  whom  Achilles:  ‘Be  the  ransom 
giv’n, 

And  we  submit,  since  such  the  will  of 
Heav’n.’ 

While  thus  they  communed,  from  th’ 
Olympian  bowers 

Jove  orders  Iris  to  the  Trojan  towers: 

‘ Haste,  winged  Goddess,  to  the  sacred 
town, 

And  urge  her  Monarch  to  redeem  his 
son;  180 

Alone,  the  Ilian  ramparts  let  him  leave, 
And  bear  what  stern  Achilles  may  re- 
ceive: 

Alone,  for  so  we  will:  no  Trojan  near; 
Except,  to  place  the  dead  with  decent  care, 
Some  aged  herald,  who,  with  gentle  hand, 
May  the  slow  mules  and  funeral  car  com- 
mand. 


THE  ILIAD 


523 


or  let  him  death,  nor  let  him  danger 
dread, 

afe  thro’  the  foe  by  our  protection  led: 

[im  Hermes  to  Achilles  shall  convey,  189 
■uard  of  his  life,  and  partner  of  his  way. 
fierce  as  he  is,  Achilles’  self  shall  spare 
lis  age,  nor  touch  one  venerable  hair: 
oine  thought  there  must  be  in  a soul  so 
brave, 

ome  sense  of  duty,  some  desire  to  save.’ 

Then  down  her  bow  the  winged  Iris 
drives, 

md  swift  at  Priam’s  mournful  court  ar- 
rives: 

Vhere  the  sad  sons  beside  their  father’s 
throne 

.at  bathed  in  tears,  and  answer’d  groan 
with  groan. 

Lnd  all  amidst  them  lay  the  hoary  sire 
Sad  scene  of  woe),  his  face,  his  wrapp’d 
attire  200 

Conceal’d  from  sight;  with  frantic  hands 
he  spread 

L shower  of  ashes  o’er  his  neck  and  head, 
'rom  room  to  room  his  pensive  daughters 
roam : 

Vhose  shrieks  and  clamours  fill  the  vaulted 
dome; 

Mindful  of  those,  who,  late  their  pride  and 


]°y, 

Ae  pale  and  breathless  round  the  fields  of 
Troy! 

before  the  King  Jove’s  messenger  ap- 
pears, 

And  thus  in  whispers  greets  his  trembling 
ears: 

1 ‘ Fear  not,  oh  Father!  no  ill  news  I bear; 

?rom  Jove  I come,  Jove  makes  thee  still 
his  care;  210 

Jot  Hector’s  sake  these  walls  he  bids  thee 
leave, 

ind  bear  what  stern  Achilles  may  receive: 

Alone,  for  so  he  wills:  no  Trojan  near, 

Except,  to  place  the  dead  with  decent  care, 

Some  aged  herald,  who,  with  gentle  hand, 

May  the  slow  mules  and  funeral  car  com- 
mand. 


.Sor  shalt  thou  death,  nor  shalt  thou  dan- 
ger dread; 

Safe  thro’  the  foe  by  his  protection  led: 
Thee  Hermes  to  Pelides  shall  convey, 

' Juard  of  thy  life,  and  partner  of  thy 
way ; 220 

Fierce  as  he  is,  Achilles’  self  shall  spare 
Thy  age,  nor  touch  one  venerable  hair: 


Some  thought  there  must  be  in  a soul  so 
brave, 

Some  sense  of  duty,  some  desire  to  save.’ 

She  spoke,  and  vanish’d.  Priam  bids 
prepare 

His  gentle  mules,  and  harness  to  the  car; 

There,  for  the  gifts,  a polish’d  casket  lay : 

His  pious  sons  the  King’s  commands 
obey. 

Then  pass’d  the  Monarch  to  his  bridal- 


Where  cedar-beams  the  lofty  roofs  per- 
fume, 230 

And  where  the  treasures  of  his  empire 

lay; 

Then  call’d  his  Queen,  and  thus  began  to 
say: 

‘Unhappy  consort  of  a King  distress’d! 

Partake  the  troubles  of  thy  husband’s 
breast : 

I saw  descend  the  messenger  of  Jove, 

Who  bids  me  try  Achilles’  mind  to  move, 

Forsake  these  ramparts,  and  with  gifts  ob- 
tain 

The  corse  of  Hector,  at  yon  navy  slain. 

Tell  me  thy  thought:  my  heart  impels  to 
go 

Thro’  hostile  camps,  and  bears  me  to  the 
foe.’  240 

The  hoary  Monarch  thus:  her  piercing 
cries 

Sad  Hecuba  renews,  and  then  replies: 

‘Ah!  whither  wanders  thy  distemper’d 
mind ; 

And  where  the  prudence  now  that  awed 
mankind, 

Thro’  Phrygia  once,  and  foreign  regions 
known  ? 

Now  all  confused,  distracted,  overthrown! 

Singly  to  pass  thro’  hosts  of  foes!  to  face 

(Oh  heart  of  steel!)  the  murd’rer  of  thy 
race! 

To  view  that  deathful  eye,  and  wander 
o’er 

Those  hands,  yet  red  with  Hector’s  noble 
gore!  250 

Alas!  my  lord!  he  knows  not  how  to  spare, 

And  what  his  mercy,  thy  slain  sons  de- 
clare; 

So  brave  ! so  many  fall’n  ! to  calm  his 


rage 

Vain  were  thy  dignity,  and  vain  thy  age. 
No  — pent  in  this  sad  palace,  let  us  give 
To  grief  the  wretched  days  we  have  to 
live. 


524 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


Still,  still,  for  Hector  let  our  sorrows 
flow, 

Born  to  his  own,  and  to  his  parents’  woe! 
Doom’d  from  the  hour  his  luckless  life  be- 
gun,  2S9 

To  dogs,  to  vultures,  and  to  Peleus’  son! 
Oh!  in  his  dearest  blood  might  I allay 
My  rage,  and  these  barbarities  repay! 

For  ah!  could  Hector  merit  thus  ? whose 
breath 

Expired  not  meanly,  in  inactive  death: 

He  pour’d  his  latest  blood  in  manly  fight, 
And  fell  a hero  in  his  country’s  right.’ 

‘ Seek  not  to  stay  me,  nor  my  soul  af- 
fright 

With  words  of  omen,  like  a bird  of  night  ’ 
(Replied  unmov’d  the  venerable  man): 

‘ ’T  is  Heav’n  commands  me,  and  you  urge 
in  vain.  270 

Had  any  mortal  voice  tli’  injunction  laid, 
Nor  Augur,  Priest,  nor  Seer  had  been 
obey’d. 

A present  Goddess  brought  the  high  com- 
mand: 

I saw,  I heard  her,  and  the  word  shall 
stand. 

I go,  ye  Gods  ! obedient  to  your  call: 

If  in  yon  camp  your  powers  have  doom’d 
my  fall, 

Content:  by  the  same  hand  let  me  expire  ! 
Add  to  the  slaughter’d  son  the  wretched 
sire  ! 

One  cold  embrace  at  least  may  be  allow’d, 
And  my  last  tears  flow  mingled  with  his 
blood  ! ’ 280 

Forth  from  his  open’d  stores,  this  said, 
he  drew 

Twelve  costly  carpets  of  refulgent  hue; 

As  many  vests,  as  many  mantles  told, 

And  twelve  fair  veils,  and  garments  stiff 
with  gold; 

Two  tripods  next,  and  twice  two  chargers 
shine, 

With  ten  pure  talents  from  the  richest 
mine ; 

And  last  a large,  well-labour’d  bowl  had 
place 

(The  pledge  of  treaties  once  with  friendly 
Thrace) ; 

Seem’d  all  too  mean  the  stores  he  could 
employ,  289 

For  one  last  look  to  buy  him  back  to 
Troy  ! 

Lo  ! the  sad  father,  frantic  with  his  pain, 
Arouud  him  furious  drives  his  menial  train: 


In  vain  each  slave  with  duteous  care  at- 
tends, 

Each  office  hurts  him,  and  each  face 
offends. 

‘ What  make  ye  here,  officious  crowds  ! 5 
(he  cries) 

‘ Hence,  nor  obtrude  your  anguish  011  my 

eyes. 

Have  ye  no  griefs  at  home,  to  fix  ye  there  ? 
Am  I the  only  object  of  despair  ? 

Am  I become  my  people’s  common  show, 
Set  up  by  Jove  your  spectacle  of  woe  ? 300 
No,  you  must  feel  him  too:  yourselves 
must  fall; 

The  same  stern  God  to  ruin  gives  you  all: 
Nor  is  great  Hector  lost  by  me  alone: 

Your  sole  defence,  your  guardian  power,  is 
gone  ! 

I see  your  blood  the  fields  of  Phrygia 
drown; 

I see  the  ruins  of  your  smoking  town  ! 

Oh  send  me,  Gods,  ere  that  sad  day  shall 
come, 

A willing  ghost  to  Pluto’s  dreary  dome  ! ’ 
He  said,  and  feebly  drives  his  friends 
away : 

The  sorr’wing  friends  his  frantic  rage 
obey.  3IOj 

Next  on  his  sons  his  erring  fury  falls, 
Polites,  Paris,  Agathon,  he  calls; 

His  threats  Dei'phobus  and  Dius  hear, 
Hippothoiis,  Pammon,  Helenas  the  seer, 
And  gen’rous  Antiphon;  for  yet  these  nine 
Survived,  sad  relics  of  his  numerous  line: 

‘ Inglorious  sons  of  an  unhappy  sire  ! 
Why  did  not  all  in  Hector’s  cause  expire  ? 
Wretch  that  I am  ! my  bravest  offspring 
slain, 

You,  the  disgrace  of  Priam’s  house,  re- 
main ! 320 

Mestor  the  brave,  renown’d  in  ranks  of 
war, 

With  Troilus,  dreadful  on  his  rushing  car, 
And  last  great  Hector,  more  than  man 
divine, 

For  sure  he  seem’d  not  of  terrestrial  line  ! 
All  those  relentless  Mars  untimely  slew, 
And  left  me  these,  a soft  and  servile  crew, 
Whose  days  the  feast  and  wanton  dance 
employ, 

Gluttons  and  flatt’rers,  the  contempt  of 
Troy  ! 

Why  teach  ye  not  my  rapid  wheels  to  run, 
And  speed  my  journey  to  redeem  my 
son  ? ’ 330 


THE  ILIAD 


525 


The  sons  their  father’s  wretched  age 
revere, 

forgive  his  anger,  and  produce  the  car. 
ligli  on  the  seat  the  cabinet  they  bind: 

'lie  new-made  car  with  solid  beauty  shined: 
Box  was  the  yoke,  emboss’d  with  costly 
pains, 

tnd  hung  with  ringlets  to  receive  the  reins: 
fiTine  cubits  long,  the  traces  swept  the 
ground; 

These  to  the  chariot’s  polish’d  pole  they 
bound, 

then  fix’d  a ring  the  running  reins  to 
guide, 

lend,  close  beneath,  the  gather’d  ends  were 
tied.  340 

^ext  with  the  gifts  (the  price  of  Hector 
slain) 

(The  sad  attendants  load  the  groaning  wain: 
^ast  to  the  yoke  the  well-match’d  mules 
they  bring 

The  gift  of  Mysia  to  the  Trojan  King). 

But  the  fair  horses,  long  his  darling  care, 
Himself  receiv’d,  and  harness’d  to  his  car: 
ilriev’d  as  he  was,  he  not  this  task  denied; 
The  hoary  herald  help’d  him  at  his  side. 
While  careful  these  the  gentle  coursers 
join’d,  349 

lad  Hecuba  approach’d  with  anxious  mind; 
V golden  bowl,  that  foam’d  with  fragrant 
wine 

Libation  destin’d  to  the  Power  divine), 

3 eld  in  her  right,  before  the  steeds  she 
stands, 

Lid  thus  consigns  it  to  the  Monarch’s 
1 hands: 

] ‘Take  this,  and  pour  to  Jove;  that,  safe 
from  harms, 

His  grace  restore  thee  to  our  roof  and 
> arms. 

Since,  victor  of  thy  fears,  and  slighting 
mine, 

tJeav’n,  or  thy  soul,  inspire  this  bold  de- 
| sign, 

?ray  to  that  God,  who,  high  011  Ida’s  brow 
purveys  thy  desolated  realms  below,  360 
3 is  winged  messenger  to  send  from  high, 
And  lead  the  way  with  heav’nly  augury: 
K^et  the  strong  Sov’reign  of  the  plumy  race 
Tower  on  the  right  of  yon  ethereal  space. 
That  sign  beheld,  and  strengthen’d  from 
above, 

Boldly  pursue  the  journey  mark’d  by  Jove ; 
1 But  if  the  God  his  augury  denies, 

Suppress  thy  impulse,  nor  reject  advice.’ 


‘ ’T  is  just  ’ (said  Priam)  ‘ to  the  Sire 
above 

To  raise  our  hands;  for  who  so  good  as 
Jove  ? ’ 370 

He  spoke,  and  bade  tli’  attendant  hand- 
maid bring 

The  purest  water  of  the  living  spring 
(Pier  ready  hands  the  ewer  and  basin  held); 
Then  took  the  golden  cup  his  Queen  had 
fill’d; 

On  the  mid  pavement  pours  the  rosy  wine, 
Uplifts  his  eyes,  and  calls  the  Power  divine: 

‘ Oh  PTrst  and  Greatest  ! Heav’n’s  im- 
perial Lord  ! 

On  lofty  Ida’s  holy  hill  ador’d ! 

To  stern  Achilles  now  direct  my  ways,  379 
And  teach  him  mercy  when  a father  prays. 
If  such  thy  will,  despatch  from  yonder  sky 
Thy  sacred  bird,  celestial  augury  ! 

Let  the  strong  sov’reign  of  the  plumy  race 
Tower  on  the  right  of  yon  ethereal  space : 
So  shall  thy  suppliant,  strengthen’d  from 
above, 

Fearless  pursue  the  journey  mark’d  by 
Jove.’ 

Jove  heard  his  prayer,  and  from  the 
throne  on  high 

Despatch’d  his  bird,  celestial  augury  ! 

The  swift-wing’d  chaser  of  the  feather’d 
game, 

And  known  to  Gods  by  Percnos’  lofty 
name.  39° 

Wide  as  appears  some  palace-gate  dis- 
play’d, 

So  broad  his  pinions  stretch’d  their  ample 
shade, 

As,  stooping  dexter  with  resounding  wings, 
Th’  imperial  bird  descends  in  airy  rings. 

A dawn  of  joy  in  ev’ry  face  appears; 

The  mourning  matron  dries  her  tim’rous 
tears. 

Swift  on  his  car  th’  impatient  Monarch 
sprung; 

The  brazen  portal  in  his  passage  rung. 

The  mules  preceding  draw  the  loaded  wain, 
Charged  with  the  gifts;  Idaeus  holds  the 
rein : 4P° 

The  King  himself  his  gentle  steeds  con- 
trols, 

And  thro’  surrounding  friends  the  chariot 
rolls ; 

O11  his  slow  wheels  the  foll’wing  people 
wait, 

Mourn  at  each  step,  and  give  him  up  to 
Fate; 


Sz6 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


With  hands  uplifted,  eye  him  as  he  pass’d, 
And  gaze  upon  him  as  they  gazed  their  last. 

Now  forward  fares  the  father  on  his  way, 
Thro’  the  lone  fields,  and  back  to  Ilion 
they. 

Great  Jove  beheld  him  as  he  cross’d  the 
plain, 

And  felt  the  woes  of  miserable  man.  410 
Then  thus  to  Hermes:  4 Thou,  whose  con- 
stant cares 

Still  succour  mortals,  and  attend  their 
prayers  ! 

Behold  an  object  to  thy  charge  consign’d; 

If  ever  pity  touch’d  thee  for  mankind, 

Go,  guard  the  sire;  th’  observing  foe  pre- 
vent, 

And  safe  conduct  him  to  Achilles’  tent.’ 

The  God  obeys,  his  golden  pinions  binds, 
And  mounts  incumbent  on  the  wings  of 
winds, 

That  high  thro’  fields  of  air  his  flight  sus- 
tain, 

O’er  the  wide  earth,  and  o’er  the  boundless 
main:  420 

Then  grasps  the  wand  that  causes  sleep  to 
fly, 

Or  in  soft  slumbers  seals  the  wakeful  eye: 
Thus  arm’d,  swift  Hermes  steers  his  airy 
way, 

And  stoops  on  Hellespont’s  resounding  sea. 
A beauteous  youth,  majestic  and  divine, 

He  seem’d;  fair  offspring  of  some  princely 
line  ! 

Now  Twilight  veil’d  the  glaring  face  of  Day, 
And  clad  the  dusky  fields  in  sober  gray; 
What  time  the  herald  and  the  hoary  King, 
Their  chariot  stopping  at  the  silver  spring, 
That  circling  Ilus’  ancient  marble  flows,  431 
Allow’d  their  mules  and  steeds  a short 
repose. 

Thro’  the  dim  shade  the  herald  first  espies 
A man’s  approach,  and  thus  to  Priam  cries: 
‘I  mark  some  foe’s  advance:  O King! 
beware; 

This  hard  adventure  claims  thy  utmost 
care; 

For  much  I fear  destruction  hovers  nigh: 
Our  state  asks  counsel.  Is  it  best  to  fly  ? 
Or,  old  and  helpless,  at  his  feet  to  fall 
(Two  wretched  suppliants),  and  for  mercy 
call  ? ’ 440 

Th’  afflicted  Monarch  shiver’d  with  de- 
pair; 

Pale  grew  his  face,  and  upright  stood  his 
hair; 


Sunk  was  his  heart;  his  colour  went  and 
came; 

A sudden  trembling  shook  his  aged  frame: 

When  Hermes,  greeting,  touch’d  his  royal 
hand, 

And,  gentle,  thus  accosts  with  kind  de- 
mand : 

4 Say  whither,  Father  ! when  each  mortal 
sight 

Is  seal’d  in  sleep,  thou  wander’st  thro’ 
the  night  ? 

Why  roam  thy  mules  and  steeds  the  plains 
along, 

Thro’  Grecian  foes,  so  numerous  and  so 
strong  ? 45 < 

What  couldst  thou  hope,  shouldst  these 
thy  treasures  view: 

These,  who  with  endless  hate  thy  race 
pursue  ? 

For  what  defence,  alas  ! couldst  thou  pro- 
vide ? 

Thyself  not  young,  a weak  old  man  th} 
guide. 

Yet  suffer  not  thy  soul  to  sink  witl 
dread; 

From  me  no  harm  shall  touch  thy  rev’renc 
bead: 

From  Greece  I ’ll  guard  thee  too  ; for  ii 
those  lines 

The  living  image  of  my  father  shines.’ 

‘ Thy  words,  that  speak  benevolence  oj 
mind, 

Are  true,  my  son  ! ’ (the  godlike  Sire  re 
join’d)  46 

4 Great  are  my  hazards;  but  the  Gods  sur 
vey 

My  steps  and  send  thee,  guardian  of  m; 
way. 

Hail!  and  be  blest;  for  scarce  of  morta 
kind 

Appear  thy  form,  thy  feature,  and  th; 
mind.’ 

4 Nor  true  are  all  thy  words,  nor  errinj 
wide  ’ 

(The  sacred  Messenger  of  Heav’n  replied) 

4 But  say,  convey’st  thou  thro’  the  lonel 
plains 

What  yet  most  precious  of  thy  store  re 
mains, 

To  lodge  in  safety  with  some  friendl 
hand  ? 

Prepared  perchance  to  leave  thy  nativ 
land  ? 4; 

Or  fly’st  thou  now  ? What  hopes  can  Tro 
retain, 


THE  ILIAD 


527 


hy  matchless  son,  her  guard  and  glory, 
slain  ? ’ 

The  King,  alarm’d:  ‘Say  what,  and 
whence  thou  art, 

/ho  search  the  sorrows  of  a parent’s 
heart, 

nd  know  so  well  how  godlike  Hector 
died  ? ’ 

bus  Priam  spoke,  and  Hermes  thus  re- 
plied: 

‘You  tempt  me,  Father,  and  with  pity 
touch : 

•n  this  sad  subject  you  inquire  too  much. 
|ft  have  these  eyes  the  godlike  Hector 
view’d 

a glorious  fight,  with  Grecian  blood  im- 
brued : 4^° 

saw  him,  when,  like  Jove,  his  flames  he 
toss’d 

)n  thousand  ships,  and  wither’d  half  a 
host: 

■ saw,  but  help’d  not,  stern  Achilles’  ire 
orbade  assistance,  and  enjoy’d  the  fire, 
or  him  I serve,  of  Myrmidonian  race; 

)ne  ship  convey’d  us  from  our  native 
place ; 

’olyctor  is  my  sire,  an  honour’d  name, 

)ld,  like  thyself,  and  not  unknown  to 
fame; 

)f  sev’n  his  sons,  by  whom  the  lot  was  cast 
?o  serve  our  Prince,  it  fell  on  me  the 
last.  49° 

A)  watch  this  quarter  my  adventure  falls; 
A>r  with  the  morn  the  Greeks  attack  your 
walls; 

Jleepless  they  sit,  impatient  to  engage, 
bid  scarce  their  rulers  check  their  mar- 
tial rage.’ 

‘ If  then  thou  art  of  stern  Pelides’  train,’ 
jThe  mournful  Monarch  thus  rejoin’d 
again), 

Ah,  tell  me  truly,  where,  oh  ! where  are 
laid 

My  son’s  dear  relics  ? what  befalls  him 
dead  ? 

Have  dogs  dismember’d  on  the  naked 
plains,  499 

r)r  yet  unmangled  rest,  his  cold  remains  ? ’ 

I ‘ O Favour’d  of  the  Skies  ! ’ (thus  an- 
swer’d then 

The  Power  that  mediates  between  Gods  and 
men) 

\ Nor  dogs,  nor  vultures,  have  thy  Hector 
rent, 

But  whole  he  lies,  neglected  in  the  tent: 


This  the  twelfth  ev’ning  since  he  rested 
there, 

Untouch’d  by  worms,  untainted  by  the 
air. 

Still  as  Aurora’s  ruddy  beam  is  spread, 
Round  his  friend’s  tomb  Achilles  drags  the 
dead; 

Yet  undisfigured,  or  in  limb  or  face, 

All  fresh  he  lies,  with  every  living 
grace,  5*° 

Majestical  in  death  ! No  stains  are  found 
O’er  all  the  corse,  and  closed  is  ev’ry 
wound; 

Tho’  many  a wound  they  gave.  Some 
heav’nly  care, 

Some  hand  divine,  preserves  him  ever 
fair: 

Or  all  the  Host  of  Heav’11,  to  whom  he 
led 

A life  so  grateful,  still  regard  him  dead.’ 

Thus  spoke  to  Priam  the  celestial  Guide, 
And  joyful  thus  the  royal  Sire  replied: 
Bless’d  is  the  man  who  pays  the  Gods 
above  5 T9 

The  constant  tribute  of  respect  and  love  ! 
Those  who  inhabit  the  Olympian  bower 
My  son  forgot  not,  in  exalted  power; 

And  Heav’n,  that  ev’ry  virtue  bears  in 
mind, 

Ev’n  to  the  ashes  of  the  just  is  kind. 

But  thou,  oh  gen’rous  youth  ! this  goblet 
take, 

A pledge  of  gratitude  for  Hector’s  sake ; 
And  while  the  fav’ring  Gods  our  steps 
survey, 

Safe  to  Pelides’  tent  conduct  my  way.’ 

To  whom  the  latent  God:  ‘O  King,  for- 
bear 

To  tempt  my  youth,  for  apt  is  youth  to 
err:  530 

But  can  I,  absent  from  my  Prince’s  sight, 
Take  gifts  in  secret,  that  must  shun  the 
light  ? 

What  from  our  master’s  interest  thus  we 
draw, 

Is  but  a licens’d  theft  that  ’scapes  the 
law. 

Respecting  him,  my  soul  abjures  th’  of- 
fence ; 

And,  as  the  crime,  I dread  the  conse- 
quence. 

Thee,  far  as  Argos,  pleas’d  I could  con- 
vey; 

Guard  of  thy  life,  and  partner  of  thy 
way: 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


528 


On  thee  attend,  thy  safety  to  maintain, 
O’er  pathless  forests,  or  the  roaring 
main.’  54Q 

He  said,  then  took  the  chariot  at  a hound, 
And  snatch’d  the  reins,  and  whirl’d  the  lash 
around: 

Before  th’  inspiring  God  that  urged  them 
on 

The  coursers  fly,  with  spirit  not  their  own. 
And  now  they  reach’d  the  naval  walls,  and 
found 

The  guards  repasting,  while  the  bowls  go 
round: 

On  these  the  virtue  of  his  wand  he  tries, 
And  pours  deep  slumber  on  their  watchful 
eyes: 

Then  heav’d  the  massy  gates,  remov’d  the 
bars,  S49 

And  o er  the  trenches  led  the  rolling  cars. 
Unseen,  thro’  all  the  hostile  camp  they 
went, 

And  now  approach’d  Pelides’  lofty  tent. 

Of  fir  the  roof  was  rais’d,  and  cover’d  o’er 
With  reeds  collected  from  the  marshy 
shore ; 

And,  fenc’d  with  palisades,  a hall  of  state 
(The  work  of  soldiers),  where  the  hero  sat. 
Large  was  the  door,  whose  well-compacted 
strength 

A solid  pine-tree  barr’d  of  wondrous  length; 
Scarce  three  strong  Greeks  could  lift  its 
mighty  weight, 

But  great  Achilles  singly  closed  the  gate.  560 
This  Hermes  (such  the  power  of  Gods)  set 
wide; 

Then  swift  alighted  the  celestial  guide, 

And  thus,  reveal’d:  ‘Hear,  Prince!  and 
understand 

Thou  ow’st  thy  guidance  to  no  mortal  hand; 
Hermes  I am,  descended  from  above, 

The  King  of  Arts,  the  Messenger  of  Jove. 
Farewell:  to  shun  Achilles’  sight  I fly;  ) 
Uncommon  are  such  favours  of  the  sky,  l 
Nor  stand  confess’d  to  frail  mortality.  J 
Now  fearless  enter,  and  prefer  thy 
prayers;  57o 

Adjure  him  b}r  his  father’s  silver  hairs, 

His  son,  his  mother  ! urge  him  to  bestow 
Whatever  pity  that  stern  heart  can  know.’ 
Thus  having  said,  he  vanish’d  from  his 
eyes, 

And  in  a moment  shot  into  the  skies: 

The  King,  confirm’d  from  Heav’n,  alighted 
there, 

And  left  his  aged  herald  on  the  car. 


With  solemn  pace  thro’  various  rooms  tu 
went, 

And  found  Achilles  in  his  inner  tent:  571 
There  sat  the  hero;  Alcimus  the  brave, 
And  great  Automedon,  attendance  gave; 
These  serv’d  his  person  at  the  royal  feast; 
Around,  at  awful  distance,  stood  the  rest. 

Unseen  by  these,  the  King  his  entrj 
made; 

And,  prostrate  now  before  Achilles  laid, 
Sudden  (9,  venerable  sight  !)  appears; 
Embraced  his  knees,  and  bathed  his  hands 
in  tears; 

Those  direful  hands  his  kisses  press’d,  ini' 
brued 

Ev’n  with  the  best,  the  dearest  of  his 
blood  ! 

As  when  a wretch  (who,  conscious  of  his 
crime,  59C 

Pursued  for  murder,  flies  his  native  clime) 
Just  gains  some  frontier,  breathless,  pale, 
amazed  ! 

All  gaze,  all  wonder:  thus  Achilles  gazed: 
Thus  stood  th’  attendants  stupid  with  sur- 
prise: 

All  mute,  yet  seem’d  to  question  with  their 
eyes: 

Each  look’d  011  other,  none  the  silence 
broke, 

Till  thus  at  last  the  kingly  suppliant  spoke: 

‘ Ah  think,  thou  favour’d  of  the  Powers 
divine  ! 

Think  of  thy  father’s  age,  and  pity  mine  ! 
I11  me,  that  father’s  rev’rend  image 
trace,  6oo 

Those  silver  hairs,  that  venerable  face; 

His  trembling  limbs,  his  helpless  person, 
see! 

In  all  my  equal,  but  in  misery  ! 

Yet  now,  perhaps,  some  turn  of  human 
Fate 

Expels  him  helpless  from  his  peaceful 
state ; 

Think,  from  some  powerful  foe  thou  see’st 
him  fly, 

And  beg  protection  with  a feeble  cry. 

Yet  still  one  comfort  in  his  soul  may  rise; 
He  hears  his  son  still  lives  to  glad  his  eyes; 
And,  hearing,  still  may  hope  a better 
day  6x0 

May  send  him  thee,  to  chase  that  foe 
away. 

No  comfort  to  my  griefs,  no  hopes  re- 
main, 

The  best,  the  bravest  of  my  sons  are  slain  I 


THE  ILIAD 


529 


)t  what  a race ! ere  Greece  to  Ilion 
came, 

io  pledge  of  many  a lov’d  and  loving 
dame  1 • 

neteen  one  mother  bore  — Dead,  all  are 
dead  ! 

>w  oft,  alas  ! has  wretched  Priam  bled  ! 
ill  one  was  left,  their  loss  to  recom- 
pense; 

s father’s  hope,  his  country’s  last  de- 
fence. 

m too  thy  rage  has  slain  ! beneath  thy 
steel,  620 

iihappy,  in  his  country’s  cause,  he  fell ! 

1 him,  thro’  hostile  camps  I bent  my 
way, 

'r  him  thus  prostrate  at  thy  feet  I lay; 
rge  gifts,  proportion’d  to  thy  wrath,  I 
bear: 

L hear  the  wretched,  and  the  Gods  re- 
vere ! 

ink  of  thy  father,  and  this  face  behold  ! 

8 him  in  me,  as  helpless  and  as  old; 

.0’  not  so  wretched  : there  he  yields  to 
me, 

e first  of  men  in  sov’reign  misery, 
us  forc’d  to  kneel,  thus  grov’ling  to 
embrace  630 

he  scourge  and  ruin  of  my  realm  and 
race: 

ppliant  my  children’s  murd’rer  to  im- 
1 plore, 

id  kiss  those  hands  yet  reeking  with  their 
gore ! ’ 

These  words  soft  pity  in  the  Chief  in- 
’ spire, 

uch’d  with  the  dear  remembrance  of  his 
1 sire. 

en  with  his  hand  (as  prostrate  still  he 

Jay) 

e old  man  s cheek  he  gently  turn’d 
away. 

w each  by  turns  indulged  the  gush  of 
, woe; 

d now  the  mingled  tides  together  flow: 
is  low  on  earth,  that  gently  bending 
o’er,  640 

father  one,  and  one  a son  deplore  : 
ct  great  Achilles  diff’rent  passions  rend, 
d now  his  Sire  he  mourns,  and  now  his 
1 Friend. 

infectious  softness  thro’  the  heroes'] 
ran ; I 

■e  universal  solemn  shower  began;  [ 
,ey  bore  as  heroes,  but  they  felt  as  man.  J 


Satiate  at  length  with  unavailing  woes, 
From  the  high  throne  divine  Achilles  rose  ; 
The  rev’rend  Monarch  by  the  hand  he 
rais’d ; 

On  his  white  beard  and  form  majestic 
gazed,  650 

Not  unrelenting:  then  serene  began 
With  words  to  soothe  the  miserable  man: 

‘ Alas  ! what  weight  of  anguish  hast  thou 
known, 

Unhappy  Prince  ! thus  guardless  and  alone 
To  pass  thro’  foes,  and  thus  undaunted  face 
The  man  whose  fury  has  destroy’d  thj 
race  ! 

Heav’n  sure  has  arm’d  thee  with  a heart  of 
steel, 

A strength  proportion’d  to  the  woes  you 
feel. 

Rise  then:  let  reason  mitigate  our  care: 

To  mourn  avails  not:  man  is  born  to  bear. 
Such  is,  alas!  the  Gods’  severe  decree;  661 
They,  only  they,  are  blest,  and  only  free. 
Two  urns  by  Jove’s  high  throne  have  ever 
stood, 

The  source  of  evil  one,  and  one  of  good; 
From  thence  the  cup  of  mortal  man  he 
fills, 

Blessings  to  these,  to  those  distributes  ills; 
To  most  he  mingles  both:  the  wretch  de- 
creed 

To  taste  the  bad,  unmix’d,  is  curs’d  in- 
deed : 

Pursued  by  wrongs,  by  meagre  famine 
driv’n, 

He  wanders,  outcast  both  of  earth  and 
Heav’n.  670 

The  happiest  taste  not  Happiness  sincere, 
But  find  the  cordial  draught  is  dash’d  with 
Care. 

Who  more  than  Peleus  shone  in  wealth 
and  power  ? 

What  stars  concurring  bless’d  his  natal 
hour  ! 

A realm,  a Goddess,  to  his  wishes  giv’n, 
Graced  by  the  Gods  with  all  the  gifts  of 
Heav’n  ! 

One  evil,  yet,  o’ertakes  his  latest  day; 

No  race  succeeding  to  imperial  sway: 

An  only  son  ! and  he  (alas  !)  ordain'd 
To  fall  untimely  in  a foreign  land  ! 680 

See  him,  in  Troy,  the  pious  care  decline 
Of  his  weak  age,  to  live  the  curse  of  thine! 
Thou  too,  old  man,  hast  happier  days  be- 
held; 

In  riches  once,  in  children  once  excell’d; 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


S3© 


Extended  Phrygia  own’d  thy  ample  reign,  ) 
And  all  fair  Lesbos’  blissful  seats  contain,  I 
And  all  wide  Hellespont’s  unmeasured  [ 
main. 

But  since  the  God  his  hand  has  pleas’d  to 
turn, 

And  fill  thy  measure  from  his  bitter  urn, 
What  sees  the  sun,  but  hapless  heroes’  falls  ? 
War,  and  the  blood  of  men,  surround  thy 
walls  l 691 

What  must  be,  must  be.  Bear  thy  lot, 
nor  shed 

These  unavailing  sorrows  o’er  the  dead; 
Thou  canst  not  call  him  from  the  Stygian 
shore, 

Put  thou,  alas!  may’st  live  to  suffer  more!  * 
To  whom  the  King:  ‘ O favour’d  of  the') 
skies! 

Here  let  me  grow  to  earth ! since  Hector  V 
lies 

On  the  bare  beach,  deprived  of  obsequies.  J 

0 give  me  Hector:  to  my  eyes  restore 

His  corse,  and  take  the  gifts  : I ask  no 
more!  700 

Thou,  as  thou  may’st,  these  boundless  stores 
enjoy; 

Safe  may’st  thou  sail,  and  turn  thy  wrath 
from  Troy; 

So  shall  thy  pity  and  forbearance  give 
A weak  old  man  to  see  the  light,  and  live!  ’ 
‘ Move  me  no  more  ’ (Achilles  thus  re- 
plies, 

While  kindling  anger  sparkled  in  his  eyes), 
‘Nor  seek  by  tears  my  steady  soul  to  bend; 
To  yield  thy  Hector  I myself  intend: 

For  know,  from  Jove  my  Goddess-mother 
came  709 

(Old  Ocean’s  daughter,  Silver  - footed 
Dame) ; 

Nor  com’st  thou  but  by  Heav’n;  nor  com’st 
alone; 

Some  God  impels  with  courage  not  thy 
own: 

No  human  hand  the  weighty  gate  un-'j 
barr’d, 

Nor  could  the  boldest  of  our  youth  have  i- 
dared 

To  pass  our  out-works,  or  elude  the  guard.  J 
Cease;  lest,  neglectful  of  high  Jove’s  com- 
mand, 

1 shew  thee,  King!  thou  tread’st  on  hostile 

land ; 

Release  my  knees,  thy  suppliant  arts  give 
o’er, 

And  shake  the  purpose  of  my  soul  no  more.’ 


The  Sire  obey’d  him,  trembling  and  o’ei 
awed.  ?2 

Achilles,  like  a lion,  rush’d  abroad; 
Automedon  and  Alcimus  attend, 

Whom  most  he  honour’d,  since  he  lost  hi 
friend; 

These  to  unyoke  the  mules  and  horses  went 
And  led  the  hoary  herald  to  the  tent: 
Next,  heap’d  on  high,  the  numerous  pre 
sents  bear 

(Great  Hector’s  ransom)  from  the  polish’t 
car. 

Two  splendid  mantles,  and  a carpet  spread 
They  leave,  to  cover  and  enwrap  the  dead 
Then  call  the  handmaids,  with  assistan 
toil  ?3, 

To  wash  the  body,  and  anoint  with  oil, 
Apart  from  Priam;  lest  th’  unhappy  sire, 
Provok’d  to  passion,  once  more  rouse  t( 
ire 

The  stern  Pelides;  and  nor  sacred  age, 
Nor  Jove’s  command,  should  check  the  ris- 
ing  rage. 

This  done,  the  garments  o’er  the  corse  thej 
spread ; 

Achilles  lifts  it  to  the  funeral  bed: 

Then,  while  the  body  on  the  car  they  laid, 
He  groans,  and  calls  on  lov’d  Patroclus 
shade: 

‘ If,  in  that  gloom  which  never  light  must 
know,  74c 

The  deeds  of  mortals  touch  the  ghosts 
below; 

O Friend ! forgive  me,  that  I thus  fulfil 
(Restoring  Hector)  Heav’n’s  unquestion’c 
will. 

The  gifts  the  Father  gave,  be  ever  thine, 
To  grace  thy  manes,  and  adorn  thy  shrine. 

He  said,  and,  entering,  took  his  seat  ol 
state, 

Where  full  before  him  rev’rend  Priam  sate 
To  whom,  composed,  the  godlike  Chief  be- 
gun: 

‘ Lo!  to  thy  prayer  restor’d,  thy  breathless 
son; 

Extended  on  the  funeral  couch  he  lies;  750) 
And,  soon  as  morning  paints  the  eastern  I 
skies,  1 

The  sight  is  granted  to  thy  longing  eyes.  J 
But  now  the  peaceful  hours  of  sacred 
night 

Demand  refection,  and  to  rest  invite: 

Nor  thou,  O Father!  thus  consumed  witl: 
woe, 

The  common  cares  that  nourish  life  forego 


THE  ILIAD 


53* 


Jot  thus  did  Niobe,  of  form  divine, 
l parent  once,  whose  sorrows  equall’d 
thine: 

ix  youthful  sons,  as  many  blooming 
maids,  759 

n one  sad  day  beheld  the  Stygian  shades: 
!?hose  by  Apollo’s  silver  bow  were  slain, 
\hese,  Cynthia’s  arrows  stretch’d  upon 
| the  plain. 

>o  was  her  pride  chastised  by  wrath  divine, 
I'Vlio  match’d  her  own  with  bright  La- 
tona’s  line; 

■tut  two  the  Goddess,  twelve  the  Queen 
, enjoy’d; 

fhose  boasted  twelve  th’  avenging  two 
destroy’d. 

iteep’d  in  their  blood,  and  in  the  dust  out- 
spread, 

line  days,  neglected,  lay  exposed  the 
dead ; 

lone  by  to  weep  them,  to  inhume  them 
f none 

For  Jove  had  turn’d  the  nation  all  to 
stone) ; 770 

?he  Gods  themselves,  at  length,  relent- 
ing, gave 

('ll’  unhappy  race  the  honours  of  a grave, 
lerself  a rock  (for  such  was  Heav’n’s 
high  will) 

''hro’  deserts  wild  now  pours  a weeping 
rill; 

Where  round  the  bed  whence  Acheloiis 
springs, 

The  wat’ry  fairies  dance  in  mazy  rings: 
?rhere,  high  on  Sipylus’s  shady  brow,  "j 
>he  stands,  her  own  sad  monument  of 

woe:  > 

Hie  rock  for  ever  lasts,  the  tears  for  ever 
flow.  J 

>uch  griefs,  O King  ! have  other  parents 
3 know’ll : 780 

lemember  theirs,  and  mitigate  thy  own. 
Che  care  of  Heav’n  thy  Hector  has  ap- 
J pear’d ; 

STor  shall  he  lie  unwept,  and  uninterr’d; 
ioon  may  thy  aged  cheeks  in  tears  be 

1 drown’d, 

ind  all  the  eyes  of  Ilion  stream  around.’ 

He  said,  and,  rising,  chose  the  victim  ewe 
With  silver  fleece,  which  his  attendants 

j slew. 

Che  limbs  they  sever  from  the  reeking 
hide, 

N ith  skill  prepare  them,  and  in  parts  di- 
vide: 789 


Each  on  the  coals  the  sep’rate  morsels  lays, 
And  hasty  snatches  from  the  rising  blaze. 
With  bread  the  glitt’ring  canisters  they 
load, 

Which  round  the  board  Automedon  be- 
stow’d: 

The  chief  himself  to  each  his  portion  placed, 
And  each  indulging  shared  in  sweet  re- 
past. 

When  now  the  rage  of  hunger  was  re- 
press’d, 

The  wond’ring  Hero  eyes  his  royal  Guest; 
No  less  the  royal  Guest  the  Hero  eyes, 

His  godlike  aspect,  and  majestic  size; 

Here,  youthful  grace  and  noble  fire  en- 
gage, 800 

And  there,  the  mild  benevolence  of  age. 
Thus  gazing  long,  the  silence  neither  broke 
(A  solemn  scene)  ; at  length  the  father 
spoke: 

‘ Permit  me  now,  belov’d  of  Jove,  to 
steep 

My  careful  temples  in  the  dew  of  sleep: 

For  since  the  day  that  number’d  with  the 
dead 

My  hapless  son,  the  dust  has  been  my  bed, 
Soft  sleep  a stranger  to  my  weeping  eyes, 
My  only  food,  my  sorrows  and  my  sighs! 
Till  now , encouraged  by  the  grace  you 
give,  810 

I share  thy  banquet,  and  consent  to  live.’ 

With  that,  Achilles  bade  prepare  the  bed, 
With  purple  soft,  and  shaggy  carpets 
spread  ; 

Forth,  by  the  flaming  lights,  they  bend  their 
way, 

And  place  the  couches,  and  the  cov’rings 
lay. 

Then  he:  ‘Now,  Father,  sleep,  but  sleep 
not  here, 

Consult  thy  safety,  and  forgive  my  fear, 
Lest  any  Argive  (at  this  hour  awake, 

To  ask  our  counsel,  or  our  orders  take), 
Approaching  sudden  to  our  open  tent,  820 
Perchance  behold  thee,  and  our  grace  pre- 
vent. 

Should  such  report  thy  honour’d  person 
here, 

The  King  of  Men  the  ransom  might  defer. 
But  say  with  speed,  if  aught  of  thy  desire 
Remains  unask’d,  what  time  the  rites  re- 
quire 

T’  inter  thy  Hector  ? For,  so  long  we  stay 
Our  slaught’ring  arm,  and  bid  the  hosts 
obey.’ 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


532 


‘If  then  thy  will  permit  ’ (the  Monarch 
said), 

‘ To  finish  all  due  honours  to  the  dead, 
This,  of  thy  grace,  accord:  to  thee  are 
known  830 

The  fears  of  Ilion,  closed  within  her  town; 
And  at  what  distance  from  our  walls  as- 
pire 

The  hills  of  Ide,  and  forests  for  the  fire. 
Nine  days  to  vent  our  sorrows  I request, 
The  tenth  shall  see  the  funeral  and  the 
feast; 

The  next,  to  raise  his  monument  be  giv’n; 
The  twelfth  we  war,  if  war  be  doom’d  by 
Heav’11  ! ’ 

‘ This  thy  request  ’ (replied  the  Chief) 

‘ enjoy: 

Till  then,  our  arms  suspend  the  fall  of 
Troy.’ 

Then  gave  his  hand  at  parting,  to  pre- 
vent 840 

The  old  man’s  fears,  and  turn’d  within  the 
tent 

Where  fair  Briseis,  bright  in  blooming 
charms, 

Expects  her  hero  with  desiring  arms. 

But  in  the  porch  the  King  and  Herald 
rest, 

Sad  dreams  of  care  yet  wand’ring  in  their 
breast. 

Now  Gods  and  men  the  gifts  of  sleep 
partake ; 

Industrious  Hermes  only  was  awake, 

The  King’s  return  revolving  in  his  mind, 
To  pass  the  ramparts,  and  the  watch  to 
blind. 

The  Power  descending  hover’d  o’er  his 
head,  850 

And,  ‘ Sleep’st  thou,  Father  ? ’ (thus  the 
vision  said): 

‘Now  dost  thou  sleep,  when  Hector  is  re- 
stor’d ? 

Nor  fear  the  Grecian  foes,  or  Grecian  lord  ? 
Thy  presence  here  should  stern  Atrides 
see, 

Thv  still-surviving  sons  may  sue  for  thee; 
May  offer  all  thy  treasures  yet  contain, 

To  spare  thy  age;  and  offer  all  in  vain.’ 

Waked  with  the  word,  the  trembling  Sire 

arose, 

And  rais’d  his  friend:  the  God  before  him 

goes : 

He  joins  the  mules,  directs  them  with  his 
hand,  860 

And  moves  in  silence  thro’  the  hostile  land. 


When  now  to  Xanthus’  yellow  stream  they 
drove 

(Xanthus,  immortal  progeny  of  Jove), 

The  winged  Deity  forsook  their  view, 

And  in  a moment  to  Olympus  flew. 

Now  shed  Aurora  round  her  saffron  ray 
Sprung  thro’  the  gates  of  light,  and  gave 
the  day. 

Charged  with  their  mournful  load  to  Ilion 

go 

The  Sage  and  King,  majestically  slow. 
Cassandra  first  beholds,  from  llion’s  spire, 
The  sad  procession  of  her  hoary  sire;  871 
Then,  as  the  pensive  pomp  advanc’d  more 
near 

(Her  breathless  brother  stretch’d  upon  thei 
bier), 

A shower  of  tears  o’erflows  her  beauteous 
eyes, 

Alarming  thus  all  Ilion  with  her  cries: 

‘ Turn  here  your  steps,  and  here  your  eyes 
employ, 

Ye  wretched  daughters,  and  ye  sons  of 
Troy  ! 

If  e’er  ye  rush’d  in  crowds,  with  vast  de- 
light, 

To  hail  your  hero  glorious  from  the  fight; 
Now  meet  him  dead,  and  let  your  sorrows! 

flow  1 880 

Your  common  triumph,  and  your  common! 
woe.’ 

In  thronging  crowds  they  issue  to  the 
plains, 

Nor  man,  nor  woman,  in  the  walls  remains: 
In  ev’ry  face  the  self-same  grief  is  shewn, 
And  Troy  sends  forth  one  universal  groam 
At  Scsea’s  gates,  they  meet  the  mourning 
wain, 

Hang  on  the  wheels,  and  grovel  round  the 
slain. 

The  wife  and  mother,  frantic  with  despair, 
Kiss  his  pale  cheek,  and  rend  their  scatter’d 
hair;  889 

Thus  wildly  wailing,  at  the  gates  they 

lay; 

And  there  had  sigh’d  and  sorrow’d  out  the 
day; 

But  godlike  Priam  from  the  chariot  rose; 

* Forbear  ’ (he  cried)  ‘ this  violence  of  woes? 
First  to  the  palace  let  the  car  proceed, 

Then  pour  your  boundless  sorrows  o’er  the 
dead.’ 

The  waves  of  people  at  his  word  divide; 
Slow  rolls  the  chariot  thro’  the  foil ’wing 
tide: 


THE  ILIAD 


533 


!v’n  to  the  palace  the  sad  pomp  they  wait: 
'hey  weep,  and  place  him  on  the  bed  of 
state. 

. melancholy  choir  attend  around,  900 
/ith  plaintive  sighs  and  music’s  solemn 
sound: 

Alternately  they  sing,  alternate  flow 
h’  obedient  tears,  melodious  in  their  woe; 
7hile  deeper  sorrows  groan  from  each  full 
heart, 

nd  Nature  speaks  at  ev’ry  pause  of  Art. 
First  to  the  corse  the  weeping  consort 
flew; 

round  his  neck  her  milk-white  arms  she 
threw: 

nd,  ‘ Oh  my  Hector  ! oh  my  lord  !’  she 
cries, 

match’d  in  thy  bloom  from  these  desiring 
eyes  ! 

hou  to  the  dismal  realms  for  ever  gone  ! 
nd  I abandon’d,  desolate,  alone  ! 91 1 

n only  son,  once  comfort  of  our  pains, 
id  product  now  of  hapless  love,  remains  ! 
ever  to  manly  age  that  son  shall  rise, 
r with  increasing  graces  glad  my  eyes; 

)r  Ilion  now  (her  great  defender  slain) 
lall  sink  a smoking  ruin  on  the  plain, 
ho  now  protects  her  wives  with  guardian 
care  ? 

'ho  saves  her  infants  from  the  rage  of 
war  ? 

ow  hostile  fleets  must  waft  those  infants 
o er  ^20 

’hose  wives  must  wait  them)  to  a foreign 
shore  ! 

iou  too,  my  son ! to  barb’rous  climes 
c shalt  go, 

le  sad  companion  of  thy  mother’s  woe; 
’iv’11  hence  a slave  before  the  victor’s 
sword, 

•ndemn’d  to  toil  for  some  inhuman  lord: 

* else  some  Greek,  whose  father  press’d 

? the  plain, 

• son,  or  brother,  by  great  Hector  slain, 
Hector’s  blood  his  vengeance  shall  enjoy, 
id  hurl  thee  headlong  from  the  towers 

of  Troy. 

r thy  stern  father  never  spared  a foe:  930 
ence  all  these  tears,  and  all  this  scene  of 
woe  ! 

ence,  many  evils  his  sad  parents  bore, 
s parents  many,  but  his  consort  more, 
hy  gavest  thou  not  to  me  thy  dying 
I hand  ? 

id  why  receiv’d  not  I thy  last  command  ? I 


Some  word  thou  would’st  have  spoke, 
which,  sadly  dear, 

My  soul  might  keep,  or  utter  with  a tear; 
Which  never,  never  could  be  lost  in  air, 
Fix’d  in  my  heart,  and  oft  repeated 
there  ! ’ 

Thus  to  her  weeping  maids  she  makes 
her  moan : 940 

Her  weeping  handmaids  echo  groan  for 
groan. 

The  mournful  mother  next  sustains  her 
part: 

* O thou,  the  best,  the  dearest  to  my  heart  ! 
Of  all  my  race  thou  most  by  Heav’11  ap- 
prov’d, 

And  by  th’  immortals  ev’n  in  death  be- 
lov’d  ! 

While  all  my  other  sons  in  barb’rous  bands 
Achilles  bound,  and  sold  to  foreign  lands, 
This  felt  no  chains,  but  went,  a glorious 
ghost, 

Free,  and  a hero,  to  the  Stygian  coast.  949 
Sentenc’d,  ’t  is  true,  by  his  inhuman  doom, 
Thy  noble  corse  was  dragg’d  around  the 
tomb 

(The  tomb  of  him  thy  warlike  arm  had 
slain); 

Ungen’rous  insult,  impotent  and  vain  ! 

Yet  glow’st  thou  fresh  with  ev’ry  living 
grace, 

No  mark  of  pain,  or  violence  of  face; 

Rosy  and  fair  ! as  Phcebus’  silver  bow 
Dismiss’d  thee  gently  to  the  shades  be- 
low ! ’ 

Thus  spoke  the  Dame,  and  melted  into 
tears. 

Sad  Helen  next  in  pomp  of  grpf  appears: 
Fast  from  the  shining  sluices  of  her  eyes  96c 
Fall  the  round  crystal  drops,’  while  thus  she 
cries : 

‘ Ah,  dearest  friend  ! in  whom  the  Gods  had 
join’d 

The  mildest  manners  with  the  bravest 
mind ! 

Now  twice  ten  years  (unhappy  years)  are 
o’er 

Since  Paris  brought  me  to  the  Trojan 
shore 

(Oh  had  I perish’d,  ere  that  form  divine 
Seduced  this  soft,  this  easy  heart  of  mine!) 
Yet  was  it  ne’er  my  fate  from  thee  to  find 
A deed  ungentle,  or  a word  unkind: 

When  others  curs’d  the  authoress  of  their 
woe,  9?0 

Thy  pity  check’d  my  sorrows  in  their  flow: 


534 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


If  some  proud  brother  eyed  me  with  dis-'j 
dain, 

Or  scornful  sister  with  her  sweeping  V 
train, 

Thy  gentle  accents  soften’d  all  my  pain.  J 
For  thee  I mourn;  and  mourn  myself  in 
thee, 

The  wretched  source  of  all  this  misery  ! 

The  fate  I caus’d,  for  ever  I bemoan; 

Sad  Helen  has  no  friend,  now  thou  art 
gone  ! 

Thro’  Troy’s  wide  streets  abandon’d  shall  I 
roam,  979 

In  Troy  deserted,  as  abhorr’d  at  home  ! ’ 

So  spoke  the  Fair,  with  sorrow-streaming 
eye: 

Distressful  beauty  melts  each  stander-by ; 
On  all  around  th’  infectious  sorrow  grows; 
But  Priam  check’d  the  torrent  as  it  rose: 

* Perform,  ye  Trojans ! what  the  rites  re- 
quire, 

And  fell  the  forests  for  a funeral  pyre  ! 
Twelve  days  nor  foes  nor  secret  ambush 
dread; 

Achilles  grants  these  honours  to  the  dead.’ 

He  spoke;  and  at  his  word  the  Trojan 
train  989 

Their  mules  and  oxen  harness  to  the  wain, 
Poui'  thro’  the  gates,  and,  fell’d  from  Ida’s 
crown, 

Roll  back  the  gather’d  forests  to  the  town. 
These  toils  continue  nine  succeeding  days, 
And  high  in  air  a sylvan  structure  raise. 
But  when  the  tenth  fair  morn  began  to 
shine, 

Forth  to  the  pile  was  borne  the  man  di- 
vine, 

And  placed  aloft:  while  all,  with  streaming 
eyes, 

Beheld  the  flames  and  rolling  smokes 
arise. 

Soon  as  Aurora,  Daughter  of  the  Dawn, 
With  rosy  lustre  streak’d  the  dewy 
lawn,  1 coo 

Again  the  mournful  crowds  surround  the 
pyre,  . . 

And  quench  with  wine  the  yet-remaining 
fire. 

The  snowy  bones  his  friends  and  brothers 
place 

(With  tears  collected)  in  a golden  vase; 
The  golden  vase  in  purple  palls  they 
roll’d, 

Of  softest  texture,  and  inwrought  with 
gold. 


Last,  o’er  the  urn  the  sacred  earth  they 
spread, 

And  rais’d  the  tomb,  memorial  of  the 
dead 

(Strong  guards  and  spies,  till  all  the  rites 
were  done, 

Watch’d  from  the  rising  to  the  setting 
sun).-  ioic 

All  Troy  then  moves  to  Priam’s  couri 
again, 

A solemn,  silent,  melancholy  train: 

Assembled  there,  from  pious  toil  they  rest 

And  sadly  shared  the  last  sepulchral  feast 
Such  honours  Ilion  to  her  hero  paid, 

And  peaceful  slept  the  mighty  Hector’s 
shade. 


POPE'S  CONCLUDING  NOTE. 

We  have  now  passed  through  the  Iliad,  an< 
seen  the  anger  of  Achilles,  and  the  terribh 
effects  of  it,  at  an  end  : as  that  only  was  tb 
subject  of  the  poem,  and  the  nature  of  epi 
poetry  would  not  permit  our  author  to  proceei 
to  the  event  of  the  war,  it  may  perhaps  be  ac 
ceptable  to  the  common  reader  to  give  a shor 
account  of  what  happened  to  Troy  and  th 
chief  actors  in  this  poem,  after  the  conclusio: 
of  it. 

I need  not  mention  that  Troy  was  taken  soo1 
after  the  death  of  Hector,  by  the  stratagem  c 
the  wooden  horse,  the  particulars  of  which  ar 
described  by  Virgil  in  the  second  book  of  th 
iEneis. 

Achilles  fell  before  Troy,  by  the  hand  c 
Paris,  by  the  shot  of  an  arrow'  in  his  heel,  £ 
Hector  had  prophesied  at  his  death,  book  xxi 

The  unfortunate  Priam  was  killed  by  Py: 
rhus,  the  son  of  Achilles. 

Ajax,  after  the  death  of  Achilles,  had  a coi 
test  with  Ulysses  for  the  armour  of  Vulcai 
but  being  defeated  in  his  aim,  he  slew  himse 
through  indignation. 

Helen,  after  the  death  of  Paris,  marrie 
Deiphobus  his  brother,  and  at  the  taking  t 
Troy  betrayed  him,  in  order  to  reconcile  he 
self  to  Menelaus,  her  first  husband,  who  r< 
ceived  her  again  into  favour. 

Agamemnon  at  his  return  was  barbarous! 
murdered  by  ^Egisthus,  at  the  instigation  < 
Clytaemnestra,  his  wife,  who  in  his  absence  h£ 
dishonoured  his  bed  with  ihgisthus. 

Diomed,  after  the  fall  of  Troy,  was  expellf 
his  own  country,  and  scarce  escaped  wii 
life  from  his  adulterous  wife  JEgiale ; but  ; 
last  was  received  by  Daunus  in  Apulia,  ar 
shared  his  kingdom  ; it  is  uncertain  how  1 
died. 


THE  ODYSSEY 


535 


Nestor  lived  in  peace,  with  his  children,  in 
*ylos,  his  native  country. 

Ulysses  also,  after  innumerable  troubles  by 
ea  and  land,  at  last  returned  in  safety  to 
thaca,  which  is  the  subject  of  Homer's  Odya- 
ey. 

I must  end  these  notes  by  discharging  my 
juty  to  two  of  my  friends,  which  is  the  more 
b indispensable  piece  of  justice,  as  the  one  of 
hem  is  since  dead.  The  merit  of  their  kind- 
jess  to  me  will  appear  infinitely  the  greater,  as 
ie  task  they  undertook  was,  in  its  own  nature, 
if  much  more  labour,  than  either  pleasure  or 
jiputation.  The  larger  part  of  the  extracts 
I’ora  Eustathius,  together  with  several  excel- 
snt  observations,  were  sent  me  by  Mr.  Broome  : 
ad  the  whole  Essay  upon  Homer  was  written, 
pon  such  memoirs  as  I had  collected,  by  the 
ite  Dr,  Parnell,  Archdeacon  of  Clogher  in 
•eland.  How  very  much  that  gentleman’s 
•iendship  prevailed  over  his  genius,  in  detaili- 
ng a writer  of  his  spirit  in  the  drudgery  of 
amoving  the  rubbish  of  past  pedants,  will  soon 
bpear  to  the  world,  when  they  shall  see  those 

THE  O 

The  remarkable  success  which  met  the  trans- 
ition of  The  Iliad , encouraged  Pope  to  at- 
mpt  The  Odyssey . He  had  already  made 
>nie  experiment  at  translating  certain  frag- 
ments, which  had  been  published  in  one  of 
lintot’s  Miscellanies  in  1714.  His  experience 
ith  The  Iliad  had,  however,  left  him  no  strong 
clination  for  the  drudgery  of  translation.  He 
erefore  enlisted  the  services  of  two  friends, 
•mton  and  Broome.  Eventually  he  himself 
anslated  only  the  third,  fifth,  seventh,  ninth, 
irteenth,  fourteenth,  seventeenth,  twenty- 
,st,  twenty-second,  and  twenty-fourth  books, 
id  most  of  the  tenth  and  the  fifteenth.  Pope 

BOOK  III 

IE  INTERVIEW  OF  TELEMACHUS  AND  NESTOR 
THE  ARGUMENT 

ulemachus,  guided  by  Pallas  in  the  shape  of 
Mentor,  arrives  in  the  morning  at  PyloS, 
i where  Nestor  and  his  Sons  are  sacrificing  on 
the  sea-shore  to  Neptune.  Telemachus  de- 
clares the  occasion  of  his  coming,  and.  Nestor 
relates  what  passed  in  their  return  from  Troy, 
how  their  fleets  were  separated,  and  he  never 
-since  heard  of  Ulysses.  They  discourse  con- 
cerning the  death  of  Agamemnon,  the  re- 
venge of  Orestes,  and  the  injuries  of  the 


beautiful  pieces  of  poetry,  the  publication  of 
which  he  left  to  my  charge,  almost  with  his 
dying  breath. 

For  what  remains,  I beg  to  be  excused  from 
the  ceremonies  of  taking  leave  at  the  end  of 
my  work  ; and  from  embarrassing  myself,  or 
others,  with  any  defences  or  apologies  about 
it.  But  instead  of  endeavouring  to  raise  a 
vain  monument  to  myself,  of  the  merits  or 
difficulties  of  it  (which  must  be  left  to  the 
world,  to  truth,  and  to  posterity),  let  me  leave 
behind  me  a memorial  of  my  friendship  with 
one  of  the  most  valuable  men,  as  well  as  finest 
writers,  of  my  age  and  country ; one  who  has 
tried,  and  knows  by  his  own  experience  how 
hard  an  undertaking  it  is,  to  do  justice  to 
Homer;  and  one  who  (I  am  sure)  sincerely 
rejoices  with  me  at  the  period  of  my  labours. 
To  him,  therefore,  having  brought  this  long 
work  to  a conclusion,  I desire  to  dedicate  it; 
and  to  have  the  honour  and  satisfaction  of 
placing  together,  in  this  mannei’,  the  names  of 
Mr.  Congreve,  and  of 

A.  POPE. 

March  25,  1720. 


was  slow  in  admitting  publicly  the  extent  of 
his  indebtedness  to  his  collaborators,  but  it  has 
long  been  known  that  Fenton  translated  the 
first,  fourth,  nineteenth,  and  twentieth  books, 
and  Broome  the  rest.  Fenton’s  manuscript  has 
been  preserved  in  the  British  Museum  and  shows 
few  alterations  in  Pope’s  hand.  Broome’s  work 
is  said  to  have  needed  much  more  careful  re- 
vision, but  there  is  no  direct  evidence  in  the 
matter.  Broome  supplied  all  the  notes.  With 
the  exception  of  the  hardly  distinguishable  por- 
tions of  the  tenth  and  fifteenth  books  which  he 
accredited  to  his  helpers,  only  Pope’s  own  work 
is  included  here. 

Suitors.  Nestor  advises  him  to  go  to  Sparta, 
and  inquire  further  of  Menelaus.  The  sac- 
rifice ending  with  the  night,  Minerva  vanishes 
from  them  in  the  form  of  an  eagle  : Tele- 
machus is  lodged  in  the  palace.  The  next 
morning  they  sacrifice  a bullock  to  Minerva ; 
and  Telemachus  proceeds  oft  his  journey  to 
Sparta,  attended  by  Pisistratus. 

The  scefte  lies  on  the  seashore  of  Pylos. 

The  sacred  Sun,  above  the  waters  rais’d, 
Thro’Heav’n’s  eternal  brazen  portals  blazed; 
And  wide  o’er  earth  diffused  his  cheering 
ray, 

To  Gods  and  men  to  give  the  golden  day. 


53^ 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


Now  on  the  coast  of  Pyle  the  vessel  falls, 
Before  old  Neleus’  venerable  walls. 

There,  suppliant  to  the  Monarch  of  the 
Flood, 

At  nine  green  theatres  the  Pylians  stood. 
Each  held  five  hundred  (a  deputed  train), 
At  each,  nine  oxen  on  the  sand  lay  slain,  io 
They  taste  the  entrails,  and  the  altars  load 
With  smoking  thighs,  an  off ’ring  to  the 
God. 

Full  for  the  port  the  Ithacensians  stand, 
And  furl  their  sails,  and  issue  on  the  land. 
Telemachus  already  press’d  the  shore; 

Not  first;  the  Power  of  Wisdom  march’d 
before, 

And,  ere  the  sacrificing  throng  he  join’d, 
Admonish’d  thus  his  well-attending  mind: 

‘ Proceed,  my  son  ! this  youthful  shame 
expel; 

An  honest  business  never  blush  to  tell.  20 
To  learn  what  Fates  thy  wretched  sire  de- 
tain, 

We  pass’d  the  wide  immeasurable  main. 
Meet  then  the  senior  far  renown ’d  for 
sense, 

With  rev’rend  awe,  but  decent  confidence: 
Urge  him  with  truth  to  frame  his  fair  re- 
plies ; 

And  sure  he  will:  for  Wisdom  never  lies.’ 

‘ O tell  me,  Mentor  ! tell  me,  faithful 
guide  ’ 

(The  youth  with  prudent  modesty  replied), 
‘ How  shall  I meet,  or  how  accost  the  sage, 
Unskill’d  in  speech,  nor  yet  mature  of 
age.  30 

Awful  th’  approach,  and  hard  the  task  ap- 
pears, 

To  question  wisely  men  of  riper  years.’ 

To  whom  the  martial  Goddess  thus  re- 
join’d: 

* Search,  for  some  thoughts,  thy  own  sug- 
gesting mind ; 

And  others,  dictated  by  heav’nly  Power, 
Shall  rise  spontaneous  in  the  needful  hour. 
For  nought  unprosperous  shall  thy  ways 
attend, 

Born  with  good  omens,  and  with  Heav’n 
thy  friend.’ 

She  spoke,  and  led  the  way  with  swiftest 
speed: 

As  swift,  the  youth  pursued  the  way  she 
led ; 40 

And  join’d  the  band  before  the  sacred  fire, 
Where  sate  encompass’d  with  his  sons,  the 
sire. 


The  youth  of  Pylos,  some  on  pointed  wood 
Transfix’d  the  fragments,  some  prepared 
the  food: 

In  friendly  throngs  they  gather  to  embrace 
Their  unknown  guests,  and  at  the  banquet 

place. 

Pisistratus  was  first  to  grasp  their  hands, 
And  spread  soft  hides  upon  the  yellow 
sands; 

Along  the  shore  th’  illustrious  pair  he  led, 
Where  Nestor  sate  with  youthful  Thrasy- 

med.  50 

To  each  a portion  of  the  feast  he  bore, 

And  held  the  golden  goblet  foaming  o’er; 
Then  first  approaching  to  the  elder  guest, 
The  latent  Goddess  in  these  words  ad- 
dress’d: 

‘ Whoe’er  thou  art,  whom  Fortune  brings 
to  keep 

These  rites  of  Neptune,  Monarch  of  the 
Deep, 

Thee  first  it  fits,  O Stranger  ! to  prepare 
The  due  libation  and  the  solemn  prayer: 
Then  give  thy  friend  to  shed  the  sacred  ) 
wine; 

Tho’  much  thy  younger,  and  his  years  I 
like  mine,  60  j 

He  too,  1 deem,  implores  the  Powers 
divine: 

For  all  mankind  alike  require  their  grace, 
All  born  to  want;  a miserable  race  ! ’ 

He  spake,  and  to  her  hand  preferr’d  the 
bowl: 

A secret  pleasure  touch’d  Athena’s  soul, 

To  see  the  pref’rence  due  to  sacred  age 
Regarded  ever  by  the  just  and  sage. 

Of  Ocean’s  King  she  then  implores  the 
grace: 

‘ O thou  ! whose  arms  this  ample  globe 
. embrace, 

Fulfil  our  wish,  and  let  thy  glory  shine  7a 
On  Nestor  first,  and  Nestor’s  royal  line; 
Next  grant  the  Pylian  states  their  just 
desires, 

Pleas’d  with  their  hecatomb’s  ascending 
fires; 

Last,  deign  Telemachus  and  me  to  bless, 
And  crown  our  voyage  with  desired  suc- 
cess.’ 

Thus  she:  and,  having  paid  the  rite 
divine, 

Gave  to  Ulysses’  son  the  rosy  wine. 
Suppliant  he  pray’d.  And  now,  the  victims 
dress’d, 

They  draw,  divide,  and  celebrate  the  feast,  j 


THE  ODYSSEY 


537 


The  banquet  done,  the  narrative  old  man,  80 
Thus  mild,  the  pleasing  conference  began- 
‘ Now,  gentle  guests  ! the  genial  banquet 
o’er, 

[t  fits  to  ask  ye,  what  your  native  shore, 
And  wheuce  your  race  ? on  what  adventure, 
say, 

Thus  far  you  wander  thro’  the  wat’ry  way  ? 
Relate,  if  business,  or  the  thirst  of  gain, 
Engage  your  journey  o’er  the  pathless 
main: 

Where  savage  pirates  seek  thro’  seas  un- 
known 

The  lives  of  others,  venturous  of  their 
own.’ 

Urged  by  the  precepts  by  the  Goddess 
giv’n,  9° 

And  fill’d  with  confidence  infused  from 
Heav’n, 

'The  youth,  whom  Pallas  destin’d  to  be  wise 
And  famed  among  the  sons  of  men,  re- 
plies: 

1 Iuquirest  thou,  father ! from  what  coast  we 
came  ? 

(Oh  grace  aud  glory  of  the  Grecian  name!) 
;From  where  high  Ithaca  o’erlooks  the  floods, 
[Brown  with  o’er-arching  shades  and  pen- 
dent woods, 

Us  to  these  shores  our  filial  duty  draws, 

'A  private  sorrow,  not  a public  cause.  99 
My  sire  I seek,  where’er  the  voice  of  Fame 
Has  told  the  glories  of  his  noble  name, 

The  great  Ulysses;  famed  from  shore  to 
shore 

For  valour  much,  for  hardy  suff’ring  more. 
Long  time  with  thee  before  proud  Ilion’s 
wall 

In  arms  he  fought:  with  thee  beheld  her 
fall. 

Of  all  the  Chiefs,  this  hero’s  fate  alone 
Has  Jove  reserv’d,  unheard  of,  and  un- 
known; 

'Whether  in  fields  by  hostile  fury  slain, 
jOr  sunk  by  tempests  in  the  gulfy  main, 

Of  this  to  learn,  oppress’d  with  tender 
fears,  no 

Lo,  at  thy  knee  his  suppliant  son  appears. 
If  or  thy  certain  eye,  or  curious  ear, 

(iHave  learn’d  his  fate,  the  whole  dark  story 
clear: 

And,  oh  ! whate’er  Heav’n  destin’d  to  be- 
tide, 

Let  neither  flatt’ry  smooth,  nor  pity  hide. 
^Prepared  I stand:  he  was  but  born  to  try 
The  lot  of  man;  to  suffer,  and  to  die. 


Oh  then,  if  ever  thro’  the  ten  years’  war 
The  wise,  the  good  Ulysses  claim’d  thy 
care;  119 

If  e’er  he  join’d  thy  council,  or  thy  sword, 
True  in  his  deed,  and  constant  to  his  word; 
Far  as  thy  mind  thro’  backward  time  can  I 
see,  1 

Search  all  thy  stores  of  faithful  memory:  f 
’T  is  sacred  truth  I ask,  and  ask  of  thee.’  J 
To  him  experienc’d  Nestor  thus  rejoin’d: 

‘ O friend  ! what  sorrows  dost  thou  bring  to 
mind  ! 

Shall  I the  long,  laborious  scene  review, 
And  open  all  the  wounds  of  Ggpece  anew  ? 
What  toils  by  sea  ! where  dark  in  quest  of 
prey  129 

Dauntless  we  roved;  Achilles  led  the  way: 
What  toils  by  land  ! where,  mix’d  in  fatal 
fight, 

Such  numbers  fell,  such  heroes  sunk  to 
night : 

There  Ajax  great,  Achilles  there  the  brave: 
There  wise  Patroclus,  fill  an  early  grave: 
There,  too,  my  son  — ah  ! once  my  best 
delight, 

Once  swift  of  foot,  and  terrible  in  fight; 

In  whom  stern  courage  with  soft  virtue 
join’d, 

A faultless  body  and  a blameless  mind: 
Antilochus  — what  more  can  I relate  ? 

How  trace  the  tedious  series  of  our  Fate?  14® 
Not  added  years  on  years  my  task  could 
close, 

The  long  historian  of  my  country’s  woes: 
Back  to  thy  native  islands  might’st  thou 
sail, 

And  leave  half-heard  the  melancholy  tale. 
Nine  painful  years  on  that  detested  shore, 
What  stratagems  we  form’d,  what  toils  we 
bore  ! 

Still  lab’ring  on,  till  scarce  at  last  we 
found 

Great  Jove  propitious,  and  our  conquest 
crown’d. 

Far  o’er  the  rest  thy  mighty  father  shin’d, 
In  wit,  in  prudence,  and  in  force  of  mind.  150 
Art  thou  the  son  of  that  illustrious  sire  ? 
With  joy  I grasp  thee,  and  with  love  ad- 
mire. 

So  like  your  voices,  and  your  words  so 
wise. 

Who  finds  thee  younger  must  consult  his 
eyes. 

Thy  sire  and  I were  one;  nor  varied  aught 
In  public  sentence  or  in  private  thought; 


533 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


Alike  to  council  or  th’  assembly  came, 
With  equal  souls,  and  sentiments  the  same. 
But  when  (by  wisdom  won)  proud  Ilion 
burn’d, 

And  in  their  ships  the  conquering  Greeks 
return’d, 

’T  was  God’s  high  will  the  victors  to  divide, 
And  turn  th’  event,  confounding  human 
pride: 

Some  he  destroy’d,  some  scatter’d  as  the 
dust 

(Not  all  were  prudent,  and  not  all  were 
just). 

Then  Discord,  sent  by  Pallas  from  above, 
Stern  daughter  of  the  great  avenger  Jove, 
The  Brother-Kings  inspired  with  fell  de- 
bate; 

Who  call’d  to  council  all  th’  Achaian  state, 
But  call’d  untimely  (not  the  sacred  rite  169 
Observ’d,  nor  heedful  of  the  setting  light, 
Nor  herald  sworn  the  session  to  proclaim); 
Sour  with  debauch,  a reeling  tribe  they 
came. 

To  these  the  cause  of  meeting  they  explain, 
And  Menelaus  moves  to  cross  the  main ; 
Not  so  the  King  of  Men:  he  will’d  to  stay, 
The  sacred  rites  and  hecatombs  to  pay, 
And  calm  Minerva’s  wrath.  Oh  blind  to 
Fate  ! 

The  Gods  not  lightly  change  their  love,  or 
hate. 

With  ireful  taunts  each  other  they  oppose, 
Till  in  loud  tumult  all  the  Greeks  arose.  180 
Now  ditf’rent  counsels  ev’ry  breast  divide, 
Each  burns  with  rancour  to  the  adverse 
side: 

Th’  unquiet  night  strange  projects  enter- 
tain’d 

(So  Jove,  that  urged  us  to  our  fate,  or- 
dain’d). 

We  with  the  rising  morn  our  ships  un- 
moor’d, 

And  brought  our  captives  and  our  stores 
aboard; 

But  half  the  people  with  respect  obey’d 
The  King  of  Men,  and  at  his  bidding  stay’d. 
Now  on  the  wings  of  winds  our  course  we 
keep 

(For  God  had  smooth’d  the  waters  of  the 
deep);  i9o 

For  Tenedos  we  spread  our  eager  oars, 
There  land,  and  pay  due  victims  to  the 
powers: 

To  bless  our  safe  return,  we  join  in  prayer; 
But  angry  Jove  dispers’d  our  vows  in  air, 


And  rais’d  new  discord.  Then  (so  Heav’n 
decreed) 

Ulysses  first  and  Nestor  disagreed: 

Wise  as  he  was,  by  various  counsels 
sway’d, 

Fie  there,  tho’  late,  to  please  the  Monarch, 
stay’d. 

But  I,  determin’d,  stem  the  foamy  floods, 
Warn’d  of  the  coming  fury  of  the  Gods. 
With  us  Tydides  fear’d,  and  urged  his 
haste : 2Q1 

And  Menelaus  came,  but  came  the  last: 

He  join’d  our  vessels  in  the  Lesbian  bay, 
While  yet  we  doubted  of  our  wat’ry  way; 
If  to  the  right  to  urge  the  pilot’s  toil 
(The  safer  road)  beside  the  Psyrian  isle; 
Or  the  straight  course  to  rocky  Chios 
plough, 

And  anchor  under  Mimas’  shaggy  brow  ? 
We  sought  direction  of  the  Power  divine: 
The  God  propitious  gave  the  guiding 
sign;  2IO 

Thro’  the  mid  seas  he  bid  our  navy  steer 
And  in  Eubcea  shun  the  woes  we  fear. 

The  whistling  winds  already  waked  the 
sky; 

Before  the  whistling  winds  the  vessels  fly; 
With  rapid  swiftness  cut  the  liquid  way, 
And  reach  Gerestus  at  the  point  of  day. 
There  hecatombs  of  bulls,  to  Neptune 
slain, 

High  - flaming  please  the  Monarch  of  the 
Main. 

The  fourth  day  shone,  when,  all  their  la- 
bours o’er, 

Tydides’  vessels  touch’d  the  wish’d  - for 
shore.  220 

But  I to  Pylos  scud  before  the  gales, 

The  God  still  breathing  on  my  swelling 
sails; 

Sep’rate  from  all  I safely  landed  here; 
Their  fates  or  fortunes  never  reach’d  my 
ear. 

Yet  what  T learn’d,  attend ; as  here  I sate, ) 
And  ask’d  each  voyager  each  hero’s  fate ; > 
Curious  to  know,  and  willing  to  relate.  J 
‘ Safe  reach’d  the  Myrmidons  their  native 
land, 

Beneath  Achilles’  warlike  son’s  command. 
Those,  whom  the  heir  of  great  Apollo’s 
art,  230 

Brave  Philoctetes,  taught  to  wing  the  dart; 
And  those  whom  Idomen  from  Ilion ’s  plain 
Had  led,  securely  cross’d  the  dreadful 
main. 


THE  ODYSSEY 


539 


low  Agamemnon  touch’d  his  Argive  coast, 
aid  how  his  life  by  fraud  and  force  he 
lost, 

ind  how  the  murd’rer  paid  his  forfeit 
breath; 

‘Vliat  lands  so  distant  from  that  scene  of 
death 

Jut  trembling  heard  the  fame  ? and  heard, 
admire  ? 

low  well  the  son  appeas’d  his  slaughter’d 
sire  ! 239 

iv’n  to  th’  unhappy,  that  unjustly  bleed, 
leav’n  gives  posterity  t’  avenge  the  deed, 
io  fell  iEgisthus  : and  mayst  thou,  my 
friend 

On  whom  the  virtues  of  thy  sire  de- 
scend), 

Make  future  times  thy  equal  act  adore, 
ind  be  what  brave  Orestes  was  before  ! ’ 

The  prudent  youth  replied:  ‘ O thou  the 
grace 

And  lasting  glory  of  the  Grecian  race  ! 

Just  was  the  vengeance,  and  to  latest 
days 

Shall  long  posterity  resound  the  praise. 

Some  God  this  arm  with  equal  prowess 
bless  ! 25° 

And  the  proud  suitors  shall  its  force  con- 
fess; 

Injurious  men!  who,  while  mv  soul  is  sore 
Of  fresh  affronts,  are  meditating  more. 

But  Heav’n  denies  this  honour  to  my  hand, 
Nor  shall  my  father  repossess  the  land: 

The  father’s  fortune  never  to  return, 

And  the  sad  son’s  to  suffer  and  to  mourn!  ’ 

( Thus  he;  and  Nestor  took  the  word:  ‘ My 
son, 

Is  it  then  true,  as  distant  rumours  run, 

That  crowds  of  rivals  for  thy  mother’s 
: charms  260 

Thy  palace  fill  with  insults  and  alarms? 

, Say,  is  the  fault,  thro’  tame  submission, 
thine?  I 

Or,  leagued  against  thee,  do  thy  people  > 
30111, 

Mov’d  by  some  oracle,  or  voice  divine  ? J 
And  yet  who  knows  but  ripening  lies  in 
Fate 

An  hour  of  vengeance  for  th’  afflicted 
state ; 

When  great  Ulysses  shall  suppress  these 
harms, 

\ Ulysses  singly,  or  all  Greece  in  arms. 

But  if  Athena,  War’s  triumphant  Maid, 
The  happy  son  will,  as  the  father,  aid  270 


(Whose  fame  and  safety  was  her  constant 
care 

In  ev’ry  danger  and  in  ev’ry  war  : 

Never  on  mail  did  heav’nly  favour  shine 
With  rays  so  strong,  distinguish’d,  and  di- 
vine, 

As  those  with  which  Minerva  mark’d  thy 
sire ; 

So  might  she  love  thee,  so  thy  j>oul  in- 
spire !),  ' 

Soon  should  their  hopes  in  humble  dust  be 
laid, 

And  long  oblivion  of  the  bridal  bed.’ 

‘ Ah  ! 110  such  hope  ’ (the  Prince  with 
sighs  replies) 

« Can  touch  my  breast;  that  blessing  Heav’n 
denies.  # 280 

Ev’11  by  celestial  favour  were  it  giv’11, 
Fortune  or  Fate  would  cross  the  will  of 
Heav’11.’ 

< What  words  are  these,  and  what  impru- 
dence thine  ? ’ 

(Thus  interposed  the  Martial  Maid  divine) 

‘ Forgetful  youth  ! but  know,  the  Power 
above, 

With  ease  can  save  each  object  of  his  love; 
Wide  as  his  will  extends  his  boundless 
grace ; 

Nor  lost  in  time,  nor  circumscribed  by 
place. 

Happier  his  lot,  who,  many  sorrows  pass’d, 
Long  lab’ring  gains  his  natal  shore  at 
last,  . 2?o 

Than  who,  too  speedy,  hastes  to  end  his 
life 

By  some  stern  ruffian,  or  adult’rous  wife. 
Death  only  is  the  lot  which  none  can  miss, 
And  all  is  possible  to  Heav’n  but  this. 

The  best,  the  dearest  fav’rite  of  the  sky 
Must  taste  that  cup,  for  man  is  born  to 
die.’ 

Thus  check’d,  replied  Ulysses’  prudent 
heir: 

‘ Mentor,  no  more  — the  mournful  thought 
forbear; 

For  he  no  more  must  draw  his  country  s 
breath, 

Already  snatch’d  by  Fate,  and  the  black 
doom  of  Death  ! 300 

Pass  we  to  other  subjects;  and  engage 
On  themes  remote  the  venerable  sage. 
(Wljo  thrice  has  seen  the  perishable  kind 
Of  men  decay,  and  thro’  three  ages  shin’d 
Like  Gods  majestic,  and  like  Gods  in 
mind)  ; 


54° 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


For  much  he  knows,  and  just  conclusions 
draws, 

From  various  precedents  and  various  laws. 
O son  of  Neleus!  awful  Nestor,  tell 
How  he,  the  mighty  Agamemnon,  fell; 

By  what  strange  fraud  ASgisthus  wrought, 
relate  310 

(By  force  he  could  not),  such  a hero’s  fate  ? 
Liv’d  Menelaiis  not  in  Greece  ? or  where 
Was  then  the  martial  brother’s  pious  care  ? 
Condemn’d  perhaps  some  foreign  shore  to 
tread ; 

Or  sure  iEgisthus  had  not  dared  the  deed.’ 

To  whom  the  full  of  days  : * Illustrious 
youth, 

Attend  (tlio’  partly  thou  hast  guess’d')  the 
truth.  J 

For  had  the  martial  Menelaiis  found 
The  ruffian  breathing  yet  on  Argive  ground, 
Nor  earth  had  hid  his  carcass  from  the 
skies,  32Q 

Nor  Grecian  virgin  shriek’d  his  obsequies, 
But  fowls  obscene  dismember’d  his  remains 
And  dogs  had  torn  him  on  the  naked 
plains. 

While  us  the  works  of  bloody  Mars  em- 
pffiy’d, 

The  wanton  youth  inglorious  peace  enjoy’d; 
He.  stretch  d at  ease  in  Argos’  calm  recess 
(Whose  stately  steeds  luxuriant  pastures 
bless), 

With  Flattery’s  insinuating  art 
Sooth  d the  frail  Queen,  and  poison’d  all 
her  heart. 

At  first,  with  worthy  shame  and  decent 
Pride>  . 330 

The  royal  dame  his  lawless  suit  denied. 

For  virtue’s  image  yet  possess’d  her  mind, 
Taught  by  a master  of  the  tuneful  kind: 
Atrides,  parting  for  the  Trojan  war, 
Consign’d  the  youthful  consort  to  his  care. 
True  to  his  charge,  the  bard  preserv’d  her 
long 

In  honour’s  limits;  such  the  power  of  sono*. 
But  when  the  Gods  these  objects  of  their 
hate 

Dragg’d  to  destruction  by  the  links  of 
Fate, 

The  bard  they  banish’d  from  his  native 

soiL  . 340 

And  left  all  helpless  in  a desert  isle: 

There  he,  the  sweetest  of  the  sacred  train, 
Sung  dying  to  the  rocks,  but  sung  in  vain. 
Then  Virtue  was  no  more;  her  guard  away, 
She  fell,  to  lust  a voluntary  prey. 


Lv  n to  the  temple  stalk’d  th’  adult’roui 
spouse, 

With  impious  thanks,  and  mockery  ol 
vows, 

With  images,  with  garments,  and  with 
gold; 

And  od’rous  fumes  from  loaded  altars 
roll’d. 

‘ Meantime  from  flaming  Troy  we  cut  the 
way, 

With  Menelaiis,  thro’  the  curling  sea. 

But  when  to  Sunium’s  sacred  point  we 
came, 

Crown’d  with  the  temple  of  th’  Athenian 
Dame ; 

Atrides’  pilot,  Phrontes,  there  expired 
(Phrontes,  of  all  the  sons  of  men  admired, 
To  steer  the  bounding  bark  with  steady 
toil, 

When  the  storm  thickens,  and  the  billows 
boil) ; 

While  yet  he  exercised  the  steersman’s  art, 
Apollo  touch’d  him  with  his  gentle  dart; 
Ev’n  with  the  rudder  in  his  hand,  he 
fell.  s6o 

To  pay  whose  honours  to  the  shades  of 
Hell, 

We  check’d  our  haste,  by  pious  office 
bound, 

And  laid  our  old  companion  in  the  ground. 
And  now,  the  rites  discharged,  our  course 
we  keep 

Far  on  the  gloomy  bosom  of  the  deep: 

Soon  as  Malsea’s  misty  tops  arise, 

Sudden  the  Thund’rer  blackens  all  the 
skies, 

And  the  winds  whistle,  and  the  surges  roll 
Mountains  on  mountains,  and  obscure  the 
Pole-  _ 369 

The  tempest  scatters,  and  divides  our  fleet; 
Part,  the  storm  urges  on  the  coast  of 
Crete, 

Where,  winding  round  the  rich  Cydonian 
plain, 

The  streams  of  Jardan  issue  to  the  main. 
There  stands  a rock,  high  eminent  and 
steep, 

Whose  shaggy  brow  o’erhangs  the  shady 
deep, 

And  views  Gortyna  on  the  western  side; 

On  this  rough  Auster  drove  th’  impetuous 
tide: 

With  broken  force  the  billows  roll’d  away, 
And  heav’d  the  fleet  into  the  neighb’ring 


THE  ODYSSEY 


54i 


’hits  saved  from  death,  they  gain’d  the 
Phsestan  shores,  380 

Yith  shatter’d  vessels  and  disabled  oars: 
»ut  live  tall  barks  the  winds  and  waters 
j toss’d, 

’ar  from  their  fellows,  on  th’  ^Egyptian 
! coast. 

’here  wander’d  Meuelaiis  thro’  foreign 
1 shores, 

^massing  gold,  and  gatli’ring  naval  stores; 
Yhile  curs’d  iEgisthus  the  detested  deed 
>y  fraud  fulfill’d,  and  his  great  brother  bled, 
ev’n  years,  the  traitor  rich  Mycenae 
i sway’d, 

ind  his  stern  rule  the  groaning  land 
obey’d; 

j’he  eighth,  from  Athens  to  his  realm  re- 
stor’d, 390 

)restes  brandish’d  the  revenging  sword, 
•lew  the  dire  pair,  and  gave  to  funeral 
flame 

’he  vile  assassin,  and  adult’rous  dame. 

’hat  day,  ere  yet  the  bloody  triumphs 
1 cease, 

teturn’d  Atrides  to  the  coast  of  Greece, 
[Ind  safe  to  Argos’  port  his  navy  brought, 
Yith  gifts  of  price  and  pond’rous  treasure 
] fraught. 

fence  warn’d,  my  son,  beware  ! nor  idly 
stand 

:’oo  long  a strauger  to  thy  native  land; 
iest  heedless  absence  wear  thy  wealth 
away,  400 

Yliile  lawless  feasters  in  thy  palace  sway; 
’erhaps  may  seize  thy  realm,  and  share  'l 
the  spoil ; ( 

aid  thou  return,  with  disappointed  toil,  j 
from  thy  vain  journey,  to  a rifled  isle.  J 
lowe’er,  my  friend,  indulge  one  labour 
; more, 

ind  seek  Atrides  on  the  Spartan  shore, 
le,  wand’ring  long,  a wider  circle  made, 
und  many-languaged  nations  has  survey’d; 
aid  measured  tracks  unknown  to  other 
ships  409 

xinid  the  monstrous  wonders  of  the  deeps 
A length  of  ocean  and  unbounded  sky, 
Yhich  scarce  the  sea-fowl  in  a year  o’er- 

fly): 

ro  then ; to  Sparta  take  the  wat  ry  way, 
’hy  ship  and  sailors  but  for  orders  stay ; 

>r  if  by  land  thou  choose  thy  course  to 
bend, 

ly  steeds,  my  chariots,  and  my  sons  at- 
tend : 


Thee  to  Atrides  they  shall  safe  convey, 
Guides  of  thy  road,  companions  of  thy  way. 
Urge  him  with  truth  to  frame  his  free  re- 
plies, 419 

And  sure  he  will:  for  Menelaiis  is  wise.’ 
Thus  while  he  speaks,  the  ruddy  sun  de- 
scends, 

And  twilight  gray  her  ev’ning  shade  ex- 
tends. 

Then  thus  the  Blue-eyed  Maid:  (0  Full 
of  Days  ! 

Wise  are  thy  words,  and  just  are  all  thy 
ways. 

Now  immolate  the  tongues,  and  mix  the 
wine, 

Sacred  to  Neptune  and  the  Powers  divine. 
The  lamp  of  day  is  quench’d  beneath  the 
deep, 

And  soft  approach  the  balmy  hours  of 
sleep: 

Nor  fits  it  to  prolong  the  heav’nly  feast, 
Timeless,  indecent,  but  retire  to  rest.’  430 
So  spake  Jove’s  daughter,  the  celestial 
Maid. 

The  sober  train  attended  and  obey’d. 

The  sacred  heralds  on  their  hands  around 
Pour’d  the  full  urns;  the  youths  the  gob- 
lets crown’d: 

From  bowl  to  bowl  the  holy  bev’rage  flows; 
While  to  the  final  sacrifice  they  rose. 

The  tongues  they  cast  upon  the  fragrant 
flame, 

And  pour,  above,  the  consecrated  stream. 
And  now,  their  thirst  by  copious  draughts 
allay’d,  439 

The  youthful  hero  and  th’  Athenian  maid 
Propose  departure  from  the  finish’d  rite, 
And  in  their  hollow  bark  to  pass  the 
night. 

But  this  the  hospitable  sage  denied: 
‘Forbid  it,  Jove!  and  all  the  Gods  !’  he 
cried, 

‘ Thus  from  my  walls  the  much-lov’d  son  to 
send 

Of  such  a Hero,  and  of  such  a Friend  ! 

Me,  as  some  needy  peasant,  would  ye 
leave, 

Whom  Heav’n  denies  the  blessing  to  re- 
lieve ? 

Me  would  ye  leave,  who  boast  imperial 
sway, 

When  beds  of  royal  state  invite  your 
stay  ? 450 

No  — long  as  life  this  mortal  shall  inspire, 
Or  as  my  children  imitate  their  sire, 


542 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


Here  shall  the  wand’ring  stranger  find  his 

home, 

And  hospitable  rites  adorn  the  dome.’ 

‘ Well  hast  thou  spoke’  (the  Blue-eyed 
Maid  replies), 

‘Belov’d  old  man  ! benevolent  as  wise. 

Be  the  kind  dictates  of  thy  heart  obey’d, 
And  let  thy  words  Teleinachus  persuade: 
He  to  thy  palace  shall  thy  steps  pursue ; ) 

1 to  the  ship,  to  give  the  orders  due,  460  l 
Prescribe  directions,  and  confirm  the  | 
crew.  J 

For  I alone  sustain  their  naval  cares, 

Who  boast  experience  from  these  silver 
hairs; 

All  youths  the  rest,  whom  to  this  journey 
move 

Like  years,  like  tempers,  and  their  Prince’s 
love. 

There  in  the  vessel  shall  I pass  the  night; 
And  soon  as  morning  paints  the  fields  of 
light, 

I go  to  challenge  from  the  Caucons  bold 
A debt,  contracted  in  the  days  of  old. 

But  this  thy  guest,  receiv’d  with  friendly 
care,  470 

Let  thy  strong  coursers  swift  to  Sparta 
bear; 

Prepare  thy  chariot  at  the  dawn  of  day, 
And  be  thy  son  companion  of  his  way.’ 

Then,  turning  with  the  word,  Minerva 
flies, 

And  soars  an  eagle  thro’  the  liquid  skies. 
Vision  divine  ! the  throng’d  spectators  gaze 
I11  holy  wonder  fix’d,  and  still  amaze. 

But  chief  the  rev’rend  sage  admired;  he 
took 

The  hand  of  young  Telemaclius,  and  spoke: 

‘ Oh,  happy  Youth  ! and  favour’d  of  the 
skies,  480 

Distinguish’d  care  of  guardian  Deities  ! 
Whose  early  years  for  future  worth  en- 
gage, 

No  vulgar  manhood,  no  ignoble  age. 

For  lo  ! none  other  of  the  court  above 
Than  she,  the  daughter  of  Almighty  Jove, 
Pallas  herself,  the  war-triumphant  Maid, 
Confess’d  is  thine,  as  once  thy  father’s  aid. 
So  guide  me,  Goddess!  so  propitious  shine 
On  me,  my  consort,  and  my  royal  line!  489 
A yearling  bullock  to  thy  name  shall  smoke, 
Untamed,  unconscious  of  the  galling  yoke, 
With  ample  forehead,  and  yet  tender  horns, 
Whose  budding  honours  ductile  gold 
adorns,’ 


Submissive  thus  the  hoary  sire  preferr’d 
His  holy  vow:  the  fav’ring  Goddess  heard. 
Then,  slowly  rising,  o’er  the  sandy  space 
Precedes  the  father,  follow’d  by  his  race 
(A  long  procession),  timely  marching  home 
In  comely  order  to  the  regal  dome. 

There  when  arrived,  on  thrones  around  him 
placed,  500 

His  sons  and  grandsons  the  wide  circle 
graced. 

To  these  the  hospitable  sage,  in  sign 
Of  social  welcome,  mix’d  the  racy  wine 
(Late  from  the  mell’wing  cask  restor’d  to 
light, 

By  ten  long  years  refin’d,  and  rosy  bright). 
To  Pallas  high  the  foaming  bowl  he 
crown’d, 

And  sprinkled  large  libations  on  the 
ground. 

Each  drinks  a full  oblivion  of  his  cares, 
And  to  the  gifts  of  balmy  sleep  repairs. 
Deep  in  a rich  alcove  the  Prince  was 
laid,  510I 

And  slept  beneath  the  pompous  colonnade: 
Fast  by  his  side  Pisistratus  lay  spread 
(In  age  his  equal),  on  a splendid  bed: 

But  in  an  inner  court,  securely  closed, 

The  rev’rend  Nestor  and  his  Queen  re- 
posed. 

When  now  Aurora,  Daughter  of  the 
Dawn, 

With  rosy  lustre  purpled  o’er  the  lawn; 
The  old  man  early  rose,  walk’d  forth,  and 
sate 

On  polish’d  stone  before  his  palace-gate: 
With  unguents  smooth  the  lucid  marble 
shone,  52a 

Where  ancient  Neleus  sate,  a rustic  throne; 
But  he  descending  to  th’  infernal  shade, 
Sage  Nestor  fill’d  it,  and  the  sceptre  sway’d. 
His  sons  around  him  mild  obeisance  pay, 
And  duteous  take  the  orders  of  the  day. 
First  Eehephron  and  Stratius  quit  their 
bed; 

Then  Perseus,  Aretus,  and  Thrasyraed; 

The  last  Pisistratus  arose  from  rest: 

They  came,  and  near  him  place  the  stranger- 
guest. 

To  these  the  senior  thus  declared  his  will : 53c 
‘ Mv  sons!  the  dictates  of  your  sire  fulfil. 
To  Pallas,  first  of  Gods,  prepare  the  feast, 
Who  graced  our  rites,  a more  than  mortal 
guest. 

Let  one,  despatchfnl,  bid  some  swain  to  lead 
A well-fed  bullock  from  the  grassy  mead; 


THE  ODYSSEY 


543 


hie  seek  the  harbour  where  the  vessels 
I moor, 

aid  bring  thy  friends,  Telemachus!  ashore 
Leave  only  two  the  galley  to  attend); 
another  to  Learceus  must  we  send, 

,rtist  divine,  whose  skilful  hands  infold  540 
^'lie  victim’s  horn  with  circumfusile  gold, 
n’he  rest  may  here  the  pious  duty  share, 
|.nd  bid  the  handmaids  for  the  feast  pre- 
pare, 

[lie  seats  to  range,  the  fragrant  wood  to 
bring, 

.nd  limpid  waters  from  the  living  spring.’ 
He  said,  and  busy  each  his  care  bestow’d; 
Already  at  the  gates  the  bullock  low’d, 

1 lready  came  the  Ithacensian  crew, 

'lie  dext’rous  smith  the  tools  already  drew: 
ilis  pond’rous  hammer,  and  his  anvil 
sound,  550 

nd  the  strong  tongs  to  turn  the  metal 
round. 

(or  was  Minerva  absent  from  the  rite ; 
he  view’d  her  honours,  and  enjoy’d  the 
1 sight. 

Yith  rev’rent  hand  the  King  presents  the ' 
gold, 

Yhich  round  th’  intorted  horns  the  wilder 
3 roll’d, 

0 wrought,  as  Pallas  might  with  pride 

1 behold. 

oung  Aretus  from  forth  his  bridal  bower ' 
rough t the  full  laver,  o’er  their  hands  I 
! to  pour, 

nd  canisters  of  consecrated  flour, 
tratius  and  Echephron  the  victim  led;  560 
[ihe  axe  was  held  by  warlike  Thrasymed, 

-1  act  to  strike:  before  him  Perseus  stood, 

: he  vase  extending  to  receive  the  blood, 
he  King  himself  initiates  to  the  Power; 
patters  with  quiv’ring  hand  the  sacred 
flour, 

nd  the  stream  sprinkles:  from  the  curling 
i brows 

he  hair  collected  in  the  fire  he  throws, 
jon  as  due  vows  on  every  part  were  paid, 
nd  sacred  wheat  upon  the  victim  laid, 
i;rong  Thrasymed  discharged  the  speeding 
blow  570 

ull  on  his  neck,  and  cut  the  nerves  in  two. 
own  sunk  the  heavy  beast:  the  females 
i round, 

5. aids,  wives,  and  matrons,  mix  a shrilling 
sound, 

or  scorn’d  the  Queen  the  holy  choir  to  join. 
The  first-born  she,  of  old  Clymenus’  line; 


In  youth  by  Nestor  lov’d,  of  spotless  fame, 
And  lov’d  in  age,  Eurydice  her  name.) 
From  earth  they  rear  him,  struggling  now 
with  death ; 

And  Nestor’s  youngest  stops  the  vents  of 
breath. 

The  soul  for  ever  flies:  on  all  sides  round  580 
Streams  the  black  blood,  and  smokes  upon 
the  ground. 

The  beast  they  then  divide,  and  disunite 
The  ribs  and  limbs,  observant  of  the  rite: 
On  these,  in  double  cauls  involv’d  with 
art, 

The  choicest  morsels  lay  from  ev’ry  part. 
The  sacred  sage  before  his  altar  stands, 
Turns  the  burnt-off’ring  with  his  holy 
hands, 

And  pours  the  wine,  and  bids  the  flames 
aspire : 

The  youth  with  instruments  surround  the 
fire. 

The  thighs  now  sacrificed,  and  entrails 
dress’d,  590 

Th’  assistants  part,  transfix,  and  broil  the 
rest. 

While  these  officious  tend  the  rites  divine, 
The  last  fair  branch  of  the  Nestorean  line, 
Sweet  Polycaste,  took  the  pleasing  toil 
To  bathe  the  Prince,  and  pour  the  fragrant 
oil. 

O’er  his  fair  limbs  a flowery  vest  he 
threw, 

And  issued,  like  a God,  to  mortal  view. 

His  former  seat  beside  the  King  he  found 
(His  people’s  father  with  his  peers  around); 
All  placed  at  ease  the  holy  banquet  join,  600 
And  in  the  dazzling  goblet  laughs  the  wine. 

The  rage  of  thirst  and  hunger  now  sup- 
press’d, 

The  Monarch  turns  him  to  his  royal  guest; 
And  for  the  promis’d  journey  bids  prepare 
The  smooth-hair’d  horses,  and  the  rapid 
car. 

Observant  of  his  word,  the  word  scarce 
spoke, 

The  sons  obey,  and  join  them  to  the  yoke. 
Then  bread  and  wine  a ready  handmaid 
brings, 

And  presents,  such  as  suit  the  state  of 
kings  ; 

The  glitt’ring  seat  Telemachus  ascends;  610 
His  faithful  guide  Pisistratus  attends; 

With  hasty  hand  the  ruling  reins  he  drew: 
He  lash’d  the  coursers,  and  the  coursers 
flew. 


544 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


Beneath  the  bounding  yoke  alike  they  held 
Their  equal  pace,  and  smoked  along  the 
field.  m 

The  towers  of  Pylos  sink,  its  views  decay, 
Fields  after  fields  fly  back,  till  close  of 
day: 

Then  sunk  the  sun,  and  darken’d  all  the 
way. 

To  Pherse  now,  Diocleus’  stately  seat 
(Of  Alpheus’  race),  the  weary  youths  re- 
treat. 620 

His  house  affords  the  hospitable  rite, 

And  pleas’d  they  sleep,  the  blessing  of  the 
night. 

But  when  Aurora,  Daughter  of  the  Dawn, 
With  rosy  lustre  purpled  o’er  the  lawn, 
Again  they  mount,  their  journey  to  renew, 
And  from  the  sounding  portico  they  flew. 
Along  the  waving  fields  their  way  they  hold, 
The  fields  receding  as  their  chariot  roll’d: 
Then  slowly  sunk  the  ruddy  globe  of  light, 
And  o’er  the  shaded  landscape  rush’d  the 
night.  630 

BOOK  V 

THE  DEPARTURE  OF  ULYSSES  FROM  CALYPSO 
THE  ARGUMENT 

Pallas  in  a council  of  the  Gods  complains  of  the 
detention  of  Ulysses  in  the  island  of  Calypso  ; 
whereupon  Mercury  is  sent  to  command  his 
removal.  The  seat  of  Calypso  described. 
She  consents  with  much  difficulty ; and 
Ulysses  builds  a vessel  with  his  own  hands, 
on  which  he  embarks.  Neptune  overtakes 
him  with  a terrible  tempest,  in  which  he  is 
shipwrecked,  and  in  the  last  danger  of  death  ; 
till  Leucothea,  a sea-goddess,  assists  him,  and, 
after  innumerable  perils,  he  gets  ashore  on 
Phseacia. 

The  saffron  Morn,  with  early  blushes 
spread, 

Now  rose  refulgent  from  Tithonus’  bed; 
With  new-born  Day  to  gladden  mortal 
sight, 

And  gild  the  courts  of  Heav’n  with  sacred 
light. 

Then  met  th’  eternal  Synod  of  the  Sky, 
Before  the  God,  who  thunders  from  on 
high, 

Supreme  in  might,  sublime  in  majesty. 
Pallas,  to  these,  deplores  th’  unequal  Fates 
Of  wise  Ulysses,  and  his  toils  relates: 

Her  hero’s  danger  touch’d  the  pitying 
Power,  10 


The  nymph’s  sedueements,  and  the  magic 
bower. 

Thus  she  began  her  plaint.  ‘ Immortal 
Jove  ! 

And  you  who  fill  the  blissful  seats  above  ! 
Let  Kings  no  more  with  gentle  mercy 
sway, 

Or  bless  a people  willing  to  obey; 

But  crush  the  nations  with  an  iron  rod, 
And  ev’ry  Monarch  be  the  scourge  of  God; 
If  from  your  thoughts  Ulysses  you  remove, 
Who  ruled  his  subjects  with  a father’s  love. 
Sole  in  an  isle,  encircled  by  the  main,  2c 
Abandon’d,  banish’d  from  his  native  reign, 
Unbless’d  he  sighs,  detain’d  by  lawless 
charms, 

And  press’d  unwilling  in  Calypso’s  arms. 
Nor  friends  are  there,  nor  vessels  to  con- 
vey, 

Nor  oars  to  cut  th’  immeasurable  way. 

And  now  fierce  traitors,  studious  to  de- 
stroy 

His  only  son,  their  ambush’d  fraud  em- 

ploy; 

Who,  pious,  foll’wing  his  great  father’s 
fame, 

To  sacred  Pylos  and  to  Sparta  came.’ 

‘ What  words  are  these  ? ’ (replied  the 
Power  who  forms  3c 

The  clouds  of  night,  and  darkens  Heav’n 
with  storms); 

‘ Is  not  already  in  thy  soul  decreed, 

The  Chief’s  return  shall  make  the  guilty 
bleed  ? 

What  cannot  Wisdom  do  ? Thou  may’st 
restore 

The  son  in  safety  to  his  native  shore; 

While  the  fell  foes,  who  late  in  ambush  lay; 
With  fraud  defeated  measure  back  theii 
way.’ 

Then  thus  to  Hermes  the  command  was 
giv’n. 

‘ Hermes,  thou  chosen  messenger  of  Heav’n  ! 
Go,  to  the  Nymph  be  these  our  orders 
borne : 4c 

’T  is  Jove’s  decree,  Ulysses  shall  return: 
The  patient  man  shall  view  his  old  abodes. 
Nor  help’d  by  mortal  hand,  nor  guiding 
Gods: 

In  twice  ten  days  shall  fertile  Seheria  find 
Alone,  and  floating  to  the  wave  and  wind. 
The  bold  Phseacians  there,  whose  haughty 
line 

Is  mix’d  with  Gods,  half  human,  half  di- 
vine, 


THE  ODYSSEY 


545 


The  Chief  shall  honour  as  some  heav’nly 
guest, 

And  swift  transport  him  to  his  place  of 
rest.  49 

His  vessels  loaded  with  a plenteous  store 
Of  brass,  of  vestures,  and  resplendent  ore 
(A  richer  prize  than  if  his  joyful  isle 
Keceiv’d  him  charged  with  Ilion’s  noble 
spoil), 

His  friends,  his  country,  he  shall  see,  tho’ 

1 late; 

Such  is  our  sov’reign  will,  and  such  is 
Fate.’ 

1 He  spoke.  The  God  who  mounts  the 
winged  winds 

Fast  to  his  feet  the  golden  pinions  binds, 
That  high  thro’  fields  of  air  his  flight  sus- 
tain 

O’er  the  wide  earth,  and  o’er  the  boundless 
main. 

He  grasps  the  wand  that  causes  sleep  to 
fly,  6o 

Or  in  soft  slumber  seals  the  wakeful  eye: 
Then  shoots  from  Heav’n  to  high  Pieria’s 
steep, 

And  stoops  incumbent  on  the  rolling  deep. 
So  wat’ry  fowl,  that  seek  their  fishy  food, 
With  wings  expanded  o’er  the  foaming 
flood, 

Now  sailing  smooth  the  level  surface  sweep, 
Now  dip  their  pinions  in  the  briny  deep. 
Thus  o’er  the  world  of  waters  Hermes 
flew, 

Till  now  the  distant  island  rose  in  view: 
Then,  swift  ascending  from  the  azure 
wave,  70 

He  took  the  path  that  winded  to  the  cave. 
Large  was  the  grot,  in  which  the  Nymph  he 
found 

(The  fair-hair’d  Nymph  with  ev’ry  beauty 
crown’d) ; 

She  sate  and  sung;  the  rocks  resound  her 
1 lays; 

The  cave  was  brighten’d  with  a rising 
blaze; 

Cedar  and  frankincense,  an  od’rous  pile, 
"Flamed  on  the  hearth  and  wide  perfumed 
1 the  isle; 

While  she  with  work  and  song  the  time 
divides, 

And  thro’  the  loom  the  golden  shuttle 
guides. 

Without  the  grot  a various  sylvan  scene  80 
Appear’d  around,  and  groves  of  living 
green; 


Poplars  and  alders  ever  quiv’ring  play’d, 
And  nodding  cypress  form’d  a fragrant 
shade ; 

On  whose  high  branches,  waving  with  the 
storm, 

The  birds  of  broadest  wing  their  mansions 
form, 

The  chough,  the  sea-mew,  the  loquacious 
crow, 

And  scream  aloft,  and  skim  the  deeps  be- 
low. 

Depending  vines  the  shelving  cavern 
screen, 

With  purple  clusters  blushing  thro’  the 
green. 

Four  limpid  fountains  from  the  clefts'! 

distil;  90  I 

And  ev’ry  fountain  pours  a sev’ral  rill,  [ 
In  mazy  windings  wand’ring  down  the  hill ; J 
Where  bloomy  meads  with  vivid  greens 
were  crown’d, 

And  glowing  violets  threw  odours  round. 

A scene,  where  if  a God  should  cast  his 
sight, 

A God  might  gaze,  and  wander  with  de- 
light ! 

Joy  touch’d  the  Messenger  of  Heav’n:  he 
stay’d 

Entranc’d,  and  all  the  blissful  haunts  sur- 
vey’d. 

Him,  ent’ring  in  the  cave,  Calypso  knew; 
For  Powers  celestial  to  each  other’s 
view  100 

Stand  still  confess’d,  tho’  distant  far  they 
lie 

To  habitants  of  earth,  or  sea,  or  sky. 

But  sad  Ulysses,  by  himself  apart, 

Pour’d  the  big  sorrows  of  his  swelling 
heart; 

All  on  the  lonely  shore  he  sate  to  weep, 
And  roll’d  his  eyes  around  the  restless 
deep; 

Toward  his  lov’d  coast  he  roll’d  his  eyes  in 
vain, 

Till,  dimin’d  with  rising  grief,  they 
stream’d  again. 

Now  graceful  seated  on  her  shining 
throne, 

To  Hermes  thus  the  Nymph  divine  be- 
gun: *to 

* God  of  the  Golden  Wand  ! on  what  be- 
hest 

Arrivest  thou  here,  an  unexpected  guest  ? 
Lov’d  as  thou  art, thy  free  injunctions  lay: 

. ’T  is  mine  with  joy  and  duty  to  obey. 


54-6 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


Till  now  a stranger,  in  a happy  hour 
Approach,  and  taste  the  dainties  of  my 
bower.’ 

Thus  having  spoke,  the  Nymph  the  table 
spread 

(Ambrosial  cates,  with  nectar  rosy-red); 
Hermes  the  hospitable  rite  partook,  n9 
Divine  refection  ! then,  recruited,  spoke: 

‘ What  mov’d  this  journey  from  my 
native  sky, 

A Goddess  asks,  nor  can  a God  deny: 

Hear  then  the  truth.  By  mighty  Jove’s 
command 

Unwilling  have  I trod  this  pleasing  land; 
For  who,  self-mov’d,  with  weary  wing 
would  sweep 

Such  length  of  ocean  and  unmeasured  deep: 
A world  of  waters  ! far  from  all  the  ways 
Where  men  frequent,  or  sacred  altars 
blaze  ? 

But  to  Jove’s  will  submission  we  must 
pay;  _ 129 

What  Power  so  great  to  dare  to  disobey  ? 
A man,  he  says,  a man  resides  with  thee, 
Of  all  his  kind  most  worn  with  misery; 

The  Greeks  (whose  arms  for  nine  long 
years  employ’d 

Their  force  on  Ilion,  in  the  tenth  de- 
stroy’d), 

At  length  embarking  in  a luckless  hour, 
With  conquest  proud,  incens’d  Minerva’s 
power: 

Hence  on  the  guilty  race  her  vengeance 
hurl’d 

With  storms  pursued  them  thro’  the  liquid 
world . 

There  all  his  vessels  sunk  beneath  the  wave! 
There  all  his  dear  companions  found  their 
grave  ! 140 

Saved  from  the  jaws  of  death  by  Heav’n’s 
decree, 

The  tempest  drove  him  to  these  shores  and 
thee. 

Him,  Jove  now  orders  to  his  native  lands 
Straight  to  dismiss:  so  destiny  commands: 
Impatient  Fate  his  near  return  attends, 
And  calls  him  to  his  country,  and  his 
friends.’ 

Ev’n  to  her  inmost  soul  the  Goddess 
shook; 

Then  thus  her  anguish  and  her  passion 
broke : 

‘ Ungracious  Gods  ! with  spite  and  envy 
curs’d  ! 149 

Still  to  your  own  ethereal  race  the  worst ! 


Ye  envy  mortal  and  immortal  joy, 

And  love,  the  only  sweet  of  life,  destroy. 
Did  ever  Goddess  by  her  charms  engage 
A favour’d  mortal,  and  not  feel  your  rage  ? 
So  when  Aurora  sought  Orion’s  love, 

Her  joys  disturb’d  your  blissful  hours 
above, 

Till,  in  Ortygia,  Dian’s  winged  dart 
Had  pierc’d  the  hapless  hunter  to  the 
heart. 

So  when  the  covert  of  the  thrice-ear’d  field 
Saw  stately  Ceres  to  her  passion  yield,  160 
Scarce  could  Iasiou  taste  her  heav’nly 
charms, 

But  Jove’s  swift  lightning  scorch’d  him  in 
her  arms. 

‘ And  is  it  now  my  turn,  ye  mighty 
Powers  ! 

Am  I the  envy  of  your  blissful  bowers  ? 

A man,  an  outcast  to  the  storm  and  wave, 
It  was  my  crime  to  pity  and  to  save; 

When  he  who  thunders  rent  his  bark  in 
twain, 

And  sunk  his  brave  companions  in  the 
main. 

Alone,  abandon’d,  in  mid-ocean  toss’d, 

The  sport  of  winds,  and  driv’11  from  ev’ry 
coast,  170 

Hither  this  man  of  miseries  I led, 

Receiv’d  the  friendless,  and  the  hungry 
fed; 

Nay,  promis’d  (vainly  promis’d!)  to  be- 
stow 

Immortal  life,  exempt  from  age  and  woe. 

’T  is  past  — and  Jove  decrees  he  shall  re- 
move: 

Gods  as  we  are,  we  are  but  slaves  to  Jove. 
Go  then  he  may  (he  must,  if  he  ordain, 

Try  all  those  dangers,  all  those  deeps, 
again); 

But  never,  never  shall  Calypso  send 
To  toils  like  these  her  husband  and  her 
friend.  180 1 

What  ships  have  I,  what  sailors  to  convey, 
What  oars  to  cut  the  long  laborious  way  ? 
Yet  I ’ll  direct  the  safest  means  to  go; 

That  last  advice  is  all  I can  bestow.’ 

To  her  the  Power  who  bears  the  Charm- 
ing Rod: 

‘ Dismiss  the  man,  nor  irritate  the  God; 
Prevent  the  rage  of  him  who  reigns  above, 
For  what  so  dreadful  as  the  wrath  of 
Jove  ? ’ 

Thus  having  said,  he  cut  the  cleaving  sky, 
And  in  a moment  vanish’d  from  her  eye.  i9o 


THE  ODYSSEY 


547 


Hie  Nymph,  obedient  to  divine  command, 

Co  seek  Ulysses  paced  along  the  sand, 
iim  pensive  on  the  lonely  beach  she  found, 
With  streaming  eyes  in  briny  torrents 
drown’d, 

And  inly  pining  for  his  native  shore; 

?or  now  the  soft  enchantress  pleas’d  no 
more : 

,?or  now,  reluctant,  and  constrain’d  by 
charms, 

Absent  he  lay  in  her  desiring  arms: 

'n  slumber  wore  the  heavy  night  away, 

On  rocks  and  shores  consumed  the  tedious 
day ; . 200 

There  sate  all  desolate,  and  sigh’d  alone. 
With  echoing  sorrows  made  the  mountains 
groan, 

And  roll’d  his  eyes  o’er  all  the  restless 
main, 

Till,  dimm’d  with  rising  grief,  they  stream’d 
again. 

Here,  on  his  musing  mood  the  Goddess 
press’d 

, Approaching  soft;  and  thus  the  Chief  ad- 
dress’d : 

‘Unhappy  man  ! to  wasting  woes  a prey, 
-No  more  in  sorrows  languish  life  away: 

Free  as  the  winds  I give  thee  now  to  rove  — 
Go,  fell  the  timber  of  yon  lofty  grove,  210 
jAnd  form  a raft,  and  build  the  rising  ship, 
Sublime  to  bear  thee  o’er  the  gloomy  deep. 
To  store  the  vessel  let  the  care  be  mine, 
With  water  from  the  rock,  and  rosy  wine, 
And  life-sustaining  bread,  and  fair  array, 
And  prosp’rous  gales  to  waft  thee  on  the 
way. 

These,  if  the  Gods  with  my  desire  comply 
(The  Gods,  alas,  more  mighty  far  than  I, 
And  better  skill’d  in  dark  events  to  come), 
In  peace  shall  land  thee  at  thy  native 
home.’  220 

r With  sighs  Ulysses  heard  the  words  she 
spoke, 

Then  thus  his  melancholy  silence  broke: 
‘Some  other  motive,  Goddess!  sways  thy 
mind 

(Some  close  design,  or  turn  of  womankind), 
Nor  my  return  the  end,  nor  this  the  way, 
On  a slight  raft  to  pass  the  swelling  sea, 
Huge,  horrid,  vast  ! where  scarce  in  safety 
sails 

The  best- built  ship,  tho’  Jove  inspire  the 
gales. 

The  bold  proposal  how  shall  I fulfil, 

Dark  as  I am,  unconscious  of  thy  will  ? 230 


Swear,  then,  thou  mean’st  not  what  my 
soul  forebodes; 

Swear  by  the  solemn  oath  that  binds  the 
Gods.’ 

Him,  while  he  spoke,  with  smiles  Calypso 
eyed, 

And  gently  grasp’d  his  hand,  and  thus  re- 
plied: 

‘ This  shows  thee,  friend,  by  old  experi- 
ence taught, 

And  learn’d  in  all  the  wiles  of  human 
thought, 

How  prone  to  doubt,  how  cautious  are  the 
wise  ! 

But  hear,  O earth,  and  hear,  ye  sacred 
skies  ! 

And  thou,  O Styx!  whose  formidable 
floods 

Glide  thro’  the  shades,  and  bind  th’  attest- 
ing Gods ! 24° 

No  form’d  design,  no  meditated  end, 

Lurks  in  the  council  of  thy  faithful  friend; 
Kind  the  persuasion,  and  sincere  my  aim; 
The  same  my  practice,  were  my  fate  the 

Heav’nS  has  not  curs’d  me  with  a heart  of 
steel, 

But  given  the  sense  to  pity  and  to  feel.’ 

Thus  having  said,  the  Goddess  march’d 
before : 

He  trod  her  footsteps  in  the  sandy  shore. 

At  the  cool  cave  arrived,  they  took  their 
state ; 

He  fill’d  the  throne  where  Mercury  had 
sate.  25<> 

For  him  the  Nymph  a rich  repast  ordains, 
Such  as  the  mortal  life  of  man  sustains; 
Before  herself  were  placed  the  eates  divine. 
Ambrosial  banquet,  and  celestial  wine. 
Their  hunger  satiate,  and  their  thirst  re- 
press’d, 

Thus  spoke  Calypso  to  her  godlike  guest: 

‘ Ulysses  ! ’ (with  a sigh  she  thus  began) 

‘ O sprung  from  Gods  ! in  wisdom  more 
than  man  ! 

Is  then  thy  home  the  passion  of  thy  heart  ? 
Thus  wilt  thou  leave  me,  are  we  thus  to 
part?  260 

Farewell  ! and  ever  joyful  may’st  thou  be. 
Nor  break  the  transport  with  one  thought 
of  me. 

But,  ah,  Ulysses  ! wert  thou  giv’11  to  know 
What  Fate  yet  dooms  thee,  yet,  to  undergo; 
Thy  heart  might  settle  in  this  scene  of 
ease, 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


548 


And  ev’n  these  slighted  charms  might  learn 
to  please. 

A willing  Goddess,  and  immortal  life, 
Might  banish  from  thy  mind  an  absent  wife. 
Am  I inferior  to  a mortal  dame  ? 

Less  soft  my  feature,  lest  august  my 
frame  ? 270 

Or  shall  the  daughters  of  mankind  compare 
Their  earth-born  beauties  with  the  heav’nly 
fair  ? ’ 

‘Alas  ! for  this ’ (the  prudent  man  replies) 
4 Against  Ulysses  shall  thy  anger  rise  ? 
Lov’d  and  ador’d,  O Goddess,  as  thou  art, 
Forgive  the  weakness  of  a human  heart. 
Tho’  well  I see  thy  graces  far  above 
The  dear,  tho’  mortal,  object  of  my  love, 
Of  youth  eternal  well  the  diff’rence  know, 
And  the  short  date  of  fading  charms  be- 
low ; 280 

Yet  ev’ry  day,  while  absent  thus  I roam, 

I languish  to  return  and  die  at  home. 
Whate’er  the  Gods  shall  destine  me  to  bear 
In  the  black  ocean,  or  the  wat’ry  war, 

’T  is  mine  to  master  with  a constant  mind; 
Inured  to  perils,  to  the  worst  resign’d. 

By  seas,  by  wars,  so  many  dangers  run ; 
Still  I can  suffer:  their  high  will  be  done  ! ’ 
Thus  while  he  spoke,  the  beamy  sun  de- 
scends, 

And  rising  night  her  friendly  shade  ex- 
tends. 290 

To  the  close  grot  the  lonely  pair  remove, 
And  slept  delighted  with  the  gifts  of  love. 
VvThen  rosy  morning  call’d  them  from  their 
rest, 

Ulvsses  robed  him  in  the  cloak  and  vest. 
The  Nymph’s  fair  head  a veil  transparent 
graced, 

Her  swelling  loins  a radiant  zone  embraced 
With  flowers  of  gold:  an  under  robe,  un- 
bound, 

In  snowy  waves  flow’d  glitt’ring  on  the 
ground. 

Forth  issuing  thus,  she  gave  him  first  to 
wield 

A weighty  axe,  with  truest  temper  steel’d, 
And  double-edg’d;  the  handle  smooth  and 
plain,  301 

Wrought  of  the  clouded  olive’s  easy  grain; 
And  next,  a wedge  to  drive  with  sweepy 
sway: 

Then  to  the  neighb’ring  foresf;  led  the  way. 
On  the  lone  island’s  utmost  verge  there 
stood 

Of  poplars,  pines,  and  firs,  a lofty  wood, 


Whose  leafless  summits  to  the  skies  aspire, 
Scorch’d  by  the  sun,  or  sear’d  by  heav’nly 
fire 

(Already  dried).  These  pointing  out  to 
view, 

The  Nymph  just  show’d  him,  and  with 
tears  withdrew.  310 

Now  toils  the  hero:  trees  on  trees  o’er- 
thrown 

Fall  crackling  round  him,  and  the  forests 
groan : 

Sudden,  full  twenty  on  the  plain  are 
strow’d, 

And  lopp’d  and  lighten’d  of  their  branchy 
load. 

At  equal  angles  these  disposed  to  join, 

He  smoothed  and  squared  them  by  the  rule 
and  line 

(The  wimbles  for  the  work  Calypso  found). 
With  those  he  pierc’d  them,  and  with 
clinchers  bound. 

Long  and  capacious  as  a shipwright  forms 
Some  bark’s  broad  bottom  to  out-ride  the 
storms,  320 

So  large  he  built  the  raft;  then  ribb’d  itj 
strong 

From  space  to  space,  and  nail’d  the  planks 
along; 

These  form’d  the  sides:  the  deck  he  fash- 
ion’d last; 

Then  o’er  the  vessel  rais’d  the  taper  mast, 
With  crossing  sail -yards  dancing  in  the 
wind ; 

And  to  the  helm  the  guiding  rudder  join’d 
(With  yielding  osiers  fenc’d,  to  break  the 
force 

Of  surging  waves,  and  steer  the  steady 
course). 

Thy  loom,  Calypso!  for  the  future  sails  329 
Supplied  the  cloth,  capacious  of  the  gales. 
With  stays  and  cordage  last  he  rigg’d  the 
ship, 

And,  roll’d  on  levers,  launch’d  her  in  the  j 
deep. 

Four  days  were  past,  and  now,  the  work 
complete, 

Shone  the  fifth  morn,  when  from  her  sacred 
seat 

The  Nymph  dismiss’d  him  (od’rous  gar-  j 
ments  giv’n, 

And  bathed  in  fragrant  oils  that  breathed 
of  Heav’n): 

Then  fill’d  two  goat-skins  with  her  hands 
divine, 

With  water  one,  and  one  with  sable  wine: 


THE  ODYSSEY 


549 


)f  ev’ry  kind  provisions  heav’d  aboard; 

Lnd  the  full  decks  with  copious  viands 
stor’d.  34° 

[he  Goddess,  last,  a gentle  breeze  supplies, 
.'o  curl  old  Ocean,  and  to  warm  the  skies. 

| And  now,  rejoicing  in  the  prosp’rous 
' gales, 

Vith  beating  heart  Ulysses  spreads  his 
sails: 

flaced  at  the  helm  he  sate,  and  mark’d  the 
skies, 

^or  closed  in  sleep  his  ever-watchful  eyes. 
Ch ere  view’d  the  Pleiads,  and  the  Northern 
[ Team, 

\nd  great  Orion’s  more  refulgent  beam, 

To  which,  around  the  axle  of  the  sky,  349 
The  Bear,  revolving,  points  his  golden  eye: 
Vho  shines  exalted  on  th’  ethereal  plain, 
'•Tor  bathes  his  blazing  forehead  iu  the 


Then  shook  the  hero,  to  despair  resign’d, 

And  question’d  thus  his  yet  unconquer’d 
mind  : 

‘ Wretch  that  I am  ! what  farther  Fates 
attend 

This  life  of  toils,  and  what  my  destin’d 
end  ? 

Too  well,  alas  ! the  island  Goddess  knew 

On  the  black  sea  what  perils  should  ensue. 

New  horrors  now  this  destin’d  head  en- 
close ; 

Unfill’d  as  yet  the  measure  of  my  woes: 

With  what  a cloud  the  brows  of  Heav’n  are 
crown’d  1 

What  raging  winds  1 what  roaring  waters 
round  ! 390 

’Tis  Jove  himself  the  swelling  tempest 
rears; 

Death,  present  death,  on  ev’ry  side  ap- 


1 main. 

i’ar  on  the  left  those  radiant  fires  to  keep 
The  Nymph  directed,  as  he  sail’d  the  deep. 
Tull  sev’nteen  nights  he  cut  the  foamy 
way ; 

The  distant  land  appear’d  the  foil’ wing  day: 
Chen  swell’d  to  sight  Phseacia’s  dusky  coast, 
And  woody  mountains,  half  in  vapours  lost; 
That  lay  before  him  indistinct  and  vast,  359 
Like  a broad  shield  amid  the  wat’ry  waste. 

But  him,  thus  voyaging  the  deeps  below, 
"Prom  far,  on  Solyme’s  aerial  brow, 

The  King  of  Ocean  saw,  and  seeing  burn’d 
From  iEthiopia’s  happy  climes  return’d) ; 
Che  raging  Monarch  shook  his  azure  head, 
And  thus  in  secret  to  his  soul  he  said: 

‘ Heav’ns  ! how  uncertain  are  the  Powers 

\ on  high  ! 

!s  then  revers’d  the  sentence  of  the  sky, 

!n  one  man’s  favour:  while  a distant  guest 
[ shared  secure  the  ^Ethiopian  feast  ? 370 

behold  how  near  Phaeacia’s  land  he  draws  1 
The  land  affix’d  by  Fate’s  eternal  laws 
To  end  his  toils.  Is  then  our  anger  vain  ? 
So;  if  this  sceptre  yet  commands  the  main.’ 

1 He  spoke,  and  high  the  forky  trident 

| hurl’d, 

^Etolls  clouds  on  clouds,  and  stirs  the  wat’ry 
world, 

At  once  the  face  of  earth  and  sea  deforms, 
swells  all  the  winds,  and  rouses  all  the 
storms. 

Down  rush’d  the  night:  east,  west,  together 
roar; 

And  south  and  north  roll  mountains  to  the 
shore:  380 


pears. 

Happy  ! thrice  happy  ! who,  in  battle  slain, 
Press’d,  in  Atrides’  cause,  the  Trojan  plain! 
Oh  ! had  I died  before  that  well-fought 


wall; 

Had  some  distinguish’d  day  renown’d  my 

fan 

(Such  as  was  that  when  showers  of  jav’lins 
fled 

From  conquering  Troy  around  Achilles 
dead) ; 

All  Greece  had  paid  me  solemn  funerals 


then,  399 

And  spread  my  glory  with  the  sons  of  men. 

A shameful  fate  now  hides  my  hapless 
head, 

Unwept,  unnoted,  and  for  ever  dead  ! ’ 

A mighty  wave  rush’d  o’er  him  as  he 
spoke, 

The  raft  it  cover’d,  and  the  mast  it  broke : 

Swept  from  the  deck,  and  from  the  rudder 
torn, 

Far  on  the  swelling  surge  the  Chief  was 
borne ; 

While  by  the  howling  tempest  rent  in 
twain 

Flew  sail  and  sail-yards  rattling  o’er  the 


main. 

Long-press’d,  he  heav’d  beneath  the  weighty 


wave, 

Clogg’d  by  the  cumb’rous  vest  Calypso 
gave:  . # y6 

At  length  emerging,  from  his  nostrils  wide 
And  gushing  mouth  effused  the  briny  tide; 
Ev’n  then,  not  mindless  of  his  last  retreat, 
He  seiz’d  the  raft,  and  leap’d  into  hia  seat. 


TRANSLATIONS  from  homer 


550 


Strong  with  the  fear  of  death.  The  rolling 
flood 

Now  here,  now  there,  impell’d  the  floating 
wood. 

As  when  a heap  of  gather’d  thorns  is  cast 
Now  to,  now  fro,  before  th’  autumnal  blast; 
Together  clung,  it  rolls  around  the  field; 

So  roll’d  the  float,  and  so  its  texture  held: 
And  now  the  south,  and  now  the  north,  'l 
bear  sway,  42 x 

And  now  the  east  the  foamy  floods  obey,  > 
And  now  the  west  wind  whirls  it  o’er  the 
sea.  J 

The  wand’ring  Chief,  with  toils  on  toils 
oppress’d, 

Leucothea  saw,  and  pity  touch’d  her  breast 
(Herself  a mortal  once,  of  Cadmus’  strain, 
But  now  an  azure  sister  of  the  main). 

Swift  as  a sea-mew  springing  from  the 
flood, 

All  radiant  on  the  raft  the  Goddess  stood : 
Then  thus  address’d  him:  ‘Thou  whom 
Heav’n  decrees  43o 

To  Neptune’s  wrath,  stern  Tyrant  of  the 
Seas 

(Unequal  contest)!  not  his  rage  and  power, 
Great  as  he  is,  such  virtue  shall  devour. 
What  I suggest,  thy  wisdom  will  perform  : 
Forsake  thy  float,  and  leave  it  to  the  storm: 
Strip  off  thy  garments;  Neptune’s  fury 
brave 

With  naked  strength,  and  plunge  into  the 
wave. 

To  reach  Phaeacia  all  thy  nerves  extend, 
There  Fate  decrees  thy  miseries  shall  end. 
This  heav’nly  scarf  beneath  thy  bosom 
bind,  440 

And  live;  give  all  thy  terrors  to  the  wind. 
Soon  as  thy  arms  the  happy  shore  shall 
gain, 

Return  the  gift,  and  cast  it  in  the  main; 
Observe  my  orders,  and  with  heed  obey, 
Cast  it  far  off,  and  turn  thy  eyes  away.’ 
With  that,  her  hand  the  sacred  veil  be- 
stows, 

Then  down  the  deeps  she  dived  from  whence 
she  rose; 

A moment  snatch’d  the  shining  form  away, 
And  all  was  cover’d  with  the  curling  sea. 
Struck  with  amaze,  yet  still  to  doubt  in- 
inclin’d,  450 

He  stands  suspended,  and  explores  his  mind. 

‘ What  shall  I do  ? unhappy  me  ! who 
knows 

But  other  Gods  intend  me  other  woes  ? 


Whoe’er  thou  art,  I shall  not  blindly  join 
Thy  pleaded  reason,  but  consult  with  mine; 
For  scarce  in  ken  appears  that  distant  isle 
Thy  voice  foretells  me  shall  conclude  my 
toil. 

Thus  then  I judge:  while  yet  the  planks 
sustain 

The  wild  waves’  fury,  here  I fix’d  remain: 
But  when  their  texture  to  the  tempest 
yields,  46q 

I launch  adventurous  on  the  liquid  fields, 
Join  to  the  help  of  Gods  the  strength  of 
man, 

And  take  this  method,  since  the  best  I 
can.’ 

While  thus  his  thoughts  an  anxious  coun- 
cil hold, 

The  raging  God  a wat’ry  mountain  roll’d; 
Like  a black  sheet  the  whelming  billows 
spread, 

Burst  o’er  the  float,  and  thunder’d  on  his 
head. 

Planks,  beams,  disparted  fly;  the  scatter’d 
wood 

Rolls  diverse,  and  in  fragments  strews  the 
flood. 

So  the  rude  Boreas,  o’er  the  field  new- 
shoru,  47o 

Tosses  and  drives  the  scatter’d  heaps  of 
corn. 

And  now  a single  beam  the  chief  bestrides: 
There,  pois’d  awhile  above  the  bounding 
tides, 

His  limbs  discumbers  of  the  clinging  vest, 
And  binds  the  sacred  cincture  round  his 
breast; 

Then,  prone  on  ocean  in  a moment  flung, 
Stretch’d  wide  his  eager  arms,  and  shot  the 
seas  along. 

All  naked  now,  on  heaving  billows  laid, 
Stern  Neptune  eyed  him,  and  contemptu- 
ous said: 

‘ Go,  learn’d  in  woes,  and  other  foes 
essay ! 480 

Go,  wander  helpless  on  the  wat’ry  way: 
Thus,  thus  find  out  the  destin’d  shore,  and 
then 

(If  Jove  ordains  it)  mix  with  happier 
men: 

Whate’er  thy  fate,  the  ills  our  wrath  could 
raise 

Shall  last  remember’d  in  thy  best  of  days.’ 

This  said,  his  sea-green  steeds  divide  the 
foam, 

And  reach  high  iEgse  and  the  tow’ry  dome. 


THE  ODYSSEY 


55" 


Now,  scarce  withdrawn  the  fierce  earth- 
1 shaking  Power, 

rove’s  daughter  Pallas  watch’d  the  fav’ring 
1 hour; 

Back  to  their  caves  she  hade  the  winds  to 
fly,  49° 

\.nd  hush’d  the  blustering  Brethren  of  the 

Sky. 

The  drier  blasts  alone  of  Boreas  sway, 

And  bear  him  soft  on  broken  waves  away; 
With  gentle  force  impelling  to  that  shore, 
Where  Fate  has  destin’d  lie  shall  toil  no 
more. 

ind  now  two  nights  and  now  two  days  were 
past, 

Since  wide  he  wander’d  on  the  wat’ry 
waste; 

Heav’d  on  the  surge  with  intermitting 
breath, 

And  hourly  panting  in  the  arms  of  Death. 
The  third  fair  morn  now  blazed  upon  the 
main;  _ 50° 

Then  glassy  smooth  lay  all  the  liquid  plain; 
The  winds  were  hush’d,  the  billows  scarcely 
curl’d, 

And  a dead  silence  still’d  the  wat’ry  world, 
When,  lifted  on  a ridgy  wave,  he  spies 
The  land  at  distance,  and  with  sharpen’d 
eyes. 

As  pious  children  joy  with  vast  delight 
When  a lov’d  sire  revives  before  their 
sight 

(Who,  ling’ring  long,  has  call’d  on  death  in 
vain,  5°8 

Fix’d  by  some  demon  to  his  bed  of  pain, 

Till  Heav’11  by  miracle  his  life  restore) ; 

So  joys  Ulysses  at  tli’  appearing  shore; 

'And  sees  (and  labours  onward  as  he  sees) 
The  rising  forests,  and  the  tufted  trees. 

And  now,  as  near  approaching  as  the  sound 
'Of  human  voice  the  list’ning  ear  may 
wound, 

Amidst  the  rocks  he  hears  a hollow  roar 
Of  murm’ring  surges  breaking  on  the 
shore : 

.Nor  peaceful  port  was  there,  nor  winding 
bay, 

To  shield  the  vessel  from  the  rolling  sea, 
But  cliffs,  and  shaggy  shores,  a dreadful 
sight!  520 

All  rough  with  rocks,  with  foamy  billows 
white. 

*Fear  seiz’d  his  slacken’d  limbs  and  beating 
' heart, 

And  thus  he  communed  with  his  soul  apart: 


* Ah  me!  when  o’er  a length  of  waters 
toss’d, 

These  eyes  at  last  behold  th’  unhoped-for 
coast, 

No  port  receives  me  from  the  angry  main, 
But  the  loud  deeps  demand  me  back 
again. 

Above  sharp  rocks  forbid  access;  around 
Roar  the  wild  waves;  beneath  is  sea  pro- 
found! 529 

No  footing  sure  affords  the  faithless  sand, 
To  stem  too  rapid,  and  too  deep  to  stand. 

If  here  I enter,  my  efforts  are  vain, 

Dash’d  on  the  cliffs  or  heav’d  into  the 
main : 

Or  round  the  island  if  my  course  I bend, 
Where  the  ports  open,  or  the  shores  de- 
scend, 

Back  to  the  seas  the  rolling  surge  may 
sweep, 

And  bury  all  my  hopes  beneath  the  deep. 
Or  some  enormous  whale  the  God  may 
send 

(For  many  such  on  Amphitrite  attend); 

Too  well  the  turns  of  mortal  chance  I 
know,  54° 

And  hate  relentless  of  my  heav’nly  foe.’ 

While  thus  he  thought,  a monstrous  wTave 
upbore 

The  Chief,  and  dash’d  him  on  the  craggy 
shore ; 

Torn  was  his  skin,  nor  had  the  ribs  been 
whole, 

But  instant  Pallas  enter’d  in  his  soul. 

Close  to  the  cliff  with  both  his  hands  he 
clung, 

And  stuck  adherent,  and  suspended  hung; 
Till  the  huge  surge  roll’d  off:  then,  back- 
ward sweep 

The  refluent  tides,  and  plunge  him  in  the 
deep.  549 

As  when  the  polypus,  from  forth  his  cave 
Torn  with  full  force,  reluctant  beats  the 
wave ; 

His  ragged  claws  are  stuck  with  stones  and 
sands; 

So  the  rough  rock  had  shagg’d  Ulysses* 
hands. 

And  now  had  perish’d,  whelm’d  beneath 
the  main, 

Th’  unhappy  man;  ev’n  Fate  had  been  in 
vain ; 

But  all-subduing  Pallas  lent  her  power, 
And  prudence  saved  him  in  the  needful 
hour. 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


S52 


Beyond  the  beating  surge  his  course  he 
bore 

(A  wider  circle,  but  in  sight  of  shore), 
With  longing  eyes,  observing,  to  survey  560 
Some  smooth  ascent,  or  safe  sequester’d 
bay. 

Between  the  parting  rocks  at  length  he 
spied 

A falling  stream  with  gentler  waters  glide; 
Where  to  the  seas  the  shelving  shore  de- 
clin’d, 

And  form’d  a bay  impervious  to  the  wind. 
1o  this  calm  port  the  glad  Ulysses  press’d, 
And  hail’d  the  river,  and  its  God  address’d : 

‘ Whoe’er  thou  art,  before  whose  stream 
unknown 

I bend,  a suppliant  at  thy  wat’ry  throne, 
Hear,  azure  King  1 nor  let  me  fly  in 
vain  s;o 

To  thee  from  Neptune  and  the  raging 
main. 

Heav’11  hears  and  pities  hapless  men  like 
me, 

For  sacred  ev’11  to  Gods  is  misery: 

Let  then  thy  waters  give  the  weary  rest, 
And  save  a suppliant,  and  a man  dis- 
tress’d.’ 

He  pray’d,  and  straight  the  gentle  stream 
subsides, 

Detains  the  rushing  current  of  his  tides, 
Before  the  wand’rer  smooths  the  wat’ry 
way, 

And  soft  receives  him  from  the  rolling  sea. 
That  moment,  fainting  as  he  touch’d  the 
shore,  . . s8o 

He  dropp’d  his  sinewy  arms;  his  knees  no 
more 

Perform’d  their  office,  or  his  weight  up- 
held; 

His  swoln  heart  heav’d;  his  bloated  body 
s well’d; 

From  mouth  and  nose  the  briny  torrent 
ran; 

And  lost  in  lassitude  lay  all  the  man, 
Deprived  of  voice,  of  motion,  and  of  breath; 
The  soul  scarce  waking  in  the  arms  of 
death. 

Soon  as  warm  life  its  wonted  office  found, 
The  mindful  chief  Leucothea’s  scarf  un- 
bound ; 

Observant  of  her  word,  he  turn’d  aside  590 
His  head,  and  cast  it  on  the  rolling  tide. 
Behind  him  far,  upon  the  purple  waves 
The  waters  waft  it,  and  the  nymph  re- 
ceives. 


Now  parting  from  the  stream,  Ulysses] 
found 

A mossy  bank  with  pliant  rushes  crown’d;  L 
The  bank  he  press’d,  and  gently  kiss’d  the 
ground;  J 

Where  on  the  flow’ry  herb  as  soft  he  lay, 
Thus  to  his  soul  the  sage  began  to  say: 

‘ What  will  ye  next  ordain,  ye  Powers  on 
high! 

And  yet,  ah  yet,  what  fates  are  we  to 

TT  I1'7  ? 600 

Here  by  the  stream,  if  I the  night  out-  ) 
wear, 

Thus  spent  already,  how  shall  nature  bear  f 
The  dews  descending,  and  nocturnal  air?J 
Or  chilly  vapours  breathing  from  the  flood 
When  morning  rises  ? — If  I take  the 
wood, 

And  in  thick  shelter  of  innumerous  boughs 
Fnjoy  the  comfort  gentle  sleep  allows; 

Tho’  fenc’d  from  cold,  and  tho’  my  toil  be 
past, 

What  savage  beasts  may  wander  in  the 
waste! 

Perhaps  I yet  may  fall  a bloody  prey  610 
To  prowling  bears,  or  lions  in  the  way.’ 

Thus  long  debating  in  himself  he  stood: 
At  length  he  took  the  passage  to  the  wood, 
Whose  shady  horrors  on  a rising  brow 
Waved  high,  and  frown’d  upon  the  stream 
below. 

There  grew  two  olives,  closest  of  the  grove, 
With  roots  entwin’d,  and  branches  inter- 
wove; 

Alike  their  leaves,  but  not  alike  they  smil’d 
With  sister-fruits;  one  fertile,  one  was 
wild. 

Nor  here  the  sun’s  meridian  rays  had 
power,  . 620 

Nor  wind  sharp-piercing,  nor  the  rushing 
shower; 

The  verdant  arch  so  close  its  texture  kept: 
Beneath  this  covert  great  Ulysses  crept. 

Of  gather’d  leaves  an  ample  bed  he  made 
(Thick  strewn  by  tempest  thro’  the  bow’ry 
shade) ; 

Where  three  at  least  might  winter’s  cold 
defy, 

Tho’  Boreas  raged  along  th’  inclement 
sky. 

This  store  with  joy  the  patient  hero  found, 
And,  sunk  amidst  them,  heap’d  the  leaves 
around. 

As  some  poor  peasant,  fated  to  reside  630 
Remote  from  neighbours  in  a forest  wide, 


THE  ODYSSEY 


553 


ttudious  to  save  what  human  wants  require, 
n embers  heap’d,  preserves  the  seeds  of 
fire: 

lid  in  dry  foliage  thus  Ulysses  lies, 

Till  Pallas  pour’d  soft  slumbers  on  his 
eyes: 

ind  golden  dreams  (the  gift  of  sweet  re- 
pose) 

Lull’d  all  his  cares,  and  banish’d  all  his 
woes. 

BOOK  VII 

THE  COURT  OF  ALCINOUS 


Nurse  of  Nausicaa  from  her  infant  years, 
And  tender  second  to  a mother’s  cares. 

Now  from  the  sacred  thicket,  where  he 
Hy, 

To  town  Ulysses  took  the  winding  way. 
Propitious  Pallas,  to  secure  her  care,  19 
Around  him  spread  a veil  of  thicken’d  air; 
To  shun  th’  encounter  of  the  vulgar  crowd. 
Insulting  still,  inquisitive  and  loud. 

When  near  the  famed  Phseacian  walls  he 
drew, 

The  beauteous  city  opening  to  his  view, 

His  step  a virgin  met,  and  stood  before: 

A polish’d  urn  the  seeming  virgin  bore, 
And  youthful  smil’d;  but  in  the  low  dis- 


ARGUMENT 

The  princess  Nausicaa  returns  to  the  city,  and 
Ulysses  soon  after  follows  thither.  He  is 
met  by  Pallas  in  the  form  of  a young  virgin, 
who  guides  him  to  the  palace,  and  diiects 
| him  in  what  manner  to  address  the  queen 
Aret<$.  She  then  involves  him  in  a mist, 
which  causes  him  to  pass  invisible.  The 
palace  and  gardens  of  Alcinous  described. 
Ulysses  falling  at  the  feet  of  the  Queen,  the 
mist  disperses,  the  Phseacians  admire,  and 
receive  him  with  respect.  The  Queen  in- 
quiring by  what  means  he  had  the  garments 
1 he  then  wore,  he  relates  to  her  and  Alcinous 
his  departure  from  Calypso,  and  his  arrival 
s on  their  dominions. 

The  same  day  continues,  and  the  book  ends 
' with  the  night. 


The  patient  heav’nly  man  thus  suppliant 
pray’d; 

While  the  slow  mules  draw  on  th’  imperial 
maid : 

Thro’  the  proud  street  she  moves,  the  pub- 


lic gaze; 

r The  turning  wheel  before  the  palace  stays. 
' With  ready  love  her  brothers  gath’ring 


round, 

Receiv’d  the  vestures,  and  the  mules  un- 
bound. 

iji  She  seeks  the  bridal  bower:  a matron  there 
The  rising  fire  supplies  with  busy  care, 

[ Whose  charms  in  youth  her  father’s  heart 
inflamed, 

t Now  worn  with  age,  Eurymedusa  named:  10 
The  captive  dame  Phfeacian  rovers  bore. 
Snatch’d  from  Epirus,  her  sweet  native 


1 shore 

(A  grateful  prize),  and  in  her  bloom  be- 
stow’d 

On  good  Alcinous,  honour’d  as  a God; 


guise 

Lay  hid  the  Goddess  with  the  Azure  Eyes. 
‘Show  me,  fair  daughter’  (thus  the 
Chief  demands), 

‘ The  house  of  him  who  rules  these  happy 
lands ; 30 

Thro’  many  woes  and  wand’rings,  lo  ! I 
come 

To  good  Alcinous’  hospitable  dome. 

Ear  from  my  native  coast,  I rove  alone, 

A wretched  stranger,  and  of  all  unknown  ! ’ 
The  Goddess  answer’d:  ‘ Father,  I obey, 
And  point  the  wand’ring  traveller  his  way? 
Well  known  to  me  the  palace  you  inquire, 
For  fast  beside  it  dwells  my  honour’d  sire: 
But  silent  march,  nor  greet  the  common 
train 

With  question  needless,  or  inquiry  vain:  40 
A race  of  rugged  mariners  are  these: 
Unpolish’d  men,  and  boist’rous  as  their 
seas: 

The  native  islanders  alone  their  care, 

And  hateful  he  who  breathes  a foreign  air. 
These  did  the  ruler  of  the  deep  ordain 
To  build  proud  navies,  and  command  the 
main; 

On  canvas  wings  to  cut  the  wat’ry  way; 

No  bird  so  light,  no  thought  so  swift  as 
they.’ 

Thus  having  spoke,  th’  unknown  Celestial 
leads : 

The  footsteps  of  the  deity  he  treads,  50 
And  secret  moves  along  the  crowded  space, 
Unseen  of  all  the  rude  Phseacian  race 
(So  Pallas  order’d.  Pallas  to  their  eyes 
The  mist  objected,  and  condens’d  the  skies). 
The  Chief  with  wonder  sees  th’  extended 
streets, 

The  spreading  harbours,  and  the  riding 

1 fleets; 


554  TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


He  next  their  Princes’  lofty  domes  ad- 
mires, 

In  sep’rate  islands,  crown’d  with  rising 
spires; 

And  deep  iiitrenchments,  and  high  walls  of 
stone, 

That  gird  the  city  like  a marble  zone.  60 
At  length  the  kingly  palace  gates  he 
view’d; 

There  stopp’d  the  Goddess,  and  her  speech 
renew’d. 

‘My  task  is  done;  the  mansion  you  in- 
quire 

Appears  before  you:  enter,  and  admire. 
High-throned,  and  feasting,  there  thou 
shalt  behold 

The  sceptred  rulers.  Fear  not,  but  be 
bold: 

A decent  boldness  ever  meets  with  friends, 
Succeeds,  and  ev’n  a stranger  recommends. 
First  to  the  Queen  prefer  a suppliant’s  "I 
claim, 

Alcinoiis’  Queen,  Aretb  is  her  name,  7o  !> 
The  same  her  parents,  and  her  power  the 
same.  J 

For  know,  from  Ocean’s  God  Nausithoiis 
sprung, 

And  Peribcea,  beautiful  and  young; 
(Eurymedon’s  last  hope,  who  ruled  of  old 
The  race  of  giants,  impious,  proud,  and 
bold; 

Perish’d  the  nation  in  unrighteous  war, 
Perish’d  the  Prince,  and  left  this  only 
heir) ; 

Who  now,  by  Neptune’s  am’rous  power 
compress’d, 

Produced  a Monarch  that  his  people  bless’d, 
Father  and  Prince  of  the  Phseacian  name;  80 
From  him  Rhexenor  and  Alcinoiis  came. 

The  first  by  Phoebus’  burning  arrows  fired, 
New  from  his  nuptials,  hapless  youth  ! ex- 
pired. 

No  son  survived:  Aret6  heir’d  his  state, 

And  her  Alcinoiis  chose  his  royal  mate. 
With  honours  yet  to  womankind  unknown 
This  Queen  he  graces,  and  divides  the 
throne; 

In  equal  tenderness  her  sons  conspire, 

And  all  the  children  emulate  their  sire. 
When  thro’  the  street  she  gracious  deigns 
to  move  9o 

(The  public  wonder  and  the  public  love), 
The  tongues  of  all  with  transport  sound 
her  praise, 

The  eyes  of  all,  as  on  a Goddess,  gaze. 


She  feels  the  triumph  of  a gen’rous) 
breast ; 

To  heal  divisions,  to  relieve  th’  oppress’d;  [ 
In  virtue  rich;  in  blessing  others,  bless’d.  J 
Go  then  secure,  thy  humble  suit  prefer, 
And  owe  thy  country  and  thy  friends  to 
her.’ 

With  that  the  Goddess  deign’d  no  longer 
stay, 

But  o’er  the  world  of  waters  wing’d  her 
way:  ioo 

Forsaking  Scheria’s  ever-pleasing  shore, 
The  winds  to  Marathon  the  virgin  bore: 
Thence,  where  proud  Athens  rears  her 
tow’ry  head, 

With  opening  streets  and  shining  struc- 
tures spi’ead, 

She  pass’d,  delighted  with  the  well-known 
seats; 

And  to  Erectheus’  sacred  dome  retreats. 

Meanwhile  Ulysses  at  the  palace  waits,  ) 
There  stops,  and  anxious  with  his  soul  I 
debates, 

Fix’d  in  amaze  before  the  royal  gates.  J 
The  front  appear’d  with  radiant  splendours 

. gay> 

Bright  as  the  lamp  of  night,  or  orb  of  day. 
The  walls  were  massy  brass  : the  cornice 
high 

Blue  metals  crown’d  in  colours  of  the  sky; 
Rich  plates  of  gold  the  folding  doors  in- 
case ; 

The  pillars  silver,  on  a brazen  base; 

Silver  the  lintels  deep-projecting  o’er, 

And  gold  the  ringlets  that  command  the 
door. 

Two  rows  of  stately  dogs  on  either  hand, 

In  sculptured  gold  and  labour’d  silver 
stand. 

These  Vulcan  form’d  with  art  divine,  to 
wait  I20 

Immortal  guardians  at  Alcinoiis’ gate; 

Alive  each  animated  frame  appears, 

And  still  to  live  beyond  the  power  of 
years. 

Fair  thrones  within  from  space  to  space 
were  rais’d, 

Where  various  carpets  with  embroid’ry 
blazed, 

The  work  of  matrons:  these  the  Princes 
press’d, 

Day  foll’wing  day,  a long  continued  feast. 
Refulgent  pedestals  the  walls  surround, 
Which  boys  of  gold  with  flaming  torches 
crown’d; 


THE  ODYSSEY  555 


The  polish’d  ore,  reflecting  every  ray,  130 
jjlazed  on  the  banquets  with  a double  day. 
j'uil  fifty  handmaids  form’d  the  household 
train ; 

Some  turn  the  mill,  or  sift  the  golden 
grain ; 

Some  ply  the  loom;  their  busy  fingers 
move 

Like  poplar-leaves  when  Zephyr  fans  the 
grove. 

Not  more  renown’d  the  men  of  Scheria’s 
isle, 

For  sailing  arts  and  all  the  naval  toil, 

Than  works  of  female  skill  their  women’s 
pride, 

The  flying  shuttle  thro’  the  threads  to 
guide: 

: Pallas  to  these  her  double  gifts  imparts,  140 
Inventive  genius,  and  industrious  arts. 

Close  to  the  gates  a spacious  garden 
lies, 

From  storms  defended  and  inclement 
skies. 

Four  acres  was  th’  allotted  space  of 
ground, 

< Fenc’d  with  a green  enclosure  all  around. 
Tall  thriving  trees  confess’d  the  fruitful 
mould ; 

The  redd’ning  apple  ripens  here  to  gold. 
Hare  the  blue  fig  with  luscious  juice  o’er- 
flows, 

With  deeper  red  the  full  pomegranate 
glows; 

The  branch  here  bends  beneath  the  weighty 
pear,  IS° 

And  verdant  olives  flourish  round  the  year. 
The  balmy  spirit  of  the  western  gale 
Eternal  breathes  on  fruits,  untaught  to 
fail ; 

Each  dropping  pear  a foll’wing  pear  sup- 
plies, 

On  apples  apples,  figs  on  figs  arise: 

The  same  mild  season  gives  the  blooms  to 
blow, 

The  buds  to  harden,  and  the  fruits  to 
grow. 

Here  order’d  vines  in  equal  ranks  ap- 
pear, 

With  all  th’  united  labours  of  the  year; 
Some  to  unload  the  fertile  branches  run,  160 
Some  dry  the  black’ning  clusters  in  the 
sun ; 

Others  to  tread  the  liquid  harvest  join, 

The  groaning  presses  foam  with  floods  of 
wine, 


Here  are  the  vines  in  early  flower  de-' 
scried, 

Here  grapes  discolour’d  on  the  sunny  ^ 
side, 

And  there  in  Autumn’s  richest  purple 
dyed. 

Beds  of  all  various  herbs,  for  ever 
green, 

In  beauteous  order  terminate  the  scene. 

Two  plenteous  fountains  the  whole  pro- 
spect crown’d: 

This  thro’  the  gardens  leads  its  streams  ^ 
around,  17° 

Visits  each  plant,  and  waters  all  the 
ground; 

While  that  in  pipes  beneath  the  palace 
flows, 

And  thence  its  current  on  the  town  be- 
stows : 

To  various  use  their  various  streams  they 
bring, 

The  people  one,  and  one  supplies  the  King. 

Such  were  the  glories  which  the  Gods 
ordain’d, 

To  grace  Alcinoiis,  and  his  happy  land. 

Ev’n  from  the  Chief  whom  men  and  na- 
tions knew, 

Th’  unwonted  scene  surprise  and  rapture 
drew; 

In  pleasing  thought  he  ran  the  prospect 
o’er,  180 

Then  hasty  enter’d  at  the  lofty  door. 

Night  now  approaching,  in  the  palace 
stand, 

With  goblets  crown’d,  the  rulers  of  the 
land; 

Prepared  for  rest,  and  off’ring  to  the  God 

Who  bears  the  virtue  of  the  sleepy  rod. 

Unseen  he  glided  thro’  the  joyous  crowd, 

With  darkness  circled,  and  an  ambient 
cloud, 

Direct  to  great  Alcinoiis’  throne  he  came, 

And  prostrate  fell  before  th’  imperial 
dame. 

Then  from  around  him  dropp’d  the  veil  of 
night;  _ J9° 

Sudden  he  shines,  and  manifest  to  sight. 

The  nobles  gaze,  with  awful  fear  op- 
press’d ; 

Silent  they  gaze,  and  eye  the  godlike 
guest. 

‘Daughter  of  great  Rhexenor  ! ’ (thus 
began, 

Low  at  her  knees,  the  much-enduring 
man), 


55^ 


translations  from  homer 


‘To  thee,  thy  consort,  and  this  royal 
train, 

To  all  that  share  the  blessings  of  your 
reign, 

A suppliant  bends:  oh  pity  human  woe  ! 

’T  is  what  the  happy  to  th’  unhappy  owe. 

A wretched  exile  to  his  country  send,  200 
Long  worn  with  griefs,  and  long  without  a 
friend. 

So  may  the  Gods  your  better  days  in- 
crease, 

And  all  your  joys  descend  on  all  your 
race: 

So  reign  for  ever  on  your  country’s  breast, 
Your  people  blessing,  by  your  people 
bless’d  ! ’ 

Then  to  the  genial  hearth  he  bow’d  his 
face, 

And  humbled  in  the  ashes  took  his  place. 
Silence  ensued.  The  eldest  first  began, 
Eeheneus  sage,  a venerable  man  ! 

Whose  well-taught  mind  the  present  age 
surpass’d,  2IO 

And  join’d  to  that  th’  experience  of  the 
last. 

Fit  words  attended  on  his  weighty  sense, 
And  mild  persuasion  flow’d  in  eloquence. 

‘ Oh  sight  ’ (he  cried)  ‘ dishonest  and  un- 
just ! 

A guest,  a stranger,  seated  in  the  dust ! 

To  raise  the  lowly  suppliant  from  the 
ground 

Befits  a Monarch.  Lo  ! the  peers  around 
But  wait  thy  word,  the  gentle  guest  to 
grace, 

And  seat  him  fair  in  some  distinguish’d 
place. 

Let  first  the  herald  due  libation  pay  220 
To  Jove,  who  guides  the  wand’rer  on  his 
way; 

Then  set  the  genial  banquet  in  his  view, 

And  give  the  stranger-guest  a stranger’s 
due.’ 

His  sage  advice  the  list’ning  King  obeys; 
He  stretch’d  his  hand  the  prudent  Chief  to 
raise, 

And  from  his  seat  Laodamas  remov’d 
(The  Monarch’s  offspring,  and  his  best-be- 
lov’d); 

There  next  his  side  the  godlike  Hero  sate; 
With  stars  of  silver  shone  the  bed  of  state. 
The  golden  ewer  a beauteous  handmaid 
brings,  230 

Replenish’d  from  the  cool  translucent 
springs, 


Whose  polish’d  vase  with  copious  streams 
supplies 

A silver  laver  of  capacious  size. 

The  table  next  in  regal  order  spread, 

The  glitt’ring  canisters  are  heap’d  with 
bread  : 

Viands  of  various  kinds  invite  the  taste, 

Of  choicest  sort  and  savour,  rich  repast  ! 
Thus  feasting  high,  Alcinoiis  gave  the  sign, 
And  bade  the  Herald  pour  the  rosy  wine. 
‘Let  all  around  the  due  libation  pay  249 
To  Jove,  who  guides  the  wand’rer  on  his 
way.’ 

He  said.  Pontonoiis  heard  the  King’s 
command ; 

The  circling  goblet  moves  from  hand  to 
hand ; 

Each  drinks  the  juice  that  glads  the  heart 
of  man. 

Alcinoiis  then,  with  aspect  mild,  began  : 

‘ Princes  and  Peers,  attend  ; while  we 
impart 

To  you  the  thoughts  of  no  inhuman  heart. 
Now  pleas’d  and  satiate  from  the  social 
rite 

Repair  we  to  the  blessings  of  the  night; 

But  with  the  rising  day,  assembled  here,  250 
Let  all  the  elders  of  the  land  appear, 

Pious  observe  our  hospitable  laws, 

And  Heav’n  propitiate  in  the  stranger’s 
cause; 

Then  join’d  in  council,  proper  means  ex- 
plore 

Safe  to  transport  him  to  the  wished-for 
shore 

(How  distant  that,  imports  not  us  to  know, 
Nor  weigh  the  labour,  but  relieve  the  woe). 
Meantime,  nor  harm  nor  anguish  let  him 
bear  : 

This  interval,  Heav’n  trusts  him  to  our 
care;  259 

But  to  his  native  land  our  charge  resign’d, 
Heav’n’s  is  his  life  to  come,  and  all  the  woes 
behind. 

Then  must  he  suffer  what  the  Fates  ordain ; ) 
For  Fate  has  wove  the  thread  of  life  with 

pain ! L 

And  twins  ev’11  from  the  birth  are  Misery 
and  Man  ! J 

But  if,  descended  from  th’  Olympian  bower, 
Gracious  approach  us  some  immortal  Power; 
If  in  that  form  thou  com’st  a guest  divine  ; 
Some  high  event  the  conscious  Gods  design. 
As  yet,  unbid  they  never  graced  our  feast, 
The  solemn  sacrifice  call’d  down  the  guest; 


THE  ODYSSEY 


557 


len  manifest  of  Heav’n  the  vision  stood,  271 
id  to  our  eyes  familiar  was  the  God. 

;t  with  some  favour’d  traveller  they 
stray, 

id  shine  before  him  all  the  desert  way; 
ith  social  intercourse,  and  face  to  face, 
le  friends  and  guardians  of  our  pious 
race. 

I near  approach  we  their  celestial  kind, 
lr  justice,  truth,  and  probity  of  mind; 

, our  dire  neighbours  of  Cyclopean  birth 
iatch  in  fierce  wrong  the  giant  - sons  of 
earth.’  280 

F Let  no  such  thought  ’ (with  modest 
grace  rejoin’d 

le  prudent  Greek)  ‘possess  the  royal 
mind. 

as  ! a mortal,  like  thyself,  am  I; 

> glorious  native  of  yon  azure  sky  : 
form,  ah  how  unlike  their  lieav’nly  kind! 

saw  more  inferior  in  the  gifts  of  mind  ! 

•as,  a mortal  ! most  oppress’d  of  those 
hom  Fate  has  loaded  with  a weight  of 
1 woes ; 

' a sad  train  of  miseries  alone  289 

stinguish’d  long,  and  second  now  to  none! 
k Heav’n’s  high  will  compell’d  from  shore 
to  shore, 

ith  Heav’n’s  high  will  prepared  to  suffer 

> more. 

hat  histories  of  toil  could  I declare  ! 
it  still  long- wearied  nature  wants  repair; 
ient  with  fatigue,  and  shrunk  with  pining 
fast, 

y craving  bowels  still  require  repast, 
awe’er  the  noble,  suffering  mind  may  grieve 

> load  of  anguish,  and  disdain  to  live, 
^cessity  demands  our  daily  bread; 

mger  is  insolent,  and  will  be  fed.  300 
Ut  finish,  O ye  Peers!  what  you  propose, 
id  let  the  morrow’s  dawn  conclude  my 
woes. 

leas’d  will  I suffer  all  the  Gods  ordain, 
l>  see  my  soil,  my  son,  my  friends  again, 
lat  view  vouchsafed,  let  instant  death 
’ surprise 

ith  ever-during  shade  these  happy  eyes!  ’ 
Tli’  assembled  Peers  with  gen’ral  praise 
approv’d 

is  pleaded  reason,  and  the  suit  he  mov’d, 
ich  drinks  a full  oblivion  of  his  cares, 
iid  to  the  gifts  of  balmy  sleep  repairs.  310 
dysses  in  the  regal  walls  alone  ) 

emain’d : beside  him, on  a splendid  throne  V 
iviue  Aretb  and  Alcinoiis  shone.  J 


The  Queen,  on  nearer  view,  the  guest  sur- 
vey’d, 

Robed  in  the  garments  her  own  hands  had 
made, 

Not  without  wonder  seen.  Then  thus  be- 
gan, 

Her  words  addressing  to  the  godlike  man: 

‘ Cainest  thou  not  hither,  wondrous  stran- 
ger! say, 

From  lands  remote,  and  o’er  a length  of 
sea  ? 

Tell  then  whence  art  thou  ? whence  that 
princely  air  ? 320 

And  robes  like  these,  so  recent  and  so 
fair  ? ’ 

‘ Hard  is  the  task,  O Princess  ! you  im- 
pose ’ 

(Thus  sighing  spoke  the  man  of  many 
woes), 

‘ The  long,  the  mournful  series  to  relate 
Of  all  my  sorrows  sent  by  Heav’n  and 
Fate  ! 

Yet  what  you  ask,  attend.  A11  island  lies 
Beyond  these  tracts,  and  under  other  skies, 
Ogygia  named,  in  Ocean’s  wat’ry  arms  ; 
Where  dwells  Calypso,  dreadful  in  her 
charms  ! 

Remote  from  Gods  or  men  she  holds  her 
reign,  33* 

Amid  the  terrors  of  the  rolling  main. 

Me,  only  me,  the  hand  of  Fortune  bore, 
Unblest  ! to  tread  that  interdicted  shore: 
When  Jove  tremendous  in  the  sable  deeps 
Launch’d  his  red  lightning  at  our  scatter’d 
ships, 

Then,  all  my  fleet,  and  all  my  foll’wers 
lost, 

Sole  on  a plank,  on  boiling  surges  toss’d, 
Heav’n  drove  my  wreck  th’  Ogygian  isle  to 
find, 

Full  nine  days  floating  to  the  wave  and 
wind.  339 

Met  by  the  Goddess  there  with  open  arms, 
She  bribed  my  stay  with  more  than  human 
charms  ; 

Nay,  promis’d,  vainly  promis’d,  to  bestow 
Immortal  life,  exempt  from  age  and  woe  ; 
But  all  her  blandishments  successless  prove, 
To  banish  from  my  breast  my  country’s 
love. 

I stay  reluctant  sev’n  continued  years, 

And  water  her  ambrosial  couch  with  tears  ; 
The  eighth  she  voluntary  moves  to  part, 

Or  urged  by  Jove,  or  her  own  changeful, 
heart. 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


553 


A raft  was  form’d  to  cross  the  surging  1 
sea;  35°  l 

Herself  supplied  the  stores  and  rich  array,  | 
And  gave  the  gales  to  waft  me  on  the  way.  J 
I11  sev’nteen  days  appear’d  your  pleasing 
coast, 

And  woody  mountains  half  in  vapours  lost. 
Joy  touch’d  my  soul : my  soul  was  joy’d  in 
vain, 

For  angry  Neptune  rous’d  the  raging  main; 
The  wild  winds  whistle,  and  the  billows  I 
roar;  ! 

The  splitting  raft  the  furious  tempest  tore ; j 
And  storms  vindictive  intercept  the  shore.  J 
Soon  as  their  rage  subsides,  the  seas  I 
brave  360 

With  naked  force,  and  shoot  along  the 
wave, 

To  reach  this  isle;  but  there  my  hopes  were 
lost; 

The  surge  impell’d  me  on  a craggy  coast. 

I chose  the  safer  sea,  and  chanced  to  find 
A river’s  mouth  impervious  to  the  wind, 
And  clear  of  rocks.  I fainted  by  the  flood; 
Then  took  the  shelter  of  the  neighb’ring 
wood. 

’T  was  night,  and  cover’d  in  the  foliage 
deep, 

Jove  plunged  my  senses  in  the  death  of 
sleep. 

All  night  I slept,  oblivious  of  my  pain:  370 
Aurora  dawn’d,  and  Phoebus  shined  in  vain, 
Nor,  till  oblique  he  sloped  his  ev’ning  ray, 
Had  Somnus  dried  the  balmy  dews  away. 
Then  female  voices  from  the  shore  I heard: 
A maid  amidst  them,  goddess-like,  ap- 
pear’d ; 

To  her  I sued,  she  pitied  my  distress; 

Like  thee  in  beauty,  nor  in  virtue  less. 
Who  from  such  youth  could  hope  con- 
sid’rate  care  ? 

In  youth  and  beauty  wisdom  is  but  rare  ! 
She  gave  me  life,  reliev’d  with  just  sup- 
plies 380 

My  wants,  and  lent  these  robes  that  strike 
your  eves. 

This  is  the  truth:  and  oh,  ye  Powers  on  high! 
Forbid  that  want  should  sink  me  to  a lie.’ 

To  this  the  King  : * Our  daughter  but 
express’d 

Her  cares  imperfect  to  her  godlike  guest. 
Suppliant  to  her  since  first  he  chose  topray,  I 
Why  not  herself  did  she  conduct  the  way,  ! 
And  with  her  handmaids  to  our  court  f 
convey  ? * J 


‘ Hero  and  King  ’ (Ulysses  thus  replied) 
‘Nor  blame  her  faultless,  nor  suspect  o 
pride : 39 

She  bade  me  follow  in  th’  attendant  train: 
But  fear  and  rev’rence  did  my  steps  detain 
Lest  rash  suspicion  might  alarm  thy  mind 
Man  ’s  of  a jealous  and  mistaking  kind.’ 

4 Far  from  my  soul  ’ (he  cried)  ‘ the  Godi 
efface 

All  wrath  ill-grounded,  and  suspicion  base 
Whate’er  is  honest,  stranger,  I approve, 
And  would  to  Phoebus,  Pallas,  and  to  Jove 
Such  as  thou  art,  thy  thought  and  min 
were  one, 

Nor  thou  unwilling  to  be  call’d  my  son.  40 
In  such  alliance  could’st  thou  wish  to  join,! 
A palace  stor’d  with  treasures  should  b 
thine. 

But  if  reluctant,  who  shall  force  thy  stay  ? \ 
Jove  bids  to  set  the  stranger  on  his  way,  I 
And  ships  shall  wait  thee  with  the  morn-  j 
ing  ray.  J 

Till  then,  let  slumber  cross  thy  careful'! 
eyes; 

The  wakeful  mariners  shall  watch  the  1 
skies, 

And  seize  the  moment  when  the  breezes 
rise, 

Then  gently  waft  thee  to  the  pleasing  short 
Where  thy  soul  rests,  and  labour  is  n 
more.  4> 

Far  as  Euboea  tho’  thy  country  lay, 

Our  ships  with  ease  transport  thee  in 
day. 

Thither  of  old,  earth’s  giant  son  to  view, 
O11  wings  of  winds  with  Rhadamanth  the 
flew; 

This  land,  from  whence  their  mornin 
course  begun, 

Saw  them  returning  with  the  setting  sun. 
Your  eyes  shall  witness  and  confirm  m 
tale, 

Our  youth  how  dext’rous  and  how  fleet  ou 
sail, 

When  justly  timed  with  equal  sweep  the 
row,  4 

And  ocean  whitens  in  long  tracks  below.’ 

Thus  he.  No  word  the  experienc’d  rnr. 
replies, 

But  thus  to  Heav’n  (and  Heav’nward  lif 
his  eyes): 

4 O Jove  ! O Father  ! what  the  King  at 
cords 

Do  thou  make  perfect ! sacred  be  b 
words  1 


THE  ODYSSEY 


559 


ide  o’er  the  world  Alcinoiis’  glory  shine! 
st  fame  be  his,  and  ah ! my  country 
mine  ! ’ 

Meantime  Aret6,  for  the  hour  of  rest, 
jpdains  the  fleecy  couch,  and  cov’ring  vest; 
ds  her  fair  train  the  purple  quilts  pre- 
pare, 

id  the  thick  carpets  spread  with  busy 
care.  430 

ith  torches  blazing  in  their  hands  they 
pass’d, 

ad  finish’d  all  their  Queen’s  command 
with  haste: 

hen  gave  the  signal  to  the  willing  guest: 
e rose  with  pleasure,  and  retired  to  rest, 
uere  soft-extended,  to  the  murm’ring 
sound 

f the  high  porch,  Ulysses  sleeps  pro- 
found ! 

fithin,  releas’d  from  cares  Alcinous  lies; 
nd  fast  beside  were  closed  Aret&’s  eyes. 


BOOK  IX 

HE  ADVENTURES  OF  THE  CICONS,  LOTO- 
PHAGI,  AND  CYCLOPS 

ARGUMENT 

lysses  begins  the  relation  of  his  adventures ; 
how,  after  the  destruction  of  Troy,  he  with 
his  companions  made  an  incursion  on  the 
Cicons,  by  whom  they  were  repulsed  ; and 
meeting  with  a storm,  were  driven  to  the 
coast  of  the  Lotophagi.  From  thence  they 
sailed  to  the  land  of  the  Cyclops,  whose 
maimers  and  situation  are  particularly  char- 
acterized. The  giant  Polyphemus  and  his 
cave  described  ; the  usage  Ulysses  and  his 
companions  met  with  there  ; and  lastly,  the 
method  and  artifice  by  which  he  escaped. 

Then  thus  Ulysses:  ‘Thou  whom  first 
1 in  sway, 

ls  first  in  virtue,  these  thy  realms  obey; 
low  sweet  the  products  of  a peaceful  reign  ! 
?he  Heav’n-taught  poet,  and  enchanting 
strain, 

?he  well-fill’d  palace,  the  perpetual  feast, 

^ land  rejoicing,  and  a people  bless’d: 
low  goodly  seems  it  ever  to  employ 
dan’s  social  days  in  union  and  in  joy; 

The  plenteous  board  high-heap’d  with  cates 
divine, 

And  o’er  the  foaming  bowl  the  laughing 
wine ! 10 


‘ Amid  these  joys,  why  seeks  thy  mind  to 
know 

Th’  unhappy  series  of  a wand’rer’s  woe  ? 
Remembrance  sad,  whose  image  to  review, 
Alas  ! must  open  all  my  wounds  anew  ! 

And  oh,  what  first,  what  last  shall  I relate, 
Of  woes  unnumber’d  sent  by  Heav’n  and 
Fate  ? 

‘ Know  first  the  man  (tho’  now  a wretch 
distress’d) 

Who  hopes  thee,  Monarch,  for  his  future 
guest: 

Behold  Ulysses  ! no  ignoble  name, 

Earth  sounds  my  wisdom,  and  high  Heav’n 
my  fame.  20 

‘ My  native  soil  is  Ithaca  the  fair, 

Where  high  Neritus  waves  his  woods  in  air; 
Dulichium,  Samk,  and  Zacynthus  crown’d 
With  shady  mountains,  spread  their  isles 
around 

(These  to  the  north  and  night’s  dark  re- 
gions run, 

Those  to  Aurora  and  the  rising  sun) ; 

Low  lies  our  isle,  yet  bless’d  in  fruitful 
stores ; 

Strong  are  her  sons,  tho’  rocky  are  her 
shores; 

And  none,  ah  none,  so  lovely  to  my  sight, 
Of  all  the  lands  that  Heav’n  o’erspreads 
with  light  ! 30 

In  vain  Calypso  long  constrain’d  my  stay, 
With  sweet,  reluctant,  amorous  delay; 

With  all  her  charms  as  vainly  Circe  strove, 
And  added  magic  to  secure  my  love. 

I11  pomps  or  joys,  the  palace  or  the  grot, 
My  country’s  image  never  was  forgot, 

My  absent  parents  rose  before  my  sight, 
And  distant  lay  contentment  and  delight. 

‘ Hear,  then,  the  woes  which  mighty  Jove 
ordain’d  39 

To  wait  my  passage  from  the  Trojan  land. 
The  winds  from  Ilion  to  the  Cicons’  shore, 
Beneath  cold  Ismarus,  our  vessels  bore. 

We  boldly  landed  on  the  hostile  place, 

And  sack’d  the  city,  and  destroy’d  the  race, 
Their  wives  made  captive,  their  possessions 
shared, 

And  ev’ry  soldier  found  a like  reward. 

I then  advised  to  fly;  not  so  the  rest, 

Who  stay’d  to  revel,  and  prolong  the  feast: 
The  fatted  sheep  and  sable  bulls  they  slay, 
And  bowls  flow  round,  and  riot  wastes  the 
day.  -o 

Meantime  the  Cicons,  to  their  holds  retired 
1 Call  on  the  Cicons,  with  new  fury  fired; 


560 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


With  early  morn  the  gather’d  country 
swarms 

And  all  the  continent  is  bright  with  arms; 
Thick  as  the  budding  leaves  or  rising  flowers 
O’erspread  the  land,  when  spring  descends 
in  showers: 

All  expert  soldiers,  skill’d  on  foot  to  dare, 
Or  from  the  bounding  courser  urge  the  war. 
Now  fortune  changes  (so  the  Fates  or- 
dain) ; 

Our  hour  was  come  to  taste  our  share  of 
pain.  60 

Close  at  the  ships  the  bloody  fight  began, 
Wounded  they  wound,  and  man  expires  on 
man. 

Long  as  the  morning  sun  increasing  bright 
O’er  Heav’n’s  pure  azure  spread  the  grow- 
ing light, 

Promiscuous  death  the  form  of  war  con- 
founds, 

Each  adverse  battle  gor’d  with  equal 
wounds; 

But  when  his  ev’ning  wheels  o’erhung  the 
main, 

Then  conquest  crown’d  the  fierce  Ciconian 
train. 

Six  brave  companions  from  each  ship  we 
lost, 

The  rest  escape  in  haste,  and  quit  the 
coa,st.  7o 

With  sails  outspread  we  fly  th’  unequal 
strife, 

Sad  for  their  loss,  but  joyful  of  our  life. 
Yet  as  we  fled,  our  fellows’  rites  we  paid, 
And  thrice  we  call’d  on  each  unhappy 
shade. 

‘Meanwhile  the  God,  whose  hand  the 
thunder  forms, 

Drives  clouds  on  clouds,  and  blackens 
Heav’11  with  storms, 

Wide  o’er  the  waste  the  rage  of  Boreas 
sweeps, 

And  night  rush’d  headlong  on  the  shaded 
deeps. 

Now  here,  now  there,  the  giddy  ships  are 
borne, 

And  all  the  rattling  shrouds  in  fragments 
torn.  80 

We  furl’d  the  sail,  we  plied  the  lab’ring 
oar, 

Took  down  our  masts,  and  row’d  our  ships 
to  shore. 

Two  tedious  days,  and  two  long  nights  we 
lay, 

O’erwatch’d  and  batter’d  in  the  naked  bay. 


But  the  third  morning  when  Aurora  bring; 
We  rear  the  masts,  we  spread  the  canva 
wings ; 

Refresh’d  and  careless  on  the  deck  reclin’c 
We  sit,  and  trust  the  pilot  and  the  wind. 
Then  to  my  native  country  had  I sail’d: 
But,  the  cape  doubled,  adverse  winds  pre 
vail’d.  c 

Strong  was  the  tide,  which,  by  the  nortl 
ern  blast 

Impell’d,  our  vessels  on  Cythera  cast. 
Nine  days  our  fleet  th’  uncertain  tempes 
bore 

Far  in  wide  ocean,  and  from  sight  of  shore 
The  tenth  we  touch’d,  by  various  error 
toss’d, 

The  land  of  Lotus,  and  the  flow’ry  coast. 
We  climb’d  the  beach,  and  springs  0 
water  found, 

Then  spread  our  hasty  banquet  on  th 
ground.  ; 

Three  men  were  sent,  deputed  from  th 
crew  c 

(A  herald  one)  the  dubious  coast  to  view, 
And  learn  what  habitants  possess’d  th 
place. 

They  went,  and  found  a hospitable  race: 
Not  prone  to  ill,  nor  strange  to  foreig 
guest, 

They  eat,  they  drink,  and  Nature  gives  th 
feast: 

The  trees  around  them  all  their  food  pro 
duce; 

Lotus  the  name:  divine,  nectareous  juice 
(Thence  called  Lotophagi);  which  whos 
tastes,  j 

Insatiate  riots  in  the  sweet  repasts, 

Nor  other  home  nor  other  care  intends, 
But  quits  his  house,  his  country,  and  hi 
friends.  n 

The  three  we  sent,  from  off  th’  enchantin; 
ground 

We  dragged  reluctant,  and  by  force  w 
bound: 

The  rest  in  haste  forsook  the  pleasinj 
shore, 

Or,  the  charm  tasted,  had  return’d  n 
more. 

Now  placed  in  order  on  their  banks,  the. 
sweep 

The  sea’s  smooth  face,  and  cleave  the  hoar 
deep; 

With  heavy  hearts  we  labour  thro’  th 
tide, 

To  coasts  unknown,  and  oceans  yet  untriec 


THE  ODYSSEY 


56i 


< The  land  of  Cyclops  first,  a savage  kind, 
)r  tamed  by  manners,  nor  by  laws  con- 
fin’d: 120 

itaught  to  plant,  to  turn  the  glebe  and 
sow, 

ley  all  their  products  to  free  Nature  owe. 
ie  soil  untill’d  a ready  harvest  yields, 
itk  wheat  and  barley  wave  the  golden 
fields; 

>ontaneous  wines  from  weighty  clusters 
pour, 

id  Jove  descends  in  each  prolific  shower. 
'if  these  110  statutes  and  no  rights  are 
known, 

o Council  held,  no  Monarch  fills  the 
throne, 

at  high  on  hills,  or  airy  cliffs,  they  dwell, 
r deep  in  caves  whose  entrance  leads  to 
Hell.  130 

ach  rules  his  race,  his  neighbour  not  his 
care, 

eedless  of  others,  to  his  own  severe. 

‘ Opposed  to  the  Cyclopean  coasts,  there 
lay 

n isle,  whose  hills  their  subject  fields 
survey ; 

s name  Lachgea,  crown’d  with  many  a 
grove, 

rhero  savage  goats  thro’  pathless  thickets 
rove: 

0 needy  mortals  here,  with  hunger  bold, 
r wretched  hunters  thro’  the  wintry  cold 
ursue  their  flight;  but  leave  them  safe  to 

bound 

rom  hill  to  hill,  o’er  all  the  desert 

1 ground.  140 

or  knows  the  soil  to  feed  the  fleecy  care, 
r feels  the  labours  of  the  crooked  share; 
ut  uninhabited,  untill’d,  unsown 

; lies,  and  breeds  the  bleating  goat  alone, 
or  there  no  vessel  with  vermilion  prore, 
r bark  of  traffic,  glides  from  shore  to 
shore ; 

1 he  rugged  race  of  savages,  unskill’d 
he  seas  to  traverse,  or  the  ships  to  build, 

1 aze  on  the  coast,  nor  cultivate  the  soil, 
nlearn’d  in  all  th’  industrious  arts  of 
1 toil.  150 

et  here  all  products  and  all  plants 
) abound, 

prung  from  the  fruitful  genius  of  the 
1 ground; 

ields  waving  high  with  heavy  crops  are 
seen, 

nd  vines  that  flourish  in  eternal  green, 


Refreshing  meads  along  the  murm’ring 
main, 

And  fountains  streaming  down  the  fruitful 
plain. 

‘ A port  there  is,  inclosed  on  either  side, 
Where  ships  may  rest,  unanchor’d  and  un- 
tied; 

Till  the  glad  mariners  incline  to  sail,  159 
And  the  sea  whitens  with  the  rising  gale. 
High  at  the  head  from  out  the  cavern’d 
rock, 

In  living  rills  a gushing  fountain  broke: 
Around  it,  and  above,  for  ever  green, 

The  bushy  alders  form’d  a shady  scene. 
Hither  some  fav’ring  God,  beyond  our 
thought, 

Thro’  all-surrounding  shade  our  navy 
brought; 

For  gloomy  night  descended  on  the  main, 
Nor  glimmer’d  Phcebe  in  th’  ethereal 
plain : 

But  all  unseen  the  clouded  island  lay, 

And  all  unseen  the  surge  and  rolling  I 
sea,  170  j 

Till  safe  we  anchor’d  in  the  shelter’d  bay : J 
Our  sails  we  gather’d,  cast  our  cables  o’er, 
And  slept  secure  along  the  sandy  shore. 
Soon  as  again  the  rosy  morning  shone, 
Reveal’d  the  landscape  and  the  scene  un- 
known, 

With  wonder  seiz’d,  we  view  the  pleasing 
ground, 

And  walk  delighted,  and  expatiate  round. 
Rous’d  by  the  woodland  nymphs  at  early 
dawn, 

The  mountain  goats  came  bounding  o’er 
the  lawn: 

In  haste  our  fellows  to  the  ships  repair,  180 
For  arms  and  weapons  of  the  sylvan  war; 
Straight  in  three  squadrons  all  our  crew 
we  part, 

And  bend  the  bow,  or  wing  the  missile 
dart; 

The  bounteous  Gods  afford  a copious  prey, 
And  nine  fat  goats  each  vessel  bears  away: 
The  royal  bark  had  ten.  Our  ships  com- 
plete 

We  thus  supplied  (for  twelve  were  all  the 
fleet). 

‘Here,  till  the  setting  sun  roll’d  down 
the  light, 

We  sat  indulging  in  the  genial  rite: 

Nor  wines  were  wanting;  those  from  am- 
ple jars  190 

We  drain’d,  the  prize  of  our  Ciconian  wars. 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


56a  TRANSLATIONS 

FROM  HOMER 

The  land  of  Cyclops  lay  in  prospect  near;') 
The  voice  of  goats  and  bleating  docks  we 
hear,  L 

And  from  their  mountains  rising  smokes 
appear.  J 

Now  sunk  the  sun,  and  darkness  cover’d 
o’er 

The  face  of  things:  along  the  sea-beat 
shore 

Satiate  we  slept;  but  when  the  sacred 
dawn 

Arising  glitter’d  o’er  the  dewy  lawn, 

I call’d  my  fellows,  and  these  words  ad- 
dress’d: 

“ My  dear  associates,  here  indulge  your 
rest:  200 

While,  with  my  single  ship,  adventurous  I 
Go  forth,  the  manners  of  yon  men  to  try; 
Whether  a race  unjust,  of  barb’rous  might, 
Rude,  and  unconscious  of  a stranger’s 
right, 

Or  such  who  harbour  pity  in  their  breast, 
Revere  the  Gods,  and  succour  the  dis- 
tress’d.” 

‘ This  said,  I climb’d  my  vessel’s  lofty 
side; 

My  train  obey’d  me,  and  the  ship  untied. 

In  order  seated  on  their  banks,  they  sweep 
Neptune’s  smooth  face,  and  cleave  the 
yielding  deep.  210 

When  to  the  nearest  verge  of  land  we 
drew, 

Fast  by  the  sea  a lonely  cave  we  view, 

High,  and  with  dark’ning  laurels  cover’d 
o’er; 

Where  sheep  and  goats  lay  slumb’ring 
round  the  shore. 

Near  this,  a fence  of  marble  from  the 
rock, 

Brown  with  o’erarching  pine  and  spreading 
oak: 

A giant  shepherd  here  his  flock  maintains 
Far  from  the  rest,  and  solitary  reigns, 

In  shelter  thick  of  horrid  shade  reclin’d ; 
And  gloomy  mischiefs  labour  in  his 
mind.  22a 

A form  enormous  ! far  unlike  the  race 

Of  human  birth,  in  stature,  or  in  face; 

As  some  lone  mountain’s  monstrous  growth 
he  stood, 

Crown’d  with  rough  thickets,  and  a nod- 
ding wood. 

I left  my  vessel  at  the  point  of  land, 

And  close  to  guard  it  gave  our  crew  com- 
mand; 

With  only  twelve,  the  boldest  and  tk 
best, 

I seek  th’  adventure,  and  forsake  th 
rest. 

Then  took  a goatskin,  fill’d  with  precious  ) 
wine, 

The  gift  of  Maron  of  Evantheus’  line  230 
(The  priest  of  Phoebus  at  th’  Ismarian 
shrine). 

In  sacred  shade  his  honour’d  mansion  stoo< 
Amidst  Apollo’s  consecrated  wood; 

Him,  and  his  house,  Heav’11  mov’d  my  mini 
to  save, 

And  costly  presents  in  return  he  gave; 
Sev’n  golden  talents  to  perfection  wrought 
A silver  bowl  that  held  a copious  draught, 
And  twelve  large  vessels  of  unminglei 
wine, 

Mellifluous,  undecaying,  and  divine  I 

Which  now,  some  ages  from  his  race  con 
ceal’d,  24 

The  hoary  sire  in  gratitude  reveal’d. 

Such  was  the  wine:  to  quench  whose  fer 
vent  steam 

Scarce  twenty  measures  from  the  living 
stream 

To  cool  one  cup  sufficed:  the  goblet  crown’i 
Breathed  aromatic  fragrances  around. 

Of  this  an  ample  vase  we  heav’d  aboard, 
And  brought  another  with  provisions  stor’d 
My  soul  foreboded  I should  find  the  bower 
Of  some  fell  monster,  fierce  with  barb’rou 
power; 

Some  rustic  wretch,  who  liv’d  in  Heav’n’i 
despite,  25 

Contemning  laws,  and  trampling  on  tin 
right. 

The  cave  we  found,  but  vacant  all  within 
(His  flock  the  giant  tended  on  the  green): 
But  round  the  grot  we  gaze;  and  all  we 
view, 

In  order  ranged,  our  admiration  drew: 

The  bending  shelves  with  loads  of  cheeses 
press’d, 

The  folded  flocks  each  sep’rate  from  the 
rest 

(The  larger  here,  and  there  the  lessei 
lambs. 

The  new-fall’n  youhg  here  bleating  foi 
their  dams; 

The  kid  distinguish’d  from  the  lambkin 
lies) : 26c 

The  cavern  echoes  with  responsive  cries. 
Capacious  chargers  all  around  were  laid, 
Full  pails,  and  Vessels  of  the  milking  trade, | 

THE  ODYSSEY 


563 


>ith  fresh  provisions  lienee  our  fleet  to 
store 

'y  friends  advise  me,  and  to  quit  the 
shore; 

r drive  a flock  of  sheep  and  goats  away, 
onsult  our  safety,  and  put  off  to  sea. 
he  wholesome  counsel  rashly  I declin’d, 
rurious  to  view  the  man  of  monstrous 
kind,  269 

nd  try  what  social  rites  a savage  lends  : 
?ire  rites,  alas  ! and  fatal  to  my  friends  I 
' * Then  first  a tire  we  kindle,  and  prepare  I 
or  his  return  with  sacrifice  and  prayer, 
lie  laden  shelves  afford  us  full  repast; 
fe  sit  expecting.  Lo!  he  comes  at  last, 
ear  half  a forest  on  his  back  he  bore, 
nd  cast  the  pond’rous  burden  at  the 
door. 

; thunder’d  as  it  fell.  We  trembled  then, 
nd  sought  the  deep  recesses  of  the  den. 
ow,  driv’11  before  him  thro’  the  arching 
rock,  280 

ame  tumbling,  heaps  on  heaps,  th’  un- 
number’d flock  : 

ig-udder’d  ewes,  and  goats  of  female 
kind 

The  males  were  penn’d  in  outward  courts 
behind) ; 

’hen,  heav’d  on  high,  a rock’s  enormous 
weight 

0 the  cave’s  mouth  he  roll’d,  and  closed 
the  gate 

Scarce  twenty  four- wheel’d  cars,  compact 
and  strong, 

’he  massy  load  could  bear,  or  roll  along), 
le  next  betakes  him  to  his  evening  cares, 
.nd,  sitting  down,  to  milk  his  flocks  pre- 
pares; 289 

)f  half  their  udders  eases  first  the  dams, 
'’lien  to  the  mothers’  teats  submits  the 
lambs. 

lalf  the  white  stream  to  hard’ning  cheese " 
i he  press’d, 

Lnd  high  in  wicker-baskets  heap’d:  the  I 
rest, 

Reserv’d  in  bowls,  supplied  his  nightly 
feast. 

£is  labour  done,  he  fired  the  pile,  that  gave 
:t  sudden  blaze,  and  lighted  all  the  cave. 

Ve  stand  discover’d  by  the  rising  fires  ; 
Askance  the  giant  glares,  and  thus  in- 
quires: 

‘ “ What  are  ye,  guests  ? on  what  adven- 
ture, say,  299 

).  ihus  far  ye  wander  thro’  the  wat’ry  way  ? 


Pirates  perhaps,  who  seek  thro’  seas  un- 
known 

The  lives  of  others,  and  expose  your  own  ? ” 

* His  voice  like  thunder  thro’  the  cavern 
sounds  : 

My  bold  companions  thrilling  fear  con- 
founds, 

Appall’d  at  sight  of  more  than  mortal  man! 
At  length,  with  heart  recover’d,  I began: 

« “ From  Troy’s  famed  fields,  sad  wand’- 
rers  o’er  the  main, 

Behold  the  relics  of  the  Grecian  train  ! 
Thro’  various  seas,  by  various  perils,  toss’d, 
And  forc’d  by  storms,  unwilling,  on  your 
coast;  310 

Far  from  our  destin’d  course  and  native 
land, 

Such  was  our  fate,  and  such  high  Jove’s 
command  ! 

Nor  what  we  are  befits  us  to  disclaim, 
Atrides’  friends  (in  arms  a mighty  name), 
Who  taught  proud  Troy  and  all  her  sons  to 
bow: 

Victors  of  late,  but  humble  suppliants 
now  ! 

Low  at  thy  knee  thy  succour  we  implore; 
Respect  us,  human,  and  relieve  us,  poor. 

At  least,  some  hospitable  gift  bestow;  319 
’T  is  what  the  happy  to  th’  unhappy  owe  : 
’Tis  what  the  Gods  require:  those  Gods 
revere ; 

The  poor  and  stranger  are  their  constant 
care; 

To  Jove  their  cause,  and  their  revenge  be- 
longs, 

He  wanders  with  them,  and  he  feels  their 
wrongs.” 

« “ Fools  that  ye  are  ” (the  savage  thus 
replies, 

His  inward  fury  blazing  at  his  eyes), 

“ Or  strangers,  distant  far  from  our  abodes, 
To  bid  me  rev’rence  or  regard  the  Gods, 
Know  then,  we  Cyclops  are  a race  above 
Those  air-bred  people,  and  their  goat-nurs’d 
Jove;  330 

And  learn,  our  power  proceeds  with  thee 
and  thine, 

Not  as  he  wills,  but  as  ourselves  incline. 
But  answer,  the  good  ship  that  brought  ye 
o’er, 

Where  lies  she  anchor’d  ? near  or  off  the 
shore  ? ” 

‘ Thus  he.  His  meditated  fraud  I find 
(Vers’d  in  the  turns  of  various  human- 
kind), 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


564 


And,  cautious,  thus:  “Against  a dreadful 
rock, 

Fast  by  your  shore,  the  gallant  vessel  broke. 
Scarce  with  these  few  I ’scaped,  of  all  my ' 
train  : 

Whom  angry  Neptune  whelm’d  beneath 
the  main  : 340  f 

The  scatter’d  wreck  the  winds  blew  back 
again.” 

‘ He  answer’d  with  his  deed  : his  bloody 
hand 

Snatch’d  two,  unhappy!  of  my  martial  band; 
And  dash’d  like  dogs  against  the  stony 
floor: 

The  pavement  swims  with  brains  and  min- 
gled gore. 

Torn  limb  from  limb,  he  spreads  his  horrid 
feast, 

And  fierce  devours  it  like  a mountain 
beast: 

He  sucks  the  marrow,  and  the  blood  he 
drains, 

Nor  entrails,  flesh,  nor  solid  bone  remains. 
We  see  the  death  from  which  we  cannot 
move,  3So 

And  humbled  groan  beneath  the  hand  of 
Jove. 

His  ample  maw  with  human  carnage  fill’d, 
A milky  deluge  next  the  giant  swill’d; 
Then,  stretch’d  in  length  o’er  half  the  cav- 
ern’d  rock, 

Lay  senseless,  and  supine,  amidst  the  flock. 
To  seize  the  time,  and  with  a sudden  wound 
To  fix  the  slumb’ring  monster  to  the  ground, 
My  soul  impels  me!  and  in  act  I stand 
To  draw  the  sword;  but  wisdom  held  my 
hand. 

A deed  so  rash  had  finish’d  all  our  fate,  360 
No  mortal  forces  from  the  lofty  gate 
Could  roll  the  rock.  In  hopeless  grief  we 

.lay, 

And  sigh,  expecting  the  return  of  day. 

‘ Now  did  the  Rosy-finger’d  Morn  arise, 
And  shed  her  sacred  light  along  the  skies. 
He  wakes,  he  lights  the  fires,  he  milks  the 
dams, 

And  to  the  mothers’  teats  submits  the 
lambs. 

The  task  thus  finish’d  of  his  morning  hours, 
Two  more  he  snatches,  murders  and  de- 
vours. 

Then  pleas’d,  and  whistling,  drives  his  flock 
before,  37o 

Removes  the  rocky  mountain  from  the 
door, 


And  shuts  again:  with  equal  ease  disposed! 

As  a light  quiver’s  lid  is  oped  and  closed. 

His  giant  voice  the  echoing  region  fills  : 

His  flocks,  obedient,  spread  o’er  all  th 
hills. 

‘Thus  left  behind,  ev’n  in  the  last  de 
spair 

I thought,  devised,  and  Pallas  heard  nr 
prayer. 

Revenge,  and  doubt,  and  caution,  work’c 
my  breast; 

But  this  of  many  counsels  seem’d  th< 
best : 

The  monster’s  club  within  the  cave  ! 
spied,  38‘ 

A tree  of  stateliest  growth,  and  yet  un 
dried, 

Green  from  the  wood:  of  height  and  bull 
so  vast, 

The  largest  ship  might  claim  it  for  a mast| 

This  shorten’d  of  its  top,  I gave  my  train 

A fathom’s  length,  to  shape  it  and  tc 
plane: 

The  narrower  end  I sharpen’d  to  a spire; 

Whose  point  we  harden’d  with  the  force  of 
fire, 

And  hid  it  in  the  dust  that  strew’d  the 
cave. 

Then  to  my  few  companions,  bold  and 
brave, 

Proposed,  who  first  the  venturous  deed 
should  try,  390 

In  the  broad  orbit  of  his  monstrous  eye 

To  plunge  the  brand,  and  twirl  the  pointed 
wood, 

When  slumber  next  should  tame  the  man) 
of  blood. 

Just  as  I wish’d,  the  lots  were  cast  on 
four: 

Myself  the  fifth.  We  stand  and  wait  the 
hour. 

He  comes  with  ev’ning1  : all  his  fleecy 
flock 

Before  him  march,  and  pour  into  the  rock: 

Not  one,  or  male  or  female,  stay’d  be-( 
hind 

(So  fortune  chanc’d,  or  so  some  God  de- 
sign’d); 

Then  heaving  high  the  stone’s  unwieldy  j 
weight,  4oo  J 

He  roll’d  it  on  the  cave,  and  closed  the 
gate. 

First  down  he  sits,  to  milk  the  woolly 
dams, 

And  then  permits  their  udders  to  the  lambs. 


THE  ODYSSEY 


5^5 


jxt  seiz’d  two  wretches  more,  and  head- 
long cast, 

ain’d  on  the  rock  ; his  second  dire  re- 
past. 

then  approach’d  him  reeking  with  their 
gore, 

id  held  the  brimming  goblet  foaming 
o’er: 

Oyclop!  since  human  flesh  has  been  thy 
feast, 

bw  drain  this  goblet,  potent  to  digest; 

■low  hence  what  treasures  in  our  ship  we 
lost,  4T° 

id  what  rich  liquors  other  climates  boast, 
e to  thy  shore  the  precious  freight  shall 
bear, 

home  thou  send  us,  and  vouchsafe  to 
spare. 

it  oh  ! thus  furious,  thirsting  thus  for ' 
gore, 

le  sons  of  men  shall  ne’er  approach  thy 
shore, 

ad  never  ,shalt  thou  taste  this  nectar 
more.” 

‘ He  heard,  he  took,  and,  pouring  down 
his  throat, 

elighted,  swill’d  the  large  luxurious 
draught. 

More!  give  me  more”  (he  cried),  “the 
' boon  be  thine, 

rhoe’er  thou  art  that  bear’st  celestial 
wine!  42° 

?eclare  thy  name:  not  mortal  is  this  juice, 
ich  as  th’  unbless’d  Cyclopean  climes  pro- 
duce 

Cho’  sure  our  vine  the  largest  cluster 
* yields, 

nd  Jove’s  scorn’d  thunder  serves  to  drench 
our  fields) ; 

at  this  descended  from  the  bless’d  abodes, 
rill  of  nectar,  streaming  from  the  Gods.” 
‘ He  said,  and  greedy  grasp’d  the  heady 
bowl, 

hrice  drain’d,  and  pour’d  the  deluge  on 
his  soul. 

is  sense  lay  cover’d  with  the  dozy  fume; 
Tile  thus  my  fraudful  speech  I reas- 
f sume.  430 

Thy  promised  boon,  O Cyclop  ! now  I 
| claim, 

nd  plead  my  title;  Noman  is  my  name. 
y that  distinguish’d  from  my  tender 
years, 

is  what  my  parents  call  me,  and  my 
peers.” 


‘ The  giant  then:  “ Our  promised  grace 
receive, 

The  hospitable  boon  we  mean  to  give  : 
When  all  thy  wretched  crew  have  felt  my 
power, 

Noman  shall  be  the  last  I will  devour.” 

‘He  said:  then,  nodding  with  the  fumes 
of  wine, 

Dropp’d  his  huge  head,  and  snoring  lay 
supine.  440 

His  neck  obliquely  o’er  his  shoulders  hung, 
Press’d  with  the  weight  of  sleep,  that  tames 
the  strong: 

There  belch’d  the  mingled  streams  of  wine 
and  blood, 

And  human  flesh,  his  indigested  food. 
Sudden  I stir  the  embers,  and  inspire 
With  animating  breath  the  seeds  of  fire; 
Each  drooping  spirit  with  bold  words  re- 
pair, 

And  urge  my  train  the  dreadful  deed  to 
dare: 

The  stake  now  glow’d  beneath  the  burning 
bed 

(Green  as  it  was)  and  sparkled  fiery  red.  450 
Then  forth  the  vengeful  instrument  I bring; 
With  beating  hearts  my  fellows  form  a ring. 
Urged  by  some  present  God,  they  swift  let 
fall 

The  pointed  torment  on  his  visual  ball. 
Myself  above  them  from  a rising  ground 
Guide  the  sharp  stake,  and  twirl  it  round 
and  round. 

As  when  a shipwright  stands  his  workmen 
o’er, 

Who  ply  the  wimble,  some  huge  beam  to 
bore; 

Urged  on  all  hands,  it  nimbly  spins  about, 
The  grain  deep-piercing  till  it  scoops  it 
out : 460 

In  his  broad  eye  so  whirls  the  fiery  wood; 
From  the  pierc’d  pupil  spouts  the  boiling 
blood; 

Singed  are  his  brows  ; the  scorching  lids 
grow  black; 

The  jelly  bubbles,  and  the  fibres  crack. 

And  as  when  arm’rers  temper  in  the  ford 
The  keen-edg’d  pole-axe,  or  the  shining 
sword, 

The  red-hot  metal  hisses  in  the  lake, 

Thus  in  his  eye-ball  hiss’d  the  plunging 
stake. 

He  sends  a dreadful  groan,  the  rocks  around 
Thro’  all  their  inmost  winding  caves  re- 
sound. 47c 


S66 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


Scared  we  receded.  Forth  with  frantic 
hand, 

He  tore,  and  dash’d  on  earth  the  gory 
brand : 

Then  calls  the  Cyclops,  all  that  round  him 
dwell, 

With  voice  like  thunder,  and  a direful  yell. 
From  all  their  dens  the  one-eyed  race  re- 
pair, 

From  rifted  rocks,  and  mountains  bleak  in 
air. 

All  haste,  assembled  at  his  well-known 
roar, 

Inquire  the  cause,  and  crowd  the  cavern 
door. 

‘ “ What  hurts  thee,  Polypheme  ? what 
strange  affright 

Thus  breaks  our  slumbers,  and  disturbs  the 
night  ? 48o 

Does  any  mortal,  in  th’  unguarded  hour 
Of  sleep,  oppress  thee,  or  by  fraud  or 
power  ? 

Or  thieves  insidious  thy  fair  flock  sur- 
prise ? ” 

Thus  they  : the  Cyclop  from  his  den  re- 
plies: 

‘ “ Friends,  Noman  kills  me;  Noman,  in 
the  hour 

Of  sleep,  oppresses  me  with  fraudful 
power.” 

“ If  no  man  hurt  thee,  but  the  hand  divine 
Inflict  disease,  it  fits  thee  to  resign: 

To  Jove  or  to  thy  father  Neptune  pray!  ” 
The  brethren  cried,  and  instant  strode 
away.  49o 

‘Joy  touch’d  my  secret  soul  and  con- 
scious heart, 

Pleas’d  with  th’  effect  of  conduct  and  of 
art. 

Meantime  the  Cyclop,  raging  with  his 
wound, 

Spreads  his  wide  arms,  and  searches  round 
and  round: 

At  last,  the  stone  removing  from  the  gate, 
With  hands  extended  in  the  midst  he  sate: 
And  search’d  each  passing  sheep,  and  felt 
it  o’er, 

Secure  to  seize  us  ere  we  reach’d  the  door 
(Such  as  his  shallow  wit  he  deem’d  was 
mine) ; 

But  secret  I revolv’d  the  deep  design:  500 
’T  was  for  our  lives  my  lab’ring  bosom 
wrought; 

Each  scheme  I turn’d,  and  sharpen’d  ev’ry 
, thought;  1 


This  way  and  that  I cast  to  save  my  friends 
Till  one  resolve  my  varying  counsel  ends. 

‘ Strong  were  the  rams,  with  native  pm 
pie  fair, 

Well  fed,  and  largest  of  the  fleecy  care. 
These,  three  and  three,  with  osier  banci 
we  tied 

(The  twining  bands  the  Cyclop’s  bed  snj 
plied) ; 

The  midmost  bore  a man,  the  outward  tw 
Secured  each  side  : so  bound  we  all  th 
crew.  5 

One  ram  remain’d,  the  leader  of  the  flock 
I11  his  deep  fleece  my  grasping  hands 
lock, 

And  fast  beneath,  in  woolly  curls  inwove. 
There  cling  implicit,  and  confide  in  Jove. 
When  rosy  morning  glimmer’d  o’er  tl 
dales, 

He  drove  to  pasture  all  the  lusty  males: 
The  ewes  still  folded,  with  distended  thigl 
Unmilk’d,  lay  bleating  in  distressful  cries 
But  heedless  of  those  cares,  with  anguis 
stung, 

He  felt  their  fleeces  as  they  pass’d  along,  5: 
(Fool  that  he  was),  and  let  them  safel 

All  unsuspecting  of  their  freight  below. 

‘ The  master  ram  at  last  approach’d  th 
gate, 

Charged  with  his  wool,  and  with  Ulysses 
fate. 

Him,  while  he  pass’d,  the  monster  blind  be 
spoke . 

“ What  makes  my  ram  the  lag  of  all  th 
flock  ? 

First  thou  wert  wont  to  crop  the  flow’r 
mead, 

First  to  the  field  and  river’s  bank  to  lead; 
And  first  with  stately  step  at  ev’ning  hour 
Thy  fleecy  fellows  usher  to  their  bower.  53 
Now  far  the  last,  with  pensive  pace  an< 
slow 

Thou  mov’st,  as  conscious  of  thy  master’ 
woe  ! 

Seest  thou  these  lids  that  now  unfold  ii 
vain  ? 

(The  deed  of  Noman  and  his  wicked  train! 
Oh!  didst  thou  feel  for  thy  afflicted  lord, 
And  would  but  Fate  the  power  of  speed 
afford, 

Soon  might’st  thou  tell  me,  where  in  secro 
here 

The  dastard  lurks,  all  trembling  with  hi a 
fear: 


THE  ODYSSEY 


5^7 


ung  round  and  round,  and  dash’d  from 
rock  to  rock, 

? batter’d  brains  should  on  the  pavement 
smoke.  540 

ease,  no  pleasure  my  sad  heart  receives, 
file  such  a monster  as  vile  Noman 
lives.” 

The  giant  spoke,  and  thro’  the  hollow 
! rock 

smiss’d  the  ram,  the  father  of  the  flock. 

sooner  freed,  and  thro’  til’  inclosure 
j pass’d, 

st  I release  myself,  my  fellows  last: 

; sheep  and  goats  in  throngs  we  drive 
before, 

d reach  our  vessel  on  the  winding  shore, 
th  joy  the  sailors  view  their  friends  re- 
turn’d, 

d hail  us  living,  whom  as  dead  they 
mourn’d.  550 

; tears  of  transport  stand  in  ev’ry  eye: 
jieek  their  fondness,  and  command  to  fly. 
tiard  in  haste  they  heave  the  wealthy 
sheep, 

I snatch  their  oars,  and  rush  into  the 
deep. 

Now  off  at  sea,  and  from  the  shallows 
clear, 

far  as  human  voice  could  reach  the  ear, 
jth  taunts  the  distant  giant  I accost: 
ear  me,  O Cyclop  ! hear,  ungracious 
host  ! 

vas  on  no  coward,  no  ignoble  slave, 
j>u  meditat’dst  thy  meal  in  yonder  cave; 

■ one  the  vengeance  fated  from  above  561 
lin’d  to  inflict;  the  instrument  of  Jove. 
r barb’rous  breach  of  hospitable  bands 
|!  God,  the  God  revenges  by  my  hands.” 
These  words  the  Cyclop’s  burning  rage 
provoke; 

m the  tall  hill  he  rends  a pointed  rock; 
h o’er  the  billows  flew  the  massy  load, 

,1  near  the  ship  came  thund’ring  on  the 
flood. 

Imost  brush’d  the  helm,  and  fell  before: 
whole  sea  shook,  and  refluent  beat  the 
1 shore.  57o 

strong  concussion  on  the  heaving  tide 
i’d  back  the  vessel  to  the  island’s  side: 
in  I shov’d  her  off;  our  fate  to  fly, 
h nerve  we  stretch,  and  ev’ry  oar  we  ply. 

; ’scaped  impending  death,  when  now 
f i again 

twice  as  far  had  furrow’d  back  the 
main, 


Once  more  I raise  my  voice;  my  friends, 
afraid, 

With  mild  entreaties  my  design  dissuade: 

“ What  boots  the  godless  giant  to  provoke, 
Whose  arm  may  sink  us  at  a single 
stroke  ? 580 

Already,  when  the  dreadful  rock  he  threw, 
Old  Ocean  shook,  and  back  his  surges 
flew. 

The  sounding  voice  directs  his  aim  again; 
The  rock  o’erwhelms  us,  and  we  ’scaped  in 
vain.” 

‘But  I,  of  mind  elate,  and  scorning  fear, 
Thus  with  new  taunts  insult  the  monster’s 
ear: 

“ Cyclop  ! if  any,  pitying  thy  disgrace, 

Ask  who  disfigured  thus  that  eyeless  face  ? 
Say  ’t  was  Ulysses;  ’t  was  his  deed,  de- 
clare, 

Laertes’  son,  of  Ithaca  the  fair;  590 

Ulysses,  far  in  fighting  fields  renown’d, 
Before  whose  arm  Troy  tumbled  to  the 
ground.” 

‘ TIT  astonish’d  savage  with  a roar  re- 
plies: 

“ Oh  lleav’ns  ! oh  faith  of  ancient  pro- 
phecies ! 

This  Telemus  Eurymedes  foretold 
(The  mighty  seer  who  on  these  hills  grew 
old; 

Skill’d  the  dark  fates  of  mortals  to  de- 
clare, 

And  learn’d  in  all  wing’d  omens  of  the 
air) ; 

Long  since  he  menaced,  such  was  Fate’s 
command;  599 

And  named  Ulysses’  as  the  destin’d  hand. 

I deem’d  some  godlike  giant  to  behold, 

Or  lofty  hero,  haughty,  brave,  and  bold; 
Not  this  weak  pigmy- wretch,  of  mean 
design, 

Who  not  by  strength  subdued  me,  but  by 
wine. 

But  come,  accept  our  gifts,  and  join  to  pray 
Great  Neptune’s  blessing  on  the  wat’ry 
way; 

For  his  I am,  and  I the  lineage  own; 

TIT  immortal  father  no  less  boasts  the  son. 
His  power  can  heal  me,  and  re-light  my 
eye; 

And  only  his,  of  all  the  Gods  on  high.”  610 

‘ “ Oh  ! could  this  arm  ” (1  thus  aloud 
rejoin’d) 

“ From  that  vast  bulk  dislodge  thy  bloody 
mind, 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


568 


And  send  thee  howling  to  the  realms  of 
night, 

As  sure  as  Neptune  cannot  give  thee 
sight  ! ” 

‘ Thus  I;  while  raging  he  repeats  his  cries, 
With  hands  uplifted  to  the  starry  skies: 
“Hear  me,  O Neptune;  thou  whose  arms 
are  hurl’d 

From  shore  to  shore,  and  gird  the  solid 
world. 

If  thine  I am,  nor  thou  my  birth  disown, 
And  if  th’  unhappy  Cyclop  be  thy  son,  620 
Let  not  Ulysses  breathe  his  native  air, 
Laertes’  son,  of  Ithaca  the  fair  ! 

If  to  review  his  country  be  his  fate, 

Re  it  thro’  toils  and  suff ’rings,  long  and  late; 
His  lost  companions  let  him  first  deplore; 
Some  vessel,  not  his  own,  transport  him 
o’er; 

And  when  at  home  from  foreign  suff’rings 
freed, 

More  near  and  deep,  .domestic  woes  suc- 
ceed ! ” 

‘ With  imprecations  thus  he  fill’d  the  air, 
And  angry  Neptune  heard  th’  unrighteous 
prayer.  630 

A larger  rock  then  heaving  from  the  plain, 
He  whirl’d  it  round;  it  sung  across  the 
main ; 

It  fell,  and  brush’d  the  stern:  the  billows 
roar, 

Shake  at  the  weight,  and  refluent  beat  the 
shore. 

‘With  all  our  force  we  kept  aloof  to  sea, 
And  gain’d  the  island  where  our  vessels 
. lay. 

Our  sight  the  whole  collected  navy  cheer’d, 
Who,  waiting  long,  by  turns  had  hoped  and 
fear’d. 

There,  disembarking  on  the  green  sea  side, 
We  land  our  cattle,  and  the  spoil  divide:  640 
Of  these  due  shares  to  ev’ry  sailor  fall; 

The  master  ram  was  voted  mine  by  all: 

And  him  (the  guardian  of  Ulysses’  fate) 
With  pious  mind  to  Heav’n  I consecrate. 
But  the  great  God,  whose  thunder  rends 
the  skies, 

Averse,  beholds  the  smoking  sacrifice; 

And  sees  me  wand’ring  still  from  coast  to 
coast: 

And  all  my  vessels,  all  my  people,  lost ! 
While  thoughtless  we  indulge  the  genial 
rite, 

As  plenteous  cates  and  flowing  bowls  in- 
vite ; 650 


Till  ev’ning  Phcebus  roll’d  away  the  light 

Stretch’d  on  the  shores  in  careless  ease  v 
rest, 

Till  ruddy  morning  purpled  o’er  the  east 

Then  from  their  anchors  all  our  ships  uj 
bind, 

And  mount  the  decks,  and  call  the  williu 
wind. 

Now  ranged  in  order  on  our  banks,  w 
sweep 

With  hasty  strokes  the  hoarse  resoundin 
deep; 

Blind  to  the  future,  pensive  with  our  fear 

Glad  for  the  living,  for  the  dead  in  tears. 


BOOK  X 

ADVENTURES  WITH  /EOLUS,  THE  IwESTR'1 
GONS,  AND  CIRCE 

ARGUMENT 

Ulysses  arrives  at  the  island  of  ^Folus,  wl 
gives  him  prosperous  winds,  and  incloses  tl 
adverse  ones  in  a bag,  which  his  companioi 
untying,  they  are  driven  back  again,  and  r 
jected.  Then  they  sail  to  the  Lsestrygon 
where  they  lose  eleven  ships,  and,  with  01 
only  remaining,  proceed  to  the  island  - 
Circe.  Eurvlochus  is  sent  first  with  son 
companions,  all  which,  except  Eurylochv 
are  transformed  into  swine.  Ulysses  th< 
undertakes  the  adventure,  and  by  the  he 
of  Mercury,  who  gives  him  the  herb  Mol 
overcomes  the  enchantress,  and  procures  tl 
restoration  of  his  men.  After  a year’s  st; 
with  her,  he  prepares,  at  her  instigation,  f 
his  voyage  to  the  infernal  shades. 

‘ At  length  we  reach’d  iEolia’s  sea-gi 
shore, 

Where  great  Hippotades  the  sceptre  bore 

A floating  isle  ! High  rais’d  by  toil  divine 

Strong  walls  of  brass  the  rocky  coast  coi 
fine. 

Six  blooming  youths,  in  private  grande  1 
bred, 

And  six  fair  daughters,  graced  the  roy 
bed: 

These  sons  their  sisters  wed,  and  all  ri 
main 

Their  parents’  pride,  and  pleasure  of  the 
reign. 

All  day  they  feast,  all  day  the  bowls  flo 
round, 

And  joy  and  music  thro’  the  isle  resound: 


THE  ODYSSEY 


5^9 


t night  each  pair  on  splendid  carpets 
lay, 

nd  crown’d  with  love  the  pleasures  of  the 
1 day. 

* This  happy  port  affords  our  wand’nng 
6 fleet 


month’s  reception,  and  a safe  retreat, 
nil  oft  the  Monarch  urged  me  to  relate 
he  fall  of  Ilion,  and  the  Grecian  Fate; 
ull  oft  I told  ; at  length  for  parting 
mov’d; 

he  King  with  mighty  gifts  my  suit  ap- 
i prov’d. 

he  adverse  winds  in  leathern  bags  he 
braced, 

ompress’d  their  force,  and  lock’d  each 
struggling  blast:  20 

or  him  the  mighty  Sire  of  Gods  assign’d 
he  tempest’s  lord,  the  Tyrant  of  the 
Wind: 

(is  word  alone  the  list’ning  storms  obey, 
o smootli  the  deep,  or  swell  the  foamy 


1 sea. 

'hese  in  my  hollow  ship  the  Monarch  hung, 
ecurely  fetter’d  by  a silver  thong: 

>ut  Zephyrus  exempt,  with  friendly  "I 
> gales 

le  charged  to  fill  and  guide  the  swelling  V 
sails : 

tare  gift!  but  O,  what  gift  to  fools  avails  ? J 
‘ Nine  prosp’rous  days  we  plied  the  la- 
0 b’ring  oar;  30 

The  tenth  presents  our  welcome  native 
i;  shore : 

Che  hills  display  the  beacon’s  friendly 
light, 

^nd  rising  mountains  gain  upon  our  sight. 
Chen  first  my  eyes,  by  watchful  toils  op- 
press’d, 

Complied  to  take  the  balmy  gifts  of  rest: 
Then  first  my  hands  did  from  the  rudder 

0 part 

■'So  much  the  love  of  home  possess’d  my 

1 heart) : 

*Vhen  lo!  on  board  a fond  debate  arose, 
What  rare  device  those  vessels  might  in- 
close ? 

What  sum,  what  prize  from  iEolus  I 
brought  ? 4° 

Whilst  to  his  neighbour  each  express’d  his 
thought: 

&j  * “ Say,  whence,  ye  Gods,  contending  na- 
, tions  strive 

Who  most  shall  please,  who  most  our  hero 
give  ? 


Long  have  his  coffers  groan’d  with  Trojan 
spoils; 

Whilst  we,  the  wretched  partners  of  his 
toils, 

Reproach’d  by  want,  our  fruitless  labours 
mourn, 

And  only  rich  in  barren  fame  return. 

Now  iEolus,  ye  see,  augments  his  store: 

But  come,  my  friends,  these  mystic  gifts 
explore.” 

They  said:  and  (oh  curs’d  Fate!)  the  thongs 
unbound ; 5^ 

The  gushing  tempest  sweeps  the  ocean 
round; 

Snatch’d  in  the  whirl,  the  hurried  navy 


flew, 

The  ocean  widen’d,  and  the  shores  with- 


drew. 

Rous’d  from  my  fatal  sleep,  I long  de- 
bate 

If  still  to  live,  or  desp’rate  plunge  to 


fate; 

Thus  doubting,  prostrate  on  the  deck  I 
lay, 

Till  all  the  coward  thoughts  of  death  gave 


way. 

‘Meanwhile  our  vessels  plough  the  C 
liquid  plain, 

And  soon  the  known  .ZEolian  coast  regain;  > 

Our  groans  the  rocks  remurmur’d  to  the 
main.  60  J 

We  leap’d  on  shore,  and  with  a scanty 
feast 

Our  thirst  and  hunger  hastily  repress’d; 

That  done,  two  chosen  heralds  straight  at- 
tend 

Our  second  progress  to  my  royal  friend: 

And  him  amidst  his  jovial  sons  we  found; 

The  banquet  steaming,  and  the  goblets 
crown’d : 

There  humbly  stopp’d  with  conscious  shame 
and  awe, 

Nor  nearer  than  the  gate  presumed  to 
draw. 

But  soon  his  sons  their  well-known  guest 
descried, 

And,  starting  from  their  couches,  loudly 
cried,  70 

“ Ulysses  here  ! what  dsemon  couldst  thou 
meet 

To  thwart  thy  passage,  and  repel  thy  fleet  ? 

Wast  thou  not  furnish’d  by  our  choicest 
care 

For  Greece,  for  home,  and  all  thy  soul  held 
dear  ? ” 


57° 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


Thus  they  ; in  silence  long  my  fate  I 
mourn’d, 

At  length  these  words  with  accent  low 
return’d: 

“ Me,  lock’d  in  sleep,  my  faithless  crew 
bereft 

Of  all  the  blessings  of  your  godlike  gift! 

But  grant,  oh  grant  our  loss  we  may  re- 
trieve; 

A favour  you,  and  you  alone  can  give.”  80 

‘Thus  I with  art  to  move  their  pity 
tried, 

And  touch’d  the  youths  ; but  their  stern 
Sire  replied: 

“Vile  wretch,  begone!  this  instant  I com- 
mand 

Thy  fleet  accurs’d  to  leave  our  hallow’d 
land. 

His  baneful  suit  pollutes  these  bless’d 
abodes, 

Whose  Fate  proclaims  him  hateful  to  the 
Gods.” 

‘Thus  fierce  he  said:  we  sighing  went 
our  way, 

And  with  desponding  hearts  put  off  to 
sea. 

The  sailors  spent  with  toils  their  folly 
mourn,  8g 

But  mourn  in  vain;  no  prospect  of  return. 

Six  days  and  nights  a doubtful  course  we ' 
steer; 

The  next  proud  Lamos’  stately  towers 
appear,  r 

And  Lsestrygonia’s  gates  arise  distinct  in 
air. 

The  shepherd,  quitting  here  at  night  the 
plain, 

Calls,  to  succeed  his  cares,  the  watchful 
swain; 

But  he  that  scorns  the  chains  of  sleep  to 
wear, 

And  adds  the  herdsman’s  to  the  shepherd’s 
care, 

So  near  the  pastures,  and  so  short  the  'I 
way, 

His  double  toils  may  claim  a double  pay,  V 

And  join  the  labours  of  the  night  and  I 

w day-  iooJ 

‘ Within  a long  recess  a bay  there  lies, 

Edg’d  round  with  cliffs  higli  pointing  to 
the  skies; 

The  jutting  shores  that  swell  on  either 
side 

Contract  its  mouth,  and  break  the  rushino- 
tide. 


Our  eager  sailors  seize  the  fair  retreat, 
And  bound  within  the  port  their  crowd 
fleet; 

For  here  retired  the  sinking  billows  slee 
And  smiling  calmness  silver’d  o’er  t 
deep. 

I only  in  the  bay  refused  to  moor, 

And  fix’d,  without,  my  halsers  to  the  sho 
‘From  thence  we  climb’d  a point,  wlu 
airy  brow 

Commands  the  prospect  of  the  plains  1 
low: 

No  tracks  of  beasts,  or  signs  of  men 
found, 

But  smoky  volumes  rolling  from  the  grom 
Two  with  our  herald  thither  we  commain 
With  speed  to  learn  what  men  possess’d  t 
land. 

They  went,  and  kept  the  wheel’  s smool 
beaten  road 

Which  to  the  city  drew  the  mounts 
wood; 

When  lo!  they  met,  beside  a crystal  sprii: 
The  daughter  of  Antiphates  the  king; 

She  to  .Artacia’s  silver  streams  came  dow’ 
(Artacia’s  streams  alone  supply  the  town 
The  damsel  they  approach,  and  ask’d  wh 
race 

The  people  were?  who  Monarch  of  t 
place  ? 

With  joy  the  maid  th’  unwary  strange 
heard, 

And  show’d  them  where  the  royal  don 
appear’d. 

They  went;  but,  as  they  ent’ring  saw  tl 
Queen 

Of  size  enormous,  and  terrific  mien 
(Not  yielding  to  some  bulky  mountain 
height),  j 

A sudden  horror  struck  their  aching  sigln 
Swift  at  her  call  her  husband  scour 
away 

To  wreak  his  hunger  on  the  destiiv 
prey; 

One  for  his  food  the  raging  glutton  slew, 
But  two  rush’d  out,  and  to  the  navv  flew. 

‘ Balk’d  of  his  prey,  the  yelling  monste 
flies, 

And  fills  the  city  with  his  hideous  cries: 

A ghastly  band  of  giants  hear  the  roar, 
And,  pouring  down  the  mountains,  crow 
the  shore. 

Fragments  they  rend  from  off  the  cragg 
brow, 

And  dash  the  ruins  on  the  ships  below:  m 


THE  ODYSSEY 


57i 


The  crackling  vessels  burst;  hoarse  groans 
arise, 

^.nd  mingled  horrors  echo  to  the  skies: 

The  men,  like  fish,  they  stuck  upon  the  flood, 
\nd  cramm’d  their  filthy  throats  with  hu- 
man food. 

Whilst  thus  their  fury  rages  at  the  bay, 

My  sword  our  cables  cut,  I call’d  to  weigh; 
And  charged  my  men,  as  they  from  Fate 
would  fly, 

Each  nerve  to  strain,  each  bending  oar  to 
ply. 

The  sailors  catch  the  word,  their  oars  they 
seize, 

And  sweep  with  equal  strokes  the  smoky 
seas.  150 

Clear  of  the  rocks  th’  impatient  vessel  flies; 
Whilst  in  the  port  each  wretch  encumber’d 
dies. 

With  earnest  haste  my  frighted  sailors 
press, 

While  kindling  transports  glow’d  at  our 
success; 

But  the  sad  fate  that  did  our  friends  de- 
stroy, 

Cool’d  every  breast,  and  damp’d  the  rising 
joy. 

* Now  dropp’d  our  anchors  in  the  iEsean 
bay, 

Where  Circe  dwelt,  the  Daughter  of  the 
Day! 

Her  mother  Persk,  of  old  Ocean’s  strain, 
Thus  from  the  Sun  descended,  and  the 
Main  160 

(From  the  same  lineage  stern  iEfetes  came, 
The  far-famed  brother  of  th’  enchantress 
dame) : 

Goddess,  and  Queen,  to  whom  the  powers 
belong 

Of  dreadful  magic,  and  commanding  song. 
Some  God  directing,  to  this  peaceful  bay 
Silent  we  came,  and  melancholy  lay, 

Spent  and  o’erwatch’d.  Two  days  and 
nights  roll’d  on, 

And  now  the  third  succeeding  morning 
shone. 

1 1 climb’d  a cliff,  with  spear  and  sword  in 
hand, 

Whose  ridge  o’erlook’d  a shady  length  of 
land;  17° 

1 To  learn  if  aught  of  mortal  works  appear, 
Or  cheerful  voice  of  mortal  strike  the  ear  ? 
From  the  high  point  I mark’d,  in  distant 
view, 

A stream  of  curling  smoke  ascending  blue, 


And  spiry  tops,  the  tufted  trees  above, 

Of  Circe  s palace  bosom’d  in  the  grove. 

‘ Thither  to  haste,  the  region  to  explore, 
Was  first  my  thought:  but,  speeding  back 
to  shore, 

I deem’d  it  best  to  visit  first  my  crew, 

And  send  out  spies  the  dubious  coast  to 
view.  180 

As  down  the  hill  I solitary  go, 

Some  Power  divine,  who  pities  human  woe, 
Sent  a tall  stag,  descending  from  the 
wood, 

To  cool  his  fervour  in  the  crystal  flood ; 
Luxuriant  on  the  wave- worn  bank  he  lay, 
Stretch’d  forth  and  panting  in  the  sunny 
ray. 

I launch’d  my  spear,  and  with  a sudden 
wound 

Transpierc’d  his  back,  and  fix’d  him  to  the 
ground. 

He  falls,  and  mourns  his  fate  with  human 
cries : 

Thro’  the  wide  wound  the  vital  spirit 
flies.  19° 

I drew,  and  casting  on  the  river’s  side  "1 
The  bloody  spear,  his  gather’d  feet  I tied  I 
With  twining  osiers  which  the  bank  sup-  | 
plied.  J 

An  ell  in  length  the  pliant  wisp  I weav’d, 
And  the  huge  body  on  my  shoulders 
heav’d: 

Then,  leaning  on  my  spear  with  both  my 
hands, 

Upbore  my  load,  and  press’d  the  sinking 
sands 

With  weighty  steps,  till  at  the  ship  I 
threw 

The  welcome  burden,  and  bespoke  my 
crew: 

“‘Cheer  up,  my  friends  ! it  is  not  yet 
our  fate  200 

To  glide  with  ghosts  thro’  Pluto’s  gloomy 
gate. 

Food  in  the  desert  land,  behold  ! is  giv’n; 
Live,  and  enjoy  the  providence  of  Heav’n.” 

‘ The  joyfui  crew  survey  his  mighty 
size, 

And  on  the  future  banquet  feast  their 
eyes, 

As  huge  in  length  extended  lay  the  beast; 
Then  wash  their  hands,  and  hasten  to  the 
feast. 

There,  till  the  setting  sun  roll’d  down  the 
light, 

They  sate  indulging  in  the  genial  rite. 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


572 


When  ev’uiug  rose,  and  darkness  cover’d 
°’er  210 
The  face  of  things,  we  slept  along  the 
shore. 

But  when  the  rosy  morning  warm’d  the 
east, 

My  men  I summon’d,  and  these  words  ad- 
dress’d: 

4 “ Foll’wers  and  Friends  ! attend  what  I 
propose, 

Ye  sad  companions  of  Ulysses’  woes  ! 

We  know  not  here  what  land  before  us' 
lies, 

Or  to  what  quarter  now  we  turn  our 
eyes, 

Or  where  the  sun  shall  set,  or  where 
shall  rise. 

Here  let  us  think  (if  thinking  be  not  vain) 
If  any  counsel,  any  hope  remain.  220 

Alas  ! from  yonder  promontory’s  brow 
I view’d  the  coast,  a region  flat  and  low; 

An  isle  encircled  with  the  boundless  flood; 
A length  of  thickets,  and  entangled  wood. 
Some  smoke  I saw  amidst  the  forest  rise, 
And  all  around  it  only  seas  and  skies  ! ” 

4 With  broken  hearts  my  sad  com-'J 
panions  stood,  I 

Mindful  of  Cyclops  and  his  human  food,  j 
And  horrid  Lsestrygons,  the  men  of  blood.  J 
Presaging  tears  apace  began  to  rain:  230 

But  tears  in  mortal  miseries  are  vain. 

In  equal  parts  I straight  divide  my  band, 
And  name  a chief  each  party  to  command; 

I led  the  one,  and  of  the  other  side 
Appointed  brave  Eurylochus  the  guide. 
Then  in  the  brazen  helm  the  lots  we 
throw, 

And  Fortune  casts  Eurylochus  to  go: 

He  march’d  with  twice  eleven  in  his  train; 
Pensive  they  march,  and  pensive  we  re- 
main. 

‘The  palace  in  a woody  vale  they  found,  240 
High  rais’d  of  stone;  a shaded  space 
around; 

Where  mountain  wolves  and  brindled  lions 
roam 

(By  magic  tamed),  familiar  to  the  dome. 
With  gentle  blandishment  our  men  they 
meet, 

And  wag  their  tails,  and  fawning  lick  their 
feet. 

As  from  some  feast  a man  returning  late, 
His  faithful  dogs  all  meet  him  at  the  gate, 
Rejoicing  round,  some  morsel  to  receive 
(Such  as  the  good  man  ever  used  to  give), 


Domestic  thus  the  grisly  beasts  drew 
near;  25c 

They  gaze  with  wonder  not  unmix’d  with 
fear. 

Now  on  the  threshold  of  the  dome  they 
stood, 

And  heard  a voice  resounding  thro’  the 
wood  : 

Placed  at  her  loom  within,  the  Goddess 
sung; 

The  vaulted  roofs  and  6olid  pavement 
rung. 

O’er  the  fair  web  the  rising  figures  shine, 
Immortal  labour  ! worthy  hands  divine. 
Polites  to  the  rest  the  question  mov’d 
(A  gallant  leader,  and  a man  I lov’d): 

4 44  What  voice  celestial,  chanting  to  the 
Lorn  z6o 

(Or  Nymph,  or  Goddess),  echoes  from  the 
room  ? 

Say,  shall  we  seek  access  ? ” With  that 
they  call; 

And  wide  unfold  the  portals  of  the  hall. 

4 The  Goddess,  rising,  asks  her  guests  to 
stay, 

Who  blindly  follow  where  she  leads  the 
way. 

Eurylochus  alone  of  all  the  band, 
Suspecting  fraud,  more  prudently  remain’d. 
O11  thrones  around  with  downy  cov’rings 
graced, 

With  semblance  fair,  th’  unhappy  men  she 
placed. 

Milk  newly  press’d,  the  sacred  flour  of 
wheat,  270 

And  honey  fresh,  and  Pramnian  wines  the 
treat: 

But  venom’d  was  the  bread,  and  mix’d’ the 
bowl, 

With  drugs  of  force  to  darken  all  the 
soul: 

Soon  in  the  luscious  feast  themselves  they 
lost, 

And  drank  oblivion  of  their  native  coast. 
Instant  her  circling  wand  the  Goddess 
waves, 

To  hogs  transforms  them,  and  the  sty  re- 
ceives. 

No  more  was  seen  the  human  form  divine; 
Head,  face,  and  members,  bristle  into 
swine: 

Still  curs’d  with  sense,  their  minds  remain 
alone,  280 

And  their  own  voice  affrights  them  when 
they  groan. 


THE  ODYSSEY 


573 


Meanwhile  the  Goddess  in  disdain  bestows 
Che  mast  and  acorn,  brutal  food ! and 
strows 

Che  fruits  and  cornel,  as  their  feast, 
around; 

)fow  prone  and  grov’ling  on  unsav’ry 
ground. 

‘Euryloclms,  with  pensive  steps  and  slow, 
Aghast  returns;  the  messenger  of  woe, 

And  bitter  fate.  To  speak  he  made  es- ' 
say; 

in  vain  essay’d,  nor  would  his  tongue 
obey. 

His  swelling  heart  denied  the  words 
their  way:  290  ^ 

But  speaking  tears  the  want  of  words 
supply, 

And  the  full  soul  burst  copious  from  his 
eye. 

Affrighted,  anxious  for  our  fellows’  fates, 
We  press  to  hear  what  sadly  he  relates: 

‘“We  went,  Ulysses  (such  was  thy 
command), 

Thro’  the  lone  thicket  and  the  desert  land. 
A palace  in  a woody  vale  we  found, 

Brown  with  dark  forests,  and  with  shades 
around. 

A voice  celestial  echoed  thro’  the  dome, 

Or  Nymph  or  Goddess,  chanting  to  the 
loom.  300 

Access  we  sought,  nor  was  access  denied: 
Radiant  she  came;  the  portals  open’d 
wide: 

The  Goddess  mild  invites  the  guests  to 
stay : 

They  blindly  follow  where  she  leads  the 
way. 

I only  wait  behind  of  all  the  train: 

I waited  long,  and  eyed  the  doors  in  vain: 
The  rest  are  vanish’d,  none  repass’d  the 
gate; 

rAnd  not  a man  appears  to  tell  their  fate.” 

• ‘ I heard,  and  instant  o’er  my  shoulder 

flung 

The  belt  in  which  my  weighty  faulchion 
hung  31° 

(A  beamy  blade):  then  seiz’d  the  bended 
bow, 

And  bade  him  guide  the  way,  resolv’d  to  go. 
He,  prostrate  falling,  with  both  hands  em- 
braced 

My  knees,  and  weeping  thus  his  suit  ad- 
dress’d: 

^ ‘ “ O King,  belov’d  of  Jove,  thy  servant 

spare, 


And  ah,  thyself  the  rash  attempt  forbear  ! 
Never,  alas!  thou  never  shalt  return, 

Or  see  the  wretched,  for  whose  loss  we 
mourn. 

With  what  remains  from  certain  ruin  fly, 
And  save  the  few  not  fated  yet  to  die.” 

‘I  answer’d  stern:  “Inglorious  then  re- 
main, 321 

Here  feast  and  loiter,  and  desert  thy  train. 
Alone,  unfriended,  will  1 tempt  my  way; 
Tjhe  laws  of  Fate  compel,  and  I obey.” 

‘ This  said,  and  scornful  turning  from  the 
shore 

My  haughty  step,  I stalk’d  the  valley  o’er. 
Till  now,  approaching  nigh  the  magic 
bower, 

Where  dwelt  th’  enchantress  skill’d  in  herbs 
of  power, 

A form  divine  forth  issued  from  the  wood 
(Immortal  Hermes  with  the  golden  rod),  330 
In  human  semblance.  On  his  bloomy  face 
Youth  smiled  celestial,  with  each  opening 
grace. 

He  seiz’d  my  hand,  and  gracious  thus  be- 
gan: 

‘ “ Ah  whither  roam’st  thou,  much-endur- 
ing man  ? 

O blind  to  Fate  ! what  led  thy  steps  to  rove 
The  horrid  mazes  of  this  magic  grove  ? 
Each  friend  you  seek  in  yon  enclosure  lies, 
All  lost  their  form,  and  habitants  of  sties. 
Think’stthou  by  wit  to  model  their  escape  ? 
Sooner  shalt  thou,  a stranger  to  thy  shape, 
Fall  prone  their  equal:  first  thy  danger 
know,  341 

Then  take  the  antidote  the  Gods  bestow. 
The  plant  I give  thro’  all  the  direful  bower 
Shall  guard  thee,  and  avert  the  evil  hour. 
Now  hear  her  wicked  arts.  Before  thy  eyes 
The  bowl  shall  sparkle,  and  the  banquet 
rise; 

Take  this,  nor  from  the  faithless  feast  ab- 
stain, 

For  temper’d  drugs  and  poison  shall  be 
vain. 

Soon  as  she  strikes  her  wand,  and  gives  the 
word, 

Draw  forth  and  brandish  thy  refulgent 
sword,  330 

And  menace  death:  those  menaces  shall 
move 

Her  alter’d  mind  to  blandishment  and  love. 
Nor  shun  the  blessing  proffer’d  to  thy 
arms. 

Ascend  her  bed,  and  taste  celestial  charms: 


574 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


So  shall  thy  tedious  toils  a respite  find, 

And  thy  lost  friends  return  to  human-kind. 
But  swear  her  first  by  those  dread  oaths 
that  tie 

The  powers  below,  the  blessed  in  the  sky; 
Lest  to  thee  naked  secret  fraud  be  meant, 
Or  magic  bind  thee  cold  and  impotent.”  36c 
‘ Thus  while  he  spoke,  the  sov’reign 
plant  he  drew, 

Where  on  th’  all-bearing  earth  unmark’d 
it  gre  w, 

And  show’d  its  nature  and  its  wondrous 
power: 

Black  was  the  root,  but  milky  white  the 
flower; 

Moly  the  name,  to  mortals  hard  to  find, 

But  all  is  easy  to  th’  ethereal  kind. 

This  Hermes  gave,  then,  gliding  off  the 
glade, 

Shot  to  Olympus  from  the  woodland  shade. 
While,  full  of  thought,  revolving  fates  to 
come,  369 

I speed  my  passage  to  tli’  enchanted  dome. 
Arrived,  before  the  lofty  gates  I stay’d; 

The  lofty  gates  the  Goddess  wide  display’d: 
She  leads  before,  and  to  the  feast  invites; 

I follow  sadly  to  the  magic  rites. 

Radiant  with  starry  studs,  a silver  seat 
Receiv’d  my  limbs:  a footstool  eas’d  my 
feet. 

She  mix’d  the  potion,  fraudulent  of  soul; 
The  poison  mantled  in  the  golden  bowl. 

I took,  and  quaff’d  it,  confident  in  Heav’n: 
Then  waved  the  wand,  and  then  the  word 
was  giv’n.  38o 

“ Hence  to  thy  fellows  ! ” (dreadful  she 
began) 

“ Go,  be  a beast ! ” — I heard,  and  yet  was 
man. 

‘ Then  sudden  whirling,  like  a waving 
flame, 

My  beamy  faulchion,  I assault  the  dame. 
Struck  with  unusual  fear,  she  trembling 
cries, 

She  faints,  she  falls;  she  lifts  her  weeping 
eyes. 

4 “What  art  thou?  say!  from  whence, 
from  whom  you  came  ? 

O more  than  human  ! tell  thy  race,  thy 
name. 

Amazing  strength,  these  poisons  to  sustain  ! 
Not  mortal  thou,  nor  mortal  is  thy  brain.  39o 
Or  art  thou  he,  the  man  to  come  (foretold 
By  Hermes,  powerful  with  the  wand  of  i 
gold),  I 


The  man  from  Troy,  who  wander’d  ocean 
round; 

The  man  for  wisdom’s  various  arts  re- 
nown’d, 

Ulysses  ? Oh  ! thy  threat’ning  fury  cease, 
Sheathe  thy  bright  sword,  and  join  our 
hands  in  peace  ! 

Let  mutual  joys  our  mutual  trust  combine, 
And  love,  and  love-born  confidence  be 
thine.” 

* “ And  how,  dread  Circe  ! ” (furious  I 
rejoin) 

“ Can  love,  and  love-born  confidence,  be 
mine,  4Q0 

Beneath  thy  charms  when  my  companions 
groan, 

Transform’d  to  beasts,  with  accents  not 
their  own  ? 

O thou  of  fraudful  heart,  shall  I be  led 
To  share  thy  feast-rites,  or  ascend  thy  bed; 
That,  all  unarm’d,  thy  vengeance  may  have 
vent, 

And  magic  bind  me  cold  and  impotent  ? 
Celestial  as  thou  art,  yet  stand  denied; 

Or  swear  that  oath  by  which  the  Gods  are 
tied, 

Swear,  in  thy  soul  no  latent  frauds  remain, 
Swear  by  the  vow  which  never  can  be 
vain.”  4IO 

‘The  Goddess  swore:  then  seiz’d  my 
hand  and  led 

To  the  sweet  transports  of  the  genial  bed. 
Ministrant  to  the  Queen,  with  busy  care 
Four  faithful  handmaids  the  soft  rites  pre- 
pare; 

Nymphs  sprung  from  fountains,  or  from 
shady  woods, 

Or  the  fair  offspring  of  the  sacred  floods. 
One  o’er  the  couches  painted  carpets  threw, 
Whose  purple  lustre  glow’d  against  the 
view : 

White  linen  lay  beneath.  Another  placed 
The  silver  stands,  with  golden  flaskets 
graced:  . 420 

With  dulcet  bev’rage  this  the  beaker  crown’d 
Fair  in  the  midst,  with  gilded  cups  around; 
That  in  the  tripod  o’er  the  kindled  pile 
The  water  pours;  the  bubbling  waters  boil; 
An  ample  vase  receives  the  smoking  wave; 
And,  in  the  bath  prepared,  my  limbs  I lave: 
Reviving  sweets  repair  the  mind’s  decay, 
And  take  the  painful  sense  of  toil  away. 

A vest  and  tunic  o’er  me  next  she  threw’, 
Fresh  from  the  bath,  and  dropping  balmy 
dew;  43o 


THE  ODYSSEY 


575 


hen  led  and  placed  me  on  the  sov’reign 
seat, 

rith  carpets  spread;  a footstool  at  my 
feet. 

he  golden  ewer  a nymph  obsequious 
brings, 

replenish’d  from  the  cool  translucent 
springs ; 

Tith  copious  water  the  bright  vase  sup- 
plies 

. silver  laver  of  capacious  size, 
wash’d.  The  table  in  fair  order  spread, 
hey  heap  the  glitt’ring  canisters  with 
bread; 

lands  of  various  kinds  allure  the  taste, 
f choicest  sort  and  savour,  rich  repast  ! 440 
iirce  in  vain  invites  the  feast  to  share; 
bsent  I ponder,  and  absorb’d  in  care: 

/bile  scenes  of  woe  rose  anxious  in  my 
breast, 

he  Queen  beheld  me,  and  these  words 
address’d: 

‘ “ Why  sits  Ulysses  silent  and  apart, 
ome  hoard  of  grief  close  harbour’d  at  his 
heart  ? 

btouch’d  before  thee  stand  the  cates 
divine, 

.nd  unregarded  laughs  the  rosy  wine, 
an  yet  a doubt  or  any  dread  remain, 

Vhen  sworn  that  oath  which  never  can  be 
vain  ? ” 450 

‘I  answered:  “Goddess!  human  is  my 
breast, 

»y  justice  sway’d,  by  tender  pity  press’d: 

11  fits  it  me,  whose  friends  are  sunk  to 
beasts, 

’o  quaff  thy  bowls,  or  riot  in  thy  feasts, 
le  would’st  thou  please  ? for  them  thy 
cares  employ, 

aid  them  to  me  restore,  and  me  to  joy.” 

‘ With  that  she  parted  : in  her  potent 
hand 

he  bore  the  virtue  of  the  magic  wand. 
?hen,  hast’ning  to  the  sties,  set  wide  the 
door, 

Irged  forth,  and  drove  the  bristly  herd 
before ; 460 

Tnwieldy,  out  they  rush’d  with  gen’ral 
cry, 

inormous  beasts  dishonest  to  the  eye. 
low,  touch’d  by  counter-charms,  they 
change  again, 

aid  stand  majestic,  and  recall’d  to  men. 
"hose  hairs  of  late  that  bristled  ev’ry  part, 
"all  off,  miraculous  effect  of  art ! 


Till  all  the  form  in  full  proportion  rise, 
More  young,  more  large,  more  graceful  to 
my  eyes. 

They  saw,  they  knew  me,  and  with  eager 
pace  469 

Clung  to  their  master  in  a long  embrace  : 
Sad,  pleasing  sight ! with  tears  each  eye 
ran  o’er, 

And  sobs  of  joy  re-echoed  thro’  the  bower  j 
Ev’n  Circe  wept,  her  adamantine  heart 
Felt  pity  enter,  and  sustain’d  her  part. 

‘ “ Son  of  Laertes!  ” (then  the  Queen  be- 
gan) 

“Oh  much-enduring, mncli-experienc’d  man! 
Haste  to  thy  vessel  on  the  sea-beat  shore, 
Unload  thy  treasures,  and  the  galley  moor; 
Then  bring  thy  friends,  secure  from  future 
harms,  # 

And  in  our  grottoes  stow  thy  spoils  and 
arms.”  480 

‘She  said.  Obedient  to  her  high  com- 
mand 

I quit  the  place,  and  hasten  to  the  strand. 
My  sad  companions  on  the  beach  I found, 
Their  wistful  eyes  in  floods  of  sorrow 
drown’d. 

As  from  fresh  pastures  and  the  dewy  field 
(When  loaded  cribs  their  ev’ning  banquet 
yield), 

The  lowing  herds  return;  around  them 
throng 

With  leaps  and  bounds  their  late  impris- 
on’d young, 

Rush  to  their  mothers  with  unruly  joy, 

And  echoing  hills  return  the  tender  cry:  490 
So  round  me  press’d,  exulting  at  my  sight, 
With  cries  and  agonies  of  wild  delight, 

The  weeping  sailors;  nor  less  fierce  their 

j°y 

Than  if  return’d  to  Ithaca  from  Troy. 

“ Ah  master!  ever  honour’d,  ever  dear!  ” 
(These  tender  words  on  ev’ry  side  I hear) 

“ What  other  joy  can  equal  thy  return  ? 
Not  that  lov’d  country  for  whose  sight  we 
mourn, 

The  soil  that  nurs’d  us,  and  that  gave  us 
breath  : 499 

But  ah  ! relate  our  lost  companions’  death.” 

‘ I answer’d  cheerful:  “ Haste,  your  gal- 
ley moor 

And  bring  our  treasures  and  our  arms 
ashore: 

Those  in  yon  hollow  caverns  let  us  lay; 
Then  rise,  and  follow  where  I lead  the 
way. 


576 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


Your  fellows  live;  believe  your  eyes,  and 
come 

To  taste  the  joys  of  Circe’s  sacred  dome.” 

‘ With  ready  speed  the  joyful  crew  obey; 
Alone  Eurylochus  persuades  their  stay. 

‘ “ Whither  ” (he  cried),  “ah  whither  will 
ye  run  ? 

Seek  ye  to  meet  those  evils  ye  should 
shun  ? 5IO 

Will  you  the  terrors  of  the  dome  explore, 
In  swine  to  grovel,  or  in  lions  roar, 

Or  wolf-like  howl  away  the  midnight  hour 
In  dreadful  watch  around  the  magic 
bower  ? 

Remember  Cyclops,  and  his  bloody  deed; 
The  leader’s  rashness  made  the"  soldiers 
bleed.” 

‘I  heard  incens’d,  and  first  resolv’d  to 
speed  * 

My  flying  faulchion  at  the  rebel’s  head. 
Dear  as  he  was,  by  ties  of  kindred  bound, 
This  hand  had  stretch’d  him  breathless  on 
the  ground;  520 

But  all  at  once  my  interposing  train 
For  mercy  pleaded,  nor  could  plead  in  vain: 
“ Leave  here  the  man  who  dares  his  Prince 
desert, 

Leave  to  repentance  and  his  own  sad  heart, 
To  guard  the  ship.  Seek  we  the  sacred 
shades 

Of  Circe’s  palace,  where  Ulysses  leads.” 

‘ This  with  one  voice  declared,  the  rising 
train 

Left  the  black  vessel  by  the  murm’ring 
main. 

Shame  touch’d  Eurylochus’s  alter’d  breast; 
He  fear’d  my  threats,  and  follow’d  with 
the  rest.  . 530 

‘ Meanwhile  the  Goddess,  with  indulgent 
cares 

And  social  joys,  the  late  transform’d  re- 
pairs; 

The  bath,  the  feast,  their  fainting  soul  re- 
news; 

Rich  in  refulgent  robes,  and  dropping 
balmy  dews: 

Bright’ning  with  joy  their  eager  eyes  be- 
hold 

Each  other’s  face,  and  each  his  story  told ; 
Then  gushing  tears  the  narrative  confound, 
And  with  their  sobs  the  vaulted  roofs  re- 
sound. 

When  hush’d  their  passion,  thus  the  God- 
dess cries: 

“ Ulysses,  taught  by  labours  to  be  wise,  540 


Let  this  short  memory  of  grief  suffice. 

To  me  are  known  the  various  woes  ye  bore, 
In  storms  by  sea,  in  perils  on  the  shore; 
Forget  whatever  was  in  Fortune’s  power, 
And  share  the  pleasures  of  this  genial  hour. 
Such  be  your  minds  as  ere  ye  left  the  coast, 
Or  learn’d  to  sorrow  for  a country  lost. 
Exiles  and  wand’rers  now,  where’er  ye  go, 
Too  faithful  memory  renews  your  woe  : s49 
The  cause  remov’d,  habitual  griefs  remain, 
And  the  soul  saddens  by  the  use  of  pain.” 

‘ Her  kind  entreaty  mov’d  the  gen’ral 
breast; 

Tired  with  long  toil,  we  willing  sunk  to 
rest. 

We  plied  the  banquet,  and  the  bowl  we 
crown’d, 

Till  the  full  circle  of  the  year  came  round. 
But  when  the  seasons,  foll’wing  in  their 
train, 

Brought  back  the  months,  the  days,  and 
hours  again, 

As  from  a lethargy  at  once  they  rise, 

And  urge  their  chief  with  animating  cries  : 

‘“Is  this,  Ulysses,  our  inglorious  lot?  560 
And  is  the  name  of  Ithaca  forgot  ? 

Shall  never  the  dear  land  in  prospect  rise, 
Or  the  lov’d  palace  glitter  in  our  eyes  ?” 

‘Melting  I heard:  yet  till  the  sun’s  de- 
cline 

Prolong’d  the  feast,  and  quaff’d  the  rosy 
wine: 

But  when  the  shades  came  on  at  ev’ning 
hour, 

And  all  lay  slumb’ring  in  the  dusky  bower, 
I came  a suppliant  to  fair  Circe’s  bed, 

The  tender  moment  seiz’d,  and  thus  I said: 
“ Be  mindful,  Goddess  ! of  thy  promise 
made;  5)0 

Must  sad  Ulysses  ever  be  delay’d? 

Around  their  lord  my  sad  companions 
mourn, 

Each  breast  beats  homeward,  anxious  to 
return  : 

If  but  a moment  parted  from  thy  eyes, 
Their  tears  flow  round  me,  and  my  heart 
complies.” 

“‘Go  then”  (she  cried),  “ah  go!  yet 
think  not  I, 

Not  Circe,  but  the  Fates,  your  wish  deny. 
Ah  hope  not  yet  to  breathe  thy  native  air! 
Far  other  journey  first  demands  thy’-  care; 
To  tread  th’  uncomfortable  paths  beneath, 
And  view  the  realms  of  darkness  and  of 
death,  581 


THE  ODYSSEY 


577 


There  seek  the  Theban  bard,  deprived  of 
sight; 

Within,  irradiate  with  prophetic  light; 

To  whom  Persephonfe,  entire  and  whole, 
Gave  to  retain  th’  unseparated  soul: 

The  rest  are  forms,  of  empty  ether  made; 
[mpassive  semblance,  and  a flitting  shade.” 

‘ Struck  at  the  word,  my  very  heart  was 
dead: 

Pensive  I sate:  my  tears  bedew’d  the  bed: 
lo  hate  the  light  and  life  my  soul  begun, 
And  saw  that  all  was  grief  beneath  the 
sun.  59 1 

Composed  at  length,  the  gushing  tears  sup- 
press’d, 

And  my  toss’d  limbs  now  wearied  into 
rest, 

f*  How  shall  I tread  ” (I  cried),  “ ah,  Circe! 
say, 

The  dark  descent,  and  who  shall  guide  the 
way  ? 

Can  living  eyes  behold  the  realms  below  ? 
What  bark  to  waft  me,  and  what  wind  to 
blow  ? ” 

“‘Thy  fated  road”  (the  magic  Power 
replied), 

“ Divine  Ulysses!  asks  no  mortal  guide. 
Rear  but  the  mast,  the  spacious  sail  dis- 
play, . 600 

The  northern  winds  shall  wing  thee  on  thy 
way. 

Soon  shalt  thou  reach  old  Ocean’s  utmost 
ends, 

Where  to  the  main  the  shelving  shore  de- 
1 scends  : 

The  barren  trees  of  Proserpine’s  black 
woods, 

Poplars  and  willows  trembling  o’er  the 
floods; 

There  fix  thy  vessel  in  the  lonely  bay, 

3'And  enter  there  the  kingdoms  void  of  day  : 
Where  Phlegethon’s  loud  torrents,  rushing 
) down, 

Hiss  in  the  flaming  gulf  of  Acheron; 

And  where,  slow-rolling  from  the  Stygian 
bed,  610 

Cocytus’  lamentable  waters  spread: 

Where  the  dark  rock  o’erliangs  th’  infernal 
lake, 

And  mingling  streams  eternal  murmurs 
make. 

First  draw  thy  faulchion,  and  on  ev’ry 
side 

Trench  the  black  earth  a cubit  long  and 
wide: 


To  all  the  shades  around  libations  pour, 

And  o’er  th’  ingredients  strew  the  hallow’d 
flour: 

New  wine  and  milk,  with  honey  temper’d 
bring, 

And  living  water  from  the  crystal  spring. 
Then  the  wan  shades  and  feeble  ghosts 
implore,  620 

With  promis’d  offerings  on  thy  native 
shore: 

A barren  cow,  the  stateliest  of  the  isle, 

And,  heap’d  with  various  wealth,  a blazing 
pile: 

These  to  the  rest;  but  to  the  seer  must 
bleed 

A sable  ram,  the  pride  of  all  thy  breed. 
These  solemn  vows,  and  holy  off’rings, 
paid 

To  all  the  phantom  nations  of  the  dead, 

Be  next  thy  care  the  sable  sheep  to  place 
Full  o’er  the  pit,  and  hellward  turn  their 
face; 

But  from  th’  infernal  rite  thine  eye  with- 
draw, 630 

And  back  to  Ocean  glance  with  rev’rent 
awe. 

Sudden  shall  skim  along  the  dusky  glade3 
Thin  airy  shoals,  and  visionary  shades. 
Then  give  command  the  sacrifice  to  haste, 
Let  the  flay’d  victims  in  the  flame  be  cast, 
And  sacred  vows  and  mystic  song  applied 
To  grisly  Pluto  and  his  gloomy  bride. 

Wide  o’er  the  pool  thy  faulchion  waved 
around 

Shall  drive  the  spectres  from  forbidden 
ground : 

The  sacred  draught  shall  all  the  dead  for- 
bear, 640 

Till  awful  from  the  shades  arise  the  seer. 
Let  him,  oraculous,  the  end,  the  way,  ) 
The  turns  of  all  thy  future  fate  display,  I 
Thy  pilgrimage  to  come,  and  remnant  of  | 
thy  day.”  j 

‘So  speaking,  from  the  ruddy  orient 
shone 

The  Morn,  conspicuous  on  her  golden 
throne. 

The  Goddess  with  a radiant  tunic  dress’d 
My  limbs,  and  o’er  me  cast  a silken  vest. 
Long  flowing  robes,  of  purest  white,  ar- 
ray 649 

The  Nymph,  that  added  lustre  to  the  day: 
A tiar  wreath’d  her  head  with  many  a 
fold; 

Her  waist  was  circled  with  a zone  of  gold. 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


578 


Forth  issuing  then,  from  place  to  place  I 
flew; 

Rouse  man  by  man,  and  animate  my  crew. 
“ Rise,  rise,  my  mates!  ’t  is  Circe  gives  com- 
mand: 

Our  journey  calls  us:  haste,  and  quit  the 
land.” 

All  rise  and  follow,  yet  depart  not  all, 

For  Fate  decreed  one  wretched  man  to  fall. 

‘ A youth  there  was,  Elpenor  was  he 
named, 

Not  much  for  sense,  nor  much  for  courage 
famed : 660 

The  youngest  of  our  band,  a vulgar  soul, 
Born  but  to  banquet,  and  to  drain  the 
bowl. 

He,  hot  and  careless,  on  a turret’s  height 
With  sleep  repair’d  the  long  debauch  of 
night: 

The  sudden  tumult  stirr’d  him  where  he 
lay, 

And  down  he  hasten’d,  but  forgot  the  way; 
Full  headlong  from  the  roof  the  sleeper 
fell, 

And  snapp’d  the  spinal  joint,  and  waked  in 
Hell. 

‘ The  rest  crowd  round  me  with  an  eager 
look; 

I met  them  with  a sigh,  and  thus  be- 
spoke : 670 

“Already,  friends!  ye  think  your  toils  are 
o’er, 

Your  hopes  already  touch  your  native  shore: 
Alas!  far  otherwise  the  Nymph  declares, 
Far  other  journey  first  demands  our  cares: 
To  tread  th’  uncomfortable  paths  beneath, 
The  dreary  realms  of  darkness  and  of 
death ; 

To  seek  Tiresias’  awful  shade  below, 

And  thence  our  fortunes  and  our  fates  to 
know.” 

‘ My  sad  companions  heard  in  deep  de- 
spair; 

Frantic  they  tore  their  manly  growth  of 
hair;  680 

To  earth  they  fell;  the  tears  began  to  rain; 
But  tears  in  mortal  miseries  are  vain. 

Sadly  they  fared  along  the  sea-beat  shore: 
Still  heav’d  their  hearts,  and  still  their  eyes 
ran  o’er. 

The  ready  victims  at  our  bark  we  found, 
The  sable  ewe  and  ram,  together  bound. 
For,  swift  as  thought,  the  Goddess  had  been 
there, 

And  thence  had  glided  viewless  as  the  air: 


The  paths  of  Gods  what  mortal  can  sur- 
vey ? 

Who  eyes  their  motion  ? who  shall  trace 
their  way  ? ’ 69c| 

BOOK  XIII 

THE  ARRIVAL  OF  ULYSSES  IN  ITHACA 
THE  ARGUMENT 

Ulysses  takes  his  leave  of  Alcinoiis  and  Aret&, 
and  embarks  in  the  evening.  Next  morning 
the  ship  arrives  at  Ithaca ; where  the  sailors, 
as  Ulysses  is  yet  sleeping,  lay  him  on  the 
shore  with  all  his  treasures.  On  their  re- 
turn, Neptune  changes  their  ship  into  a rock. 
In  the  mean  time,  Ulysses  awaking,  knows 
not  his  native  Ithaca,  by  reason  of  a mist 
which  Pallas  had  cast  round  him.  He  breaks 
into  loud  lamentations ; till  the  Goddess  ap- 
pearing to  him  in  the  form  of  a shepherd, 
discovers  the  country  to  him,  and  points  out 
the  particular  places.  He  then  tells  a feigned 
story  of  his  adventures,  upon  which  she 
manifests  herself,  and  they  consult  together 
on  the  measures  to  be  taken  to  destroy  the' 
suitors.  To  conceal  his  return,  and  disguise 
his  person  the  more  effectually,  she  changes 
him  into  the  figure  of  an  old  beggar. 

He  ceas’d;  but  left  so  pleasing  on  their 
ear 

His  voice,  that  list’ning  still  they  seem’d 
to  hear. 

A pause  of  silence  hush’d  the  shady  rooms: 

The  grateful  conference  then  the  King  re- 
sumes: 

‘ Whatever  toils  the  great  Ulysses  pass’d, 

Beneath  this  happy  roof  they  end  at  last; 

No  longer  now  from  shore  to  shore  to 
roam, 

Smooth  seas  and  gentle  winds  invite  him 
home. 

But  hear  me,  Princes!  whom  these  walls 
enclose, 

For  whom  my  chanter  sings,  and  goblet 
flows  10 

With  wine  unmix’d  (an  honour  due  to  age, 

To  cheer  the  grave,  and  warm  the  poet’s 
rage), 

Tho’  labour’d  gold,  and  many  a dazzling 
vest 

Lie  heap’d  already  for  our  godlike  guest: 

Without  new  treasures  let  him  not  re- 
move, 

Large,  and  expressive  of  the  public  love: 


THE  ODYSSEY 


579 


Sacli  Peer  a tripod,  each  a vase  bestow, 
gen’ral  tribute,  which  the  state  shall  owe.’ 
This  sentence  pleas’d:  then  all  their  steps 
address’d 

To  sep’rate  mansions,  and  retired  to  rest.  20 
Now  did  the  ltosy-finger’d  Morn  arise, 
And  shed  her  sacred  light  along  the  skies. 
Jown  to  the  haven  and  the  ships  in  haste 
They  bore  the  treasures,  and  in  safety 
placed. 

The  King  himself  the  vases  ranged  with 
1 care ; 

Then  bade  his  foll’wers  to  the  feast  repair. 
A victim  ox  beneath  the  sacred  hand 
Of  great  Alcinoiis  falls,  and  stains  the 
| sand. 

To  Jove  th’  Eternal  (Power  above  all 
Powers! 

Who  wings  the  winds,  and  darkens  Heav’n 
with  showers),  30 

The  flames  ascend:  till  ev’ning  they  pro- 
long 

The  rites,  more  sacred  made  by  heav’nly 
song: 

For  in  the  midst  with  public  honours 
graced, 

Thy  lyre,  divine  Demodocus!  was  placed. 
All,  but  Ulysses,  heard  with  fix’d  delight: 
He  sate,  and  eyed  the  sun,  and  wish’d  the 
night: 

Slow  seem’d  the  sun  to  move,  the  hours  to 
roll, 

His  native  home  deep-imaged  in  his  soul. 
As  the  tired  ploughman  spent  with  stub- 
born toil, 

VYhose  oxen  long  have  torn  the  furrow’d 
soil,  40 

Sees  with  delight  the  sun’s  declining  ray, 
When  home  with  feeble  knees  he  bends  his 
way 

To  late  repast  (the  day’s  hard  labour 
done), 

So  to  Ulysses  welcome  set  the  sun; 

Then  instant  to  Alcinoiis  and  the  rest 
(The  Scherian  states)  he  turn’d,  and  thus 
address’d. 

‘ O thou,  the  first  in  merit  and  com- 
mand ! 

And  you  the  Peers  and  Princes  of  the  land! 
■May  ev’ry  joy  be  yours  ! nor  this  the ' 
least, 

When  due  libation  shall  have  crown’d 
the  feast,  50 

Safe  to  my  home  to  send  your  happy 
guest. 


Complete  are  now  the  bounties  you  have 
giv’n, 

Be  all  those  bounties  but  confirm’d  by 
Heav’n  ! 

So  may  I find,  when  all  my  wand’rings 
cease, 

My  consort  blameless,  and  my  friends  in 
peace. 

On  you  be  ev’ry  bliss;  and  ev’ry  day, 

In  home-felt  joys,  delighted  roll  away: 
Yourselves,  your  wives,  your  long-descend- 
ing race, 

May  ev’ry  God  enrich  with  ev’ry  grace  ! 
Sure  fix’d  on  virtue  may  your  nation 
stand,  60 

And  public  evil  never  touch  the  land  ! ’ 

His  words  well  weigh’d,  the  gen’rM 
voice  approv’d 

Benign,  and  instant  his  dismission  mov’d. 
The  Monarch  to  Pontonoiis  gave  the  sign, 
To  fill  the  goblet  high  with  rosy  wine: 

* Great  Jove  the  Father  first  ’ (he  cried) 
‘ implore; 

Then  send  the  stranger  to  his  native  shore.’ 

The  luscious  wine  th’  obedient  herald 
brought; 

Around  the  mansion  flow’d  the  purple 
draught; 

Each  from  his  seat  to  each  immortal 
pours,  70 

Whom  glory  circles  in  th’  Olympian 
bowers. 

Ulysses  sole  with  air  majestic  stands, 

The  bowl  presenting  to  Arete’s  hands; 
Then  thus:  ‘ O Queen,  farewell  ! be  still 
possess’d 

Of  dear  remembrance,  blessing  still  and 
bless’d  ! 

Till  age  and  death  shall  gently  call  thee 
hence 

(Sure  fate  of  ev’ry  mortal  excellence). 
Farewell  ! and  joys  successive  ever  spring 
To  thee,  to  thine,  the  people  and  the 
King  ! ’ 

Thus  he:  then  parting  prints  the  sandy 
shore  80 

To  the  fair  port:  a herald  march’d  before, 
Sent  by  Alcinoiis;  of  Arete’s  train 
Three  chosen  maids  attend  him  to  the 
main: 

This  does  a tunic  and  white  vest  convey, 

A various  casket  that,  of  rich  inlay, 

And  bread  and  wine  the  third.  The  cheer* 
ful  mates 

Safe  in  the  hollow  poop  dispose  the  cates: 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


580 


Upon  the  deck  soft  painted  robes  they 
spread, 

With  linen  cover’d,  for  the  hero’s  bed. 

He  climb’d  the  lofty  stern;  then  gently 
press’d  9o 

The  swelling  couch,  and  lay  composed  to 
rest. 

Now  placed  in  order,  the  Phseacian  train 
Their  cables  loose,  and  launch  into  the 
main: 

At  once  they  bend,  and  strike  their  equal 
oars, 

And  leave  the  sinking  hills  and  less’ning 
shores. 

While  on  the  deck  the  Chief  in  silence 
lies, 

And  pleasing  slumbers  steal  upon  his  eyes. 
As  fiery  coursers  in  the  rapid  race 
Urged  by  fierce  drivers  thro’  the  dusty 
space, 

Toss  their  high  heads,  and  scour  along  the 
plain ; IOO 

So  mounts  the  bounding  vessel  o’er  the 
main. 

Back  to  the  stern  the  parted  billows  flow, 
And  the  black  ocean  foams  and  roars  be- 
low. 

Thus  with  spread  sails  the  winged  galley 
flies; 

Less  swift  an  eagle  cuts  the  liquid  skies; 
Divine  Ulysses  was  her  sacred  load, 

A man  in  wisdom  equal  to  a God  ! 

Much  danger,  long  and  mighty  toils  he 
bore, 

In  storms  by  sea,  and  combats  on  the 
shore: 

All  which  soft  sleep  now  banish’d  from  his 
breast,  no 

Wrapp’d  in  a pleasing,  deep,  and  death- 
like rest. 

But  when  the  morning-star  with  early 
ray 

Flamed  in  the  front  of  Heav’11,  and  prom- 
is’d day, 

Like  distant  clouds  the  mariner  descries 
Fair  Ithaca’s  emerging  hills  arise. 

Far  from  the  town  a spacious  port  appears, 
Sacred  to  Phorcys’  power,  whose  name  it 
bears  : 

Two  craggy  rocks,  projecting  to  the  main, 
The  roaring  wind’s  tempestuous  rage  re- 
strain; 1 19 

Within,  the  waves  in  softer  murmurs  glide, 
And  ships  secure  without  their  halsers 
ride. 


High  at  the  head  a branching  olive  grows, 
And  crowns  the  pointed  cliffs  with  shady 
boughs. 

Beneath,  a gloomy  grotto’s  cool  recess 
Delights  the  Nereids  of  the  neighb’ring 
seas, 

Where  bowls  and  urns  were  form’d  of  liv- 
ing stone, 

And  massy  beams  in  native  marble  shone: 
O11  which  the  labours  of  the  Nymphs  were 
roll’d, 

Their  webs  divine  of  purple  mix’d  with 
gold. 

Within  the  cave  the  clust’ring  bees  at- 
tend 13C 

Their  waxen  works,  or  from  the  roof  de- 
pend. 

Perpetual  waters  o’er  the  pavement  glide; 
Two  marble  doors  unfold  on  either  side; 
Sacred  the  south,  by  which  the  Gods  de- 
scend; 

But  mortals  enter  at  the  northern  end. 

Thither  they  bent,  and  haul’d  their  ship 
to  land 

(The  crooked  keel  divides  the  yellow 
sand)  ; 

Ulysses  sleeping  on  his  couch  they  bore, 
And  gently  placed  him  on  the  rocky  shore. 
His  treasures  next,  Alcinoiis’  gifts,  they 
laid 

In  the  wild  olive’s  unfrequented  shade, 
Secure  from  tbeft;  then  launch’d  the  bark 
again, 

Resumed  their  oars,  and  measured  back 
the  main. 

Nor  yet  forgot  old  Ocean’s  dread  Su- 
preme 

The  vengeance  vow’d  for  eyeless  Poly- 
pheme. 

Before  the  throne  of  mighty  Jove  he 
stood; 

And  sought  the  secret  counsels  of  the  God. 

‘ Shall  then  no  more,  O Sire  of  Gods  ! be 
mine 

The  rights  and  honours  of  a power  divine  ? 
Scorn’d  ev’n  by  man,  and  (oh  severe  dis- 
grace!) 150 

By  soft  Phseacians,  my  degen’rate  race  ! 
Against  yon  destin’d  head  in  vain  I swore, 
And  menaced  vengeance,  ere  he  reach’d 
his  shore; 

To  reach  his  natal  shore  was  thy  decree; 
Mild  I obey’d,  for  who  shall  war  with  thee  ? 
Behold  him  landed,  careless  and  asleep, 
From  all  th’  eluded  dangers  of  the  deep; 


THE  ODYSSEY 


58i 


Lo  where  he  lies,  amidst  a shilling  store 
Of  brass,  rich  garments,  and  refulgent 
ore ; 

And  bears  triumphant  to  his  native  isle  160 
A prize  more  worth  than  Ilion’s  noble 
spoil.’ 

To  whom  the  Father  of  th’  immortal 
Powers, 

Who  swells  the  clouds,  and  gladdens  earth 


with  showers: 

« Can  mighty  Neptune  thus  of  man  com- 
plain ? 

Neptune,  tremendous  o’er  the  boundless 
main  ! . , , 

Revered  and  awful  ev’n  in  Heav  n s 
abodes, 

Ancient  and  great  ! a God  above  the 


Gods! 

If  that  low  race  offend  thy  power  divine, 

(Weak,  daring  creatures  !)  is  not  ven- 
geance thine  ? < i69 

Go  then,  the  guilty  at  thv  will  chastise.’ 

He  said.  The  Shaker  of  the  Earth  replies: 

‘This  then  I doom:  to  fix  the  gallant 
ship 

A mark  of  vengeance  on  the  sable  deep; 

To  warn  the  thoughtless  self-confiding 
train. 

No  more  unlicens’d  thus  to  brave  the 
main. 

Full  in  their  port  a shady  hill  shall  rise, 

If  such  thy  will.’  — ‘We  will  it,’  Jove  re- 


plies. 

‘ Ev’n  when  with  transport,  black’ning  all 
the  strand, 

The  swarming  people  hail  their  ship  to 
land, 

Fix  her  for  ever,  a memorial  stone:  180 

Still  let  her  seem  to  sail,  and  seem  alone. 

The  trembling  crowds  shall  see  the  sud- 
den shade 

Of  whelming  mountains  overhang  their 
head  ! ’ 

With  that  the  God  whose  earthquakes 
rock  the  ground 

Fierce  to  Phseacia  cross’d  the  vast  pro- 


found. 

Swift  as  a swallow  sweeps  the  liquid  way, 
The  winged  pinnace  shot  along  the  sea. 

The  God  arrests  her  with  a sudden  stroke, 
A nd  roots  her  down  an  everlasting  rock. 
Aghast  the  Scherians  stand  in  deep  sur- 
prise ; T9° 

All  press  to  speak,  all  question  with  their 


eyes. 


‘What  hands  unseen  the  rapid  bark  re- 
strain ? 

And  yet  it  swims,  or  seems  to  swim,  the 
main  ! ’ 

Thus  they,  unconscious  of  the  deed  divine: 
Till  great  Alcinous,  rising,  own’d  the  sign. 

« Behold  the  long-predestin’d  day  ! ’ (he 
cries) ; 

‘ O certain  faith  of  ancient  prophecies  ! 

These  ears  have  heard  my  royal  sire  dis- 
close * 

A dreadful  story,  big  with  future  woes: 

How,  mov’d  with  wrath,  that  careless  we 
convey  200 

Promiscuous  ev’ry  guest  to  ev’ry  bay, 

Stern  Neptune  raged;  and  how  by  his 
command 

Firm  rooted  in  the  surge  a ship  should 
stand 

(A  monument  of  wrath);  and  mound  on 
mound 

Should  hide  our  walls,  or  whelm  beneath 
the  ground. 

‘ The  Fates  have  follow’d  as  declared  the 
seer: 

Be  humbled,  nations  ! and  your  Monarch 
hear. 

No  more  unlicens’d  brave  the  deeps,  no 
more 

With  ev’ry  stranger  pass  from  shore  to 
shore : 

O11  angry  Neptune  now  for  mercy  call;  210 
To  his  high  name  let  twelve  black  oxen 
fall. 

So  may  the  God  reverse  his  purpos’d  will, 
Nor  o’er  our  city  hang  the  dreadful  hill.’ 

The  Monarch  spoke : they  trembled  and 
obey’d, 

Fo^th  on  the  sands  the  victim  oxen  led: 

The  gather’d  tribes  before  the  altars  stand, 
And  Chiefs  and  rulers,  a majestic  band. 

The  King  of  Ocean  all  the  tribes  implore; 
The  blazing  altars  redden  all  the  shore. 

Meanwhile  Ulysses  in  his  country  lay,  'I 
Releas’d  from  sleep,  and  round  him  I 
might  survey  221  j 

The  solitary  shore  and  rolling  sea.  J 

Yet  had  his  mind  thro’  tedious  absence 
lost 

The  dear  resemblance  of  his  native  coast; 
Besides,  Minerva,  to  secure  her  care 
Diffused  around  a veil  of  thicken’d  air: 

For  so  the  Gods  ordain’d,  to  keep  unseen 
His  royal  person  from  his  friends  and 
Queen: 


s82  translations  from  homer 


Till  the  proud  suitors  for  their  crimes  af- 
ford 

A 229 

An  ample  vengeance  to  their  injured  lord. 

Now  alL  the  land  another  prospect  bore 
Another  port  appear’d,  another  shore.  ’ 
And  long-continued  ways,  and  winding 
floods, 

And  unknown  mountains,  crown’d  with  un- 
known woods. 

Pensive  and  slow,  with  sudden  grief  op- 
press’d, 

The  King  arose,  and  beat  his  careful  breast, 
Cast  a long  look  o’er  all  the  coast  and  main, 
And  sought,  around,  his  native  realm  in 
vain : 

Then  with  erected  eyes  stood  fix’d  in  woe, 
And,  as  he  spoke,  the  tears  began  to  flow: 

* Ye  Gods  ’ (he  cried),  ‘ upon  what  barren 
coast,  24I 

In  what  new  region,  is  Ulysses  toss’d  ? 
Possess’d  by  wild  barbarians,  fierce  in  arms? 
Or  men  whose  bosom  tender  pity  warms  ? 
Where  shall  this  treasure  now  in  safetv 
lie  ? J 


And  whither,  whither  its  sad  owner  fly  ? 
Ah  why  did  I Alcinoiis’  grace  implore  ? 

Ah  why  forsake  Phseacia’s  happy  shore  ? 
Some  juster  Prince  perhaps  had  entertain’d, 
And  safe  restor’d  me  to  my  native  land.  250 
Is  this  the  promis’d,  long-expected  coast, 
And.  this  the  faith  Phseacia’s  rulers  boast  ? 
O righteous  Gods  ! of  all  the  great,  how 
few 

Are  just  to  Heav’11,  and  to  their  promise 
true  ! 

But  he,  the  Power  to  whose  all-seeing  eyes 
The  deeds  of  men  appear  without  disguise, 
’T  is  his  alone  t’  avenge  the  wrongs  I bear: 
For  still  th  oppress’d  are  his  peculiar  care. 
To  count  these  presents,  and  from  thence 
to  prove 

Their  faith,  is  mine:  the  rest  belongs  to 

J°Ve/  260 

Then  on  the  sands  he  ranged  his  wealthy 
store, 

The  gold,  the  vests,  the  tripods  number’d 
o’er: 

All  these  he  found;  but  still,  in  error  lost, 
Disconsolate  he  wanders  on  the  coast, 

Sighs  for  his  country,  and  laments  again 
To  the  deaf  rocks,  and  hoarse  resounding 
main. 

When  lo  f the  guardian  Goddess  of  the 
Wise, 

Celestial  Pallas,  stood  before  his  eyes; 


In  show  a youthful  swain,  of  form  divine, 
Who  seem’d  descended  from  some  princely 
line. 

A graceful  robe  her  slender  body  dress’d;  ° 
Around  her  shoulders  flew  the  waving  vest- 
Her  decent  hand  a shining  jav’liu  bore, 

And  painted  sandals  on  her  feet  she  wore. 
To  whom  the  King:  ‘ Whoe’er  of  human 
race 

Thou  art,  that  wander’st  in  this  desert 
place, 

With  joy  to  thee,  as  to  some  God,  I bend, 
To  thee  my  treasures  and  myself  commend. 
O tell  a wretch  in  exile  doom’d  to  stray, 
What  air  I breathe,  what  country  I sur- 

r™  ™y?-  , 280 

ine  fruitful  continent  s extremest  bound, 
Or  some  fair  isle  which  Neptune’s  arms 
surround  ? ’ 

‘From  what  far  clime’  (said  she),  ‘re- 
mote from  Fame, 

Arrivest  thou  here,  a stranger  to  our  name  ? 
Thou  seest  an  island,  not  to  those  unknown 
Whose  hills  are  brighten’d  by  the  rising  sun, 
Nor  those  that  placed  beneath  his  utmost 
reign 

Behold  him  sinking  in  the  western  main. 

The  rugged  soil  allows  no  level  space 
For  flying  chariots,  or  the  rapid  race;  290 
Yet,  not  ungrateful  to  the  peasant’s  pain, 
Suffices  fulness  to  the  swelling  grain: 

The  loaded  trees  their  various  fruits  pro- 
duce, 

And  dust  ring  grapes  afford  a gen’rous 
juice; 

Woods  crown  our  mountains,  and  in  ev’ry 
grove 

The  bounding  goats  and  frisking  heifers 
rove: 

Soft  rains  and  kindly  dews  refresh  the  field, 
And  rising  springs  eternal  verdure  yield: 

Ev  n to  those  shores  is  Ithaca  renown’d, 
Where  Troy’s  majestic  ruins  strew  the 
ground.’  30O 

At  this,  the  Chief  with  transport  was 
possess’d ; 

His  panting  heart  exulted  in  his  breast: 

Yet,  well  dissembling  his  untimely  joys, 

And  veiling  truth  in  plausible  disguise, 

Thus,  with  an  air  sincere,  in  fiction  bold, 

His  ready  tale  th’  inventive  hero  told: 

‘ Oft  have  I heard  in  Crete  this  island’s 
name ; 

For  ’t  was  from  Crete,  my  native  soil,  I 
came, 


THE  ODYSSEY 


583 


■Jelf-banish’d  thence.  I sail’d  before  the 
wind, 

And  left  my  children  and  my  friends  be- 
hind. 310 

From  fierce  Idomeneus’  revenge  I flew, 
Whose  son,  the  swift  Orsilochus,  I slew 
(With  brutal  force  he  seiz’d  my  Trojan 
prey, 

Due  to  the  toils  of  many  a bloody  day). 
lUnseen  I ’scaped,  and,  favour’d  by  the 
night, 

In  a Phoenician  vessel  took  my  flight, 

For  Pyle  or  Elis  bound:  but  tempests 
toss’d 

And  raging  billows  drove  us  on  your  coast. 
In  dead  of  night  an  unknown  port  we 
gain’d, 

Spent  with  fatigue,  and  slept  secure  on 
land.  320 

But  ere  the  rosy  morn  renew’d  the  day, 
While  in  th’  embrace  of  pleasing  sleep  I 
lay, 

Sudden,  invited  by  auspicious  gales, 

They  land  my  goods,  and  hoist  their  flying 
sails. 

Abandon’d  here,  my  fortune  I deplore, 

A hapless  exile  on  a foreign  shore.’ 

Thus  while  he  spoke,  the  Blue-eyed  Maid 
began 

With  pleasing  smiles  to  view  the  godlike 
man : 

Then  changed  her  form:  and  now,  divinely 
bright, 

Jove’s  heav’nly  daughter  stood  confess’d  to 
sight  : 33° 

Like  a fair  virgin  in  her  beauty’s  bloom, 
Skill’d  in  th’  illustrious  labours  of  the 
loom. 

‘ O still  the  same  Ulysses  ! ’ (she  re-  'l 
join’d)  l 

* In  useful  craft  successfully  refin’d  ! f 
Artful  in  speech,  in  action,  and  in  mind  ! J 
Sufficed  it  not,  that,  thy  long  labours  pass’d, 
Secure  thou  seest  thy  native  shores  at  last? 
But  this  to  me  ? who,  like  thyself,  excel 
In  arts  of  counsel,  and  dissembling  well; 

To  me  ? whose  wit  exceeds  the  Powers  di- 
vine, 34° 

No  less  than  mortals  are  surpass’d  by  thine. 
Know’st  thou  not  me  ? who  made  thy  life 
my  care, 

Thro’  ten  years’  wand’ring,  and  thro’  ten 
years’  war, 

Who  taught  thee  arts,  Alcinoiis  to  per- 
suade, 


To  raise  his  wonder,  and  engage  his  aid ; 

And  now  appear,  thy  treasures  to  protect,  'l 
Conceal  thy  person,  thy  designs  direct,  I 
And  tell  what  more  thou  must  from  Fate  J 
expect ; J 

Domestic  woes  far  heavier  to  be  borne  ! 

The  pride  of  fools,  and  slaves’  insulting 
scorn ! 35° 

But  thou  be  silent,  nor  reveal  thy  state; 
Yield  to  the  force  of  unresisted  Fate, 

And  bear  unmov’d  the  wrongs  of  base  man- 
kind, 

The  last,  and  hardest,  conquest  of  the 
mind.’ 

‘Goddess  of  Wisdom!’  (Ithacus  re-) 
plies)  l 

‘ He  who  discerns  thee  must  be  truly  wise,  j 
So  seldom  view’d,  and  ever  in  disguise  ! J 
When  the  bold  Argives  led  their  warring 
powers 

Against  proud  Ilion’s  well-defended  tow- 
ers, 

Ulysses  was  thy  care,  celestial  Maid  ! 360 

Graced  with  thy  sight,  and  favour’d  with 
thy  aid. 

But  when  the  Trojan  piles  in  ashes  lay, 

And  bound  for  Greece  we  plough’d  the 
wat’ry  way, 

Our  fleet  dispers’d  and  driven  from  coast 
to  coast, 

Thy  sacred  presence  from  that  hour  I 
lost; 

Till  I beheld  thy  radiant  form  once  more, 
And  heard  thy  counsels  on  Phseacia’s 
shore. 

But,  by  th’  Almighty  Author  of  thy  race, 
Tell  me,  oh  tell,  is  this  my  native  place  ? 
For  much  I fear,  long  tracts  of  land  and 
sea  370 

Divide  this  coast  from  distant  Ithaca; 

The  sweet  delusion  kindly  you  impose, 

To  soothe  my  hopes,  and  mitigate  my 
woes.’ 

Thus  he.  The  Blue-eyed  Goddess  thus 
replies  : 

‘ How  prone  to  doubt,  how  cautious  are  the 
wise  ! 

Who,  vers’d  in  fortune,  fear  the  flatt’ring 
show, 

And  taste  not  half  the  bliss  the  Gods  be- 
stow. 

The  more  shall  Pallas  aid  thy  just  de» 
sires, 

And  guard  the  wisdom  which  herself  in- 
1 spires. 


584  translations  from  homer 


Others,  long  absent  from  their  native'! 

place,  380 

straight  seek  their  home,  and  fly  with 
eager  pace 

To  their  wives’  arms,  and  children’s  dear 
embrace. 


Not  thus  Ulysses  : he  decrees  to  prove 
His  subjects’  faith,  and  Queen’s  suspected 
love; 

Who  mourn  d her  lord  twice  ten  revolving 
years, 

And  wastes  the  days  in  grief,  the  nights  in 
tears. 

But  Pallas  knew  (thy  friends  and  navy 
lost)  J 

Once  more ’t  was  given  thee  to  behold  thy 
coast : 

\ et  how  could  I with  adverse  Fate  engage, 
And  mighty  Neptune’s  unrelenting  rage?  39o 
Now  lift  thy  longing  eyes,  while  I restore 
i he  pleasing  prospect  of  thy  native  shore. 
Behold  the  port  of  Phorcys!  fenc’d  around 
With  rocky  mountains,  and  with  olives 
crown’d. 


Behold  the  gloomy  grot ! whose  cool  re- 
cess 

Delights  the  Nereids  of  the  neighb’rine1 

seas  : 


Whose  now  neglected  altars,  in  thy  reign, 

Blush  d with  the  blood  of  sheep  and  oxen 
slain. 

Behold  ! where  Neritus  the  clouds  divides, 

And  shakes  the  waving  forests  on  his 
sides.’  4oo 

So  spake  the  Goddess,  and  the  prospect 
clear’d ; 

The  mists  dispers’d,  and  all  the  coast  ap- 
pear’d. 

The  King  with  joy  confess’d  his  place  of 
birth, 

And  on  his  knees  salutes  his  Mother  Earth: 

Then,  with  his  suppliant  hands  upheld  in 


air, 

Thus  to  the  sea-green  Sisters  sends  his 
prayer  : 

" 1 ye  virgin  Daughters  of  the 

Main  ! 

Ye  streams,  beyond  my  hopes  beheld  again ! 
To  you  once  more  your  own  Ulysses  bows; 
Attend  his  transports,  and  receive  his 
vows  ! 4I0 

If  Jove  prolong  my  days,  and  Pallas  crown 
J he  growing  virtues  of  my  youthful  son, 
io  you  shall  rites  divine  be  ever  paid, 

And  grateful  off ’rings  on  your  altars  laid.’ 


Thus  then  Minerva  : ‘ From  that  anxiou< 
breast 

Dismiss  those  cares,  and  leave  to  Heav’i 
the  rest. 

Our  task  be  now  thy  treasured  stores  tc 
save, 

Deep  in  the  close  recesses  of  the  cave  : 
Ihen  future  means  consult.’  She  spoke 
and  trod 

The  shady  grot,  that  brighten’d  with  the 
God. 

The  closest  caverns  of  the  grot  she  sought- 
Ihe  gold,  the  brass,  the  robes,  Ulysses 
brought;  J 

These  in  the  secret  gloom  the  Chief  disposed ; 
Ihe  entrance  with  a rock  the  Goddess 
closed. 

Now,  seated  in  the  olive’s  sacred  shade, 
Confer  the  Hero  and  the  Martial  Maid. 

The  Goddess  of  the  Azure  Eyes  began  • 
‘Son  of  Laertes!  much-experienc’d  man! 
The  suitor-train  thy  earliest  care  demand, 
Of  that  luxurious  race  to  rid  the  land:  430 
Three  years  thy  house  their  lawless  rule  has 
seen, 

And  proud  addresses  to  the  matchless 
Queen. 

But  she  thy  absence  mourns  from  day  to 
day, 

And  inly  bleeds,  and  silent  wastes  away  • 
Elusive  of  the  bridal  hour,  she  gives 
Fond  hopes  to  all,  and  all  with  hopes  de- 
ceives.’ 

To  this  Ulysses  : ‘ O celestial  Maid  ! 

Prais  d be  thy  counsel,  and  thy  timely 
aid : J 

Else  had  I seen  my  native  walls  in  vain, 

Like  great  Atrides,  just  restor’d  and  slain. 

V ouchsafe  the  means  of  vengeance  to  de- 
bate,  44I 

And  plan  with  all  thy  arts  the  scene  of 
fate. 

Then,  then  be  present,  and  my  soul  inspire, 
As  when  we  wrapp’d  Troy’s  Heav’n-built 
walls  in  fire. 

Though  leagued  against  me  hundred  heroes 
stand, 

Hundreds  shall  fall,  if  Pallas  aid  my  hand.’ 
She  answer’d  : ‘ In  the  dreadful  day  of 
fight 

Know  I am  with  thee,  strong  in  all  my 
might. 

If  thou  but  equal  to  thyself  be  found, 

What  gasping  numbers  then  shall  press  the 
ground ! 45<} 


THE  ODYSSEY  585 


What  human  victims  stain  the  feastful 
floor  ! 

How  wide  the  pavements  float  with  guilty 
gore  ! 

It  fits  thee  now  to  wear  a dark  disguise, 
And  secret  walk  unknown  to  mortal  eyes. 
For  this,  my  hand  shall  wither  ev’ry  grace, 
And  ev’ry  elegance  of  form  and  face; 

O’er  thy  smooth  skin  a bark  of  wrinkles 
spread, 

.Turn  hoar  the  auburn  honours  of  thy  head; 
Disfigure  every  limb  with  coarse  attire, 
Andm  thy  eyes  extinguish  all  the  fire;  460 
Add  all  the  wants  and  the  decays  of  life; 
Estrange  thee  from  thy  own;  thy  son,  thy 
wife  : 

From  the  loathed  object  ev’ry  eye  shall 
turn, 

And  the  blind  suitors  their  destruction 
scorn. 

< Go  first  the  master  of  thy  herds  to  find, 
True  to  his  charge,  a loyal  swain  and  kind: 
For  thee  he  sighs;  and  to  the  royal  heir 
And  chaste  Penelope  extends  his  care. 

At  the  Coracian  rock  he  now  resides, 
Where  Arethusa’s  sable  water  glides;  470 
The  sable  water  and  the  copious  mast 
> Swell  the  fat  herd  ; luxuriant,  large  re- 
past! 

With  him  rest  peaceful  in  the  rural  cell, 
Aud  all  you  ask  his  faithful  tongue  shall 
tell. 

Me  into  other  realms  my  cares  convey, 

To  Sparta,  still  with  female  beauty  gay: 
f For  know,  to  Sparta  thy  lov’d  offspring 
came, 

To  learn  thy  fortunes  from  the  voice  of 
Fame.’ 

At  this  the  father,  with  a father’s  care:  1 
1 ‘ Must  he  too  suffer  ? he,  O Goddess!  bear  i 
Of  wand’rings  and  of  woes  a wretched  f 
share  ? 481 J 

, Thro’  the  wild  ocean  plough  the  dangerous 
way, 

And  leave  his  fortunes  and  his  house  a 
prey  ? 

Why  would’st  not  thou,  O all-enlighten’d 
Mind! 

Inform  him  certain,  and  protect  him, 
kind  ? ’ 

To  whom  Minerva:  ‘ Be  thy  soul  at  rest: 
And  know,  whatever  Heav’n  ordains  is 
best. 

To  fame  I sent  him,  to  acquire  renown; 

To  other  regions  is  his  virtue  known: 


Secure  he  sits,  near  great  Atrides  placed:  490 
With  friendships  strengthen’d,  and  with 
honours  graced. 

But  lo!  an  ambush  waits  his  passage  o’er: 
Fierce  foes  insidious  intercept  the  shore: 

In  vain;  far  sooner  all  the  murd’rous  brood 
This  injured  land  shall  fatten  with  their 
blood.’ 

She  spake,  then  touch’d  him  with  her 
powerful  wand: 

The  skin  shrunk  up,  and  wither’d  at  her 
hand : 

A swift  old  age  o’er  all  his  members 
spread ; 

A sudden  frost  was  sprinkled  on  his  head; 
Nor  longer  in  the  heavy  eye-ball  shined  500 
The  glance  divine,  forth-beaming  from  the 
mind. 

His  robe,  which  spots  indelible  besmear, 

In  rags  dishonest  flutters  with  the  air: 

A stag’s  toru  hide  is  lapp’d  around  his 
reins; 

A rugged  staff  his  trembling  hand  sustains; 
And  at  his  side  a wretched  scrip  was  hung, 
Wide-patch’d,  and  knotted  to  a twisted 
thong. 

So  look’d  the  chief,  so  mov’d;  to  mortal 
eyes 

Object  uncouth!  a man  of  miseries! 

While  Pallas,  cleaving  the  wide  fields  of 
air,  5 10 

To  Sparta  flies,  Telemachus  her  care. 

BOOK  XIV 

THE  CONVERSATION  WITH  EUM^EUS 
THE  ARGUMENT 

Ulysses  arrives  in  disguise  at  the  house  of 
Eumseus,  where  he  is  received,  entertained, 
and  lodged  with  the  utmost  hospitality.  The 
several  discourses  of  that  faithful  old  servant, 
with  the  feigned  story  told  by  Ulysses  to 
conceal  himself,  and  other  conversations  on 
various  subjects,  take  up  this  entire  book. 

But  he,  deep-musing,  o’er  the  mountains 
stray’d 

Thro’  mazy  thickets  of  the  woodland 
shade, 

And  cavern’d  ways,  the  shaggy  coast 
along, 

With  cliffs  and  nodding  forests  overhung. 
Eumseus  at  his  sylvan  lodge  he  sought, 

A faithful  servant,  and  without  a fault. 


586 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


Ulysses  found  him  busied,  as  he  sate 
Before  the  threshold  of  his  rustic  gate: 
Around,  the  mansion  in  a circle  shone, 

A rural  portico  of  rugged  stone  10 

(In  absence  of  his  lord,  with  honest  toil 
His  own  industrious  hands  had  rais’d  the 
pile); 

The  wall  was  stone  from  neighb’ring  quar- 
ries borne, 

Encircled  with  a fence  of  native  thorn, 

And  strong  with  pales,  by  many  a weary 
stroke 

Of  stubborn  labour  hewn  from  heart  of 
oak; 

Frequent  and  thick.  Within  the  space 
were  rear’d 

Twelve  ample  cells,  the  lodgments  of  his 
herd. 

Full  fifty  pregnant  females  each  contain’d: 
The  males  without  (a  smaller  race)  re- 
main’d; 20 

Doom’d  to  supply  the  suitors’  wasteful 
feast, 

A stock  by  daily  luxury  decreas’d; 

Now  scarce  four  hundred  left.  These  to 
defend, 

Four  savage  dogs,  a watchful  guard,  attend. 
Here  sat  Eumseus,  and  his  cares  applied 
To  form  strong  buskins  of  well-season’d 
hide. 

Of  four  assistants  who  his  labour  share, 
Three  now  were  absent  on  the  rural  care: 
The  fourth  drove  victims  to  the  suitor 
train: 

But  he,  of  ancient  faith,  a simple  swain,  30 
Sigh’d,  while  he  furnish’d  the  luxurious 
board, 

And  wearied  Heav’n  with  wishes  for  his 
lord. 

Soon  as  Ulysses  near  th’  inclosure  drew, 
With  open  mouths  the  furious  mastiffs 
flew: 

Down  sate  the  sage,  and,  cautious  to  with- 
stand, 

Let  fall  th’  offensive  truncheon  from  bis 
hand. 

Sudden,  the  master  runs:  aloud  he  calls; 
And  from  his  hasty  hand  the  leather  falls; 
With  showers  of  stones  he  drives  them  far 
away; 

The  scatt’ring  dogs  around  at  distance 
bay.  4o 

‘ Unhappy  stranger  ’ (thus  the  faithful 
swain 

Began  with  accent  gracious  and  humane), 


‘What  sorrow  had  been  mine,  if  at  my 
gate 

Thy  rev ’rend  age  had  met  a shameful 
fate! 

Enough  of  woes  already  have  I known: 
Enough  my  master’s  sorrows  and  my  own. 
While  here  (ungrateful  task!)  his  herds  I 
feed, 

Ordain’d  for  lawless  rioters  to  bleed  ! 
Perhaps,  supported  at  another’s  board, 

Far  from  his  country  roams  my  hapless 

lord!  so 

Or  sigh’d  in  exile  forth  his  latest  breath, 
Now  cover’d  with  th’  eternal  shade  of 


death! 

‘ But  enter  this  my  homely  roof,  and  see 
Our  woods  not  void  of  hospitality. 

Then  tell  me  whence  thou  art,  and  what  the 
share 

Of  woes  and  wand’rings  thou  wert  born  to 
bear.’ 


He  said,  and,  seconding  the  kind  re- 
quest, 

With  friendly  step  precedes  his  unknown 
guest. 

A shaggy  goat’s  soft  hide  beneath  him 
spread, 

And  with  fresh  rushes  heap’d  an  ample 
bed : 6o 

Joy  touch’d  the  Hero’s  tender  soul,  to  find 

So  just  reception  from  a heart  so  kind; 

And  ‘ Oh,  ye  Gods!  with  all  your  blessings 
grace  ’ 

(He  thus  broke  forth)  'this  friend  of  hu- 
man race!’ 


The  swain  replied:  ‘It  never  was  our 
guise 

To  slight  the  poor,  or  aught  humane  de- 
spise: 

For  Jove  unfolds  our  hospitable  door, 

’T  is  Jove  that  sends  the  stranger  and  the 
poor. 

Little,  alas!  is  all  the  good  I can; 

A man  oppress’d,  dependent,  yet  a man:  70 

Accept  such  treatment  as  a swain  affords, 

Slave  to  the  insolence  of  youthful  lords! 

Far  hence  is  by  unequal  Gods  remov’d 

That  man  of  bounties,  loving  and  belov’d! 

To  whom  whate’er  his  slave  enjoys  is  ow’d, 

And  more,  had  Fate  allow’d,  had  been  be- 
stow’d. 

But  Fate  comdemn’d  him  to  a foreign 
shore ; 

Much  have  I sorrow’d,  but  my  master 
more. 


THE  ODYSSEY 


587 


Jow  cold  he  lies,  to  Death’s  embrace  re- 
sign’d: 

ih,  perish  Helen!  perish  all  her  kind!  80 
'or  whose  curs’d  cause,  in  Agamemnon’s 
name, 

le  trod  so  fatally  the  paths  of  Fame.’ 

His  vest  succinct  then  girding  round  his 
waist, 

1'orth  rush’d  the  swain  with  hospitable 
haste ; 

Straight  to  the  lodgments  of  his  herd  he 
run, 

Vhere  the  fat  porkers  slept  beneath  the 
sun; 

)f  two,  his  cutlass  launch’d  the  spouting 
blood ; 

?hese,  quarter’d,  singed,  and  fix’d  on  forks 
of  wood, 

ill  hasty  on  the  hissing  coals  he  threw; 
ind,  smoking,  back  the  tasteful  viands 
drew,  9° 

Iroachers  and  all;  then  on  the  board  dis- 
play’d 

Jie  ready  meal,  before  Ulysses  laid 
Vith  flour  imbro wn’d;  next  mingled  wine 
yet  new, 

Lnd  luscious  as  the  bees’  nectareous  dew: 
Chen  sate,  companion  of  the  friendly  feast, 
Vith  open  look;  and  thus  bespoke  his 
guest: 

‘ Take  with  free  welcome  what  our  hands 
prepare, 

>uch  food  as  falls  to  simple  servants’ 
share; 

Che  best  our  lords  consume;  those  thought- 
less peers,  99 

lich  without  bounty,  guilty  without  fears, 
fet  sure  the  Gods  their  impious  acts  de- 
1 test, 

\md  honour  justice  and  the  righteous 
breast. 

3irates  and  conquerors  of  harden’d  mind, 
Che  foes  of  peace,  and  scourges  of  man- 
• kind, 

To  whom  offending  men  are  made  a prey 
Vhen  Jove  in  vengeance  gives,  a land 
away; 

5v’n  these,  when  of  their  ill-got  spoils  pos- 
sess’d, 

[ind  sure  tormentors  in  the  guilty  breast: 
Some  voice  of  God  close  wliisp’ring  from 
within,  109 

‘ Wretch!  this  is  villany,  and  this  is  sin.” 
But  these,  no  doubt,  some  oracle  explore, 
That  tells,  the  great  Ulysses  is  no  more. 


Hence  springs  their  confidence,  and  from 
our  sighs 

Their  rapine  strengthens,  and  their  riots 
rise : 

Constant  as  Jove  the  night  and  day  be- 
stows, 

Bleeds  a whole  hecatomb,  a vintage  flows. 
Noue  match’d  this  hero’s  wealth,  of  all  who 
reign 

O’er  the  fair  islands  of  the  neighb’ring 
main. 

Nor  all  the  Monarchs  whose  far-dreaded 
sway 

The  wide-extended  continents  obey:  120 

First,  on  the  mainland,  of  Ulysses’  breed 
Twelve  herds,  twelve  flocks,  on  ocean’s 
margin  feed ; 

As  many  stalls  for  shaggy  goats  are  rear’d; 
As  many  lodgments  for  the  tusky  herd; 
Those,  foreign  keepers  guard : and  here  are 
seen 

Twelve  herds  of  goats  that  graze  our  ut- 
most green; 

To  native  pastors  is  their  charge  assign’d, 
And  mine  the  care  to  feed  the  bristly  kind: 
Each  day  the  fattest  bleeds  of  either  herd, 
All  to  the  suitors’  wasteful  board  pre- 
ferr’d.’  i;o 

Thus  he,  benevolent:  his  unknown  guest ) 
With  hunger  keen  devours  the  sav’ry 
feast ; > 

While  schemes  of  vengeance  ripen  In  his 
breast.  J 

Silent  and  thoughtful  while  the  board  he 
eyed, 

Eumaeus  pours  on  high  the  purple  tide; 

The  King  with  smiling  looks  his  joy  ex- 
press’d, 

And  thus  the  kind  inviting  host  address’d: 

‘ Say,  now,  what  man  is  he,  the  man  de- 
plor’d, 

So  rich,  so  potent,  whom  you  style  your 
lord? 

Late  with  such  affluence  and  possessions 
bless’ d,  140 

And  now  in  honour’s  glorious  bed  at  rest. 
Whoever  was  the  warrior,  he  must  be 
To  Fame  no  stranger,  nor  perhaps  to  me; 
Who  (so  the  Gods  and  so  the  Fates  or- 
dain’d) 

Have  wander’d  many  a sea  and  many  a 
land.’ 

‘ Small  is  the  faith  the  Prince  and  Queen 
ascribe  ’ 

I (Replied  Eumseus)  ‘ to  the  wand’ring  tribe. 


583 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


For  needy  strangers  still  to  flatt’ry  fly, 

And  want  too  oft  betrays  the  tongue  to 

149 

Each  vagrant  traveller,  that  touches  here, 
Deludes  with  fallacies  the  royal  ear, 

To  dear  remembrance  makes  his  image 
rise, 

And  calls  the  springing  sorrows  from  her 
eyes. 

Such  thou  may’st  be.  But  he  whose  name 
you  crave 

Moulders  in  earth,  or  welters  on  the  wave, 
Or  food  for  fish  or  dogs  his  relics  lie, 

Or  torn  by  birds  are  scatter’d  thro’  the 
sky. 

So  perish’d  he:  and  left  (for  ever  lost) 
Much  woe  to  all,  but  sure  to  me  the  most. 
So  mild  a master  never  shall  I find;  160 
Less  dear  the  parents  whom  I left  behind, 
Less  soft  my  mother,  less  my  father  kind. 
Not  with  such  transport  would  my  eyes  run 
o’er, 

Again  to  hail  them  in  their  native  shore, 

As  lov’d  Ulysses  once  more  to  embrace, 
Restor’d  and  breathing  in  his  natal  place. 
That  name  for  ever  dread,  yet  ever  dear, 
Ev’n  in  his  absence  1 pronounce  with 
fear: 

In  my  respect,  he  bears  a Prince’s  part; 

But  lives  a very  brother  in  my  heart.’  170 
Thus  spoke  the  faithful  swain,  and  thus 
rejoin’d 

The  master  of  his  grief,  the  man  of  patient 
mind: 

* Ulysses’  friend  shall  view  his  old  abodes 
(Distrustful  as  thou  art),  nor  doubt  the 
Gods. 

Nor  speak  I rashly,  but  with  faith  averr’d, 
And  what  I speak  attesting  Heav’n  has 
heard. 

If  so,  a cloak  and  vesture  be  my  meed; 

Till  his  return,  no  title  shall  I plead, 

Tho’  certain  be  my  news,  and  great  my 
need ; 

Whom  want  itself  can  force  untruths  to 
tell,  jgo 

My  soul  detests  him  as  the  gates  of  Hell. 

‘ Thou  first  be  witness,  hospitable  Jove  ! 
And  ev’ry  God  inspiring  social  love  ! 

And  witness  ev’ry  household  Power  that 
waits, 

Guard  of  these  fires,  and  angel  of  these 
gates ! 

Ere  the  next  moon  increase,  or  this  decay, 
His  ancient  realms  Ulysses  shall  survey, 


In  blood  and  dust  each  proud  oppressor 
mourn, 

And  the  lost  glories  of  his  house  return.’ 

‘ Nor  shall  that  meed  be  thine,  nor  ever- 
more I9t 

Shall  lov’d  Ulysses  hail  this  happy  shore  ’ 
(Replied  Eumseus):  ‘ to  the  present  hour 
Now  turn  thy  thought,  and  joys  within  our 
power. 

From  sad  reflection  let  my  soul  repose; 

The  name  of  him  awakes  a thousand 
woes. 

But  guard  him,  Gods  ! and  to  these  arms 
restore  ! 

Not  his  true  consort  can  desire  him  more; 
Not  old  Laertes,  broken  with  despair; 

Not  young  Telemachus,  his  blooming  heir. 
Alas,  Telemachus  ! my  sorrows  flow  2cx 
Afresh  for  thee,  my  second  cause  of  woe  ! 
Like  some  fair  plant  set  by  a heav’nly 
hand, 

He  grew,  he  flourish’d,  and  he  bless’d  the 
land; 

In  all  the  youth  his  father’s  image  shined, 
Bright  in  his  person,  brighter  in  his  mind. 
What  man,  or  God,  deceiv’d  his  better 
sense, 

Far  on  the  swelling  seas  to  wander  hence  ? 
To  distant  Pylos  hapless  is  he  gope, 

To  seek  his  father’s  fate,  and  find  his 
own  ! 

For  traitors  wait  his  way,  with  dire  de- 
sign 210 

To  end  at  once  the  great  Arcesian  line. 

But  let  us  leave  him  to  their  wills  above; 
The  fates  of  men  are  in  the  hand  of  Jove. 
And  now,  my  venerable  Guest  ! declare 
Your  name,  your  parents,  and  your  native 
air: 

Sincere  from  whence  begun  your  course  re- 
late, 

And  to  what  ship  I owe  the  friendly 
freight  ? ’ 

Thus  he:  and  thus  (with  prompt  inven- 
tion bold) 

The  cautious  Chief  his  ready  story  told: 

‘ On  dark  reserve  what  better  can  pre- 
vail, 220 

Or  from  the  fluent  tongue  produce  the 
tale, 

Than  when  two  friends,  alone,  in  peace-) 
ful  place 

Confer,  and  wines  and  cates  the  table  >• 
grace;  I 

But  most,  the  kind  inviter’s  cheerful  face? J 


THE  ODYSSEY 


589 


Thus  might  we  sit,  with  social  goblets 
crown’d, 

Till  the  whole  circle  of  the  year  goes 
round; 

Not  the  whole  circle  of  the  year  would 
close 

My  long  narration  of  a life  of  woes. 

But  such  was  Heav’n’s  high  will  ! Know 
then,  I came 

From  sacred  Crete,  and  from  a sire  of 
fame:  230 

Castor  Hylacides  (that  name  he  bore),  1 
Belov’d  and  honour’d  in  his  native  shore;  > 
Bless’d  in  his  riches,  in  his  children  more,  j 
Sprung  of  a handmaid,  from  a bought  em- 
brace, 

I shared  his  kindness  with  his  lawful  race: 
But  when  that  Fate,  which  all  must  un- 
dergo, 

From  earth  remov’d  him  to  the  shades 
below, 

The  large  domain  his  greedy  sons  divide, 
And  each  was  portion’d  as  the  lots  decide. 
Little,  alas  ! was  left  my  wretched 
share,  240 

Except  a house,  a covert  from  the  air: 

But  what  by  niggard  Fortune  was  denied, 
A willing  widow’s  copious  wealth  supplied. 
My  valour  was  my  plea,  a gallant  mind  j 
'That,  true  to  honour,  never  lagg’d  behind  >- 
(The  sex  is  ever  to  a soldier  kind).  J 
Now  wasting  years  my  former  strength 
confound, 

And  added  woes  have  bow’d  me  to  the 
ground; 

Yet  by  the  stubble  you  may  guess  the 
grain, 

And  mark  the  ruins  of  no  vulgar  man.  250 
Me  Pallas  gave  to  lead  the  martial  storm, 
And  the  fair  ranks  of  battle  to  deform; 

Me  Mars  inspired  to  turn  the  foe  to 
flight, 

And  tempt  the  secret  ambush  of  the 
night- 

Let  ghastly  Death  in  all  his  forms  ap- 
pear, 

I saw  him  not,  it  was  not  mine  to  fear. 
^Before  the  rest  I rais’d  my  ready  steel; 

The  first  I met,  he  yielded,  or  he  fell. 

But  works  of  peace  my  soul  disdain’d  to 
bear, 

The  rural  labour,  or  domestic  care.  260 
To  raise  the  mast,  the  missile  dart  to  wing, 
And  send  swift  arrows  from  the  bounding 
string, 


Were  arts  the  Gods  made  grateful  to  my  ' 
mind; 

Those  Gods,  who  turn  (to  various  ends 
design’d) 

The  various  thoughts  and  talents  of  man- 
kind. 

Before  the  Grecians  touch’d  the  Trojan 
plain, 

Nine  times  commander  or  by  land  or  main, 
I11  foreign  fields  I spread  my  glory  far, 
Great  in  the  praise,  rich  in  the  spoils  of 
war: 

Thence,  charged  with  riches,  as  increas’d 
in  fame,  270 

To  Crete  return’d,  an  honourable  name. 
But  when  great  Jove  that  direful  war  de- 
creed, 

Which  rous’d  all  Greece,  and  made  the 
mighty  bleed; 

Our  states  myself  and  Idomen  employ 
To  lead  their  fleets,  and  carr}r  death  to  Troy. 
Nine  years  we  warr’d;  the  tenth  saw  Ilion 
fall; 

Homeward  we  sail’d,  but  Heav’n  dispers’d 
us  all. 

One  only  month  my  wife  enjoy’d  my  stay; 
So  will’d  the  God  who  gives  and  takes 
away. 

Nine  ships  I mann’d,  equipp’d  with  ready 
stores,  280 

Intent  to  voyage  to  th’  ^Egyptian  shores; 

In  feast  and  sacrifice  my  chosen  train 
Six  days  consumed;  the  sev’nth  we  plough’d 
the  main. 

Crete’s  ample  fields  diminish  to  our  eye; 
Before  the  Boreal  blast  the  vessels  fly; 

Safe  thro’  the  level  seas  we  sweep  our 
way; 

The  steersman  governs,  and  the  ships  obey. 
The  fifth  fair  morn  we  stem  th’  ^Egyptian 
tide, 

And  tilting  o’er  the  bay  the  vessels  ride: 
To  anchor  there  my  fellows  I command,  290 
And  spies  commission  to  explore  the  land. 
But,  sway’d  by  lust  of  gain,  and  headlong 
will, 

The  coasts  they  ravage,  and  the  natives 
kill. 

The  spreading  clamour  to  their  city  flies, 
And  horse  and  foot  in  mingled  tumult 
rise. 

The  redd’ning  dawn  reveals  the  circling 
fields, 

Horrid  with  bristly  spears,  and  glancing 
shields. 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


590 


Jove  thunder’d  on  their  side.  Our  guilty ' 
head 

We  turn’d  to  flight;  the  gathering  ven- 
geance spread 

On  all  parts  round,  and  heaps  on  heaps 
lie  dead.  300 

I then  explor’d  my  thought,  what  course  to 
prove 

(And  sure  the  thought  was  dictated  by 
Jove); 

Oh,  had  he  left  me  to  that  happier  doom, 
And  saved  a life  of  miseries  to  come  ! 

The  radiant  helmet  from  my  brows  un- 
laced, 

And  low  on  earth  my  shield  and  jav’lin 
cast, 

I meet  the  Monarch  with  a suppliant’s 
face, 

Approach  his  chariot,  and  his  knees  em- 
brace. 

He  heard,  he  saved,  he  placed  me  at  his 
side; 

My  state  he  pitied,  and  my  tears  he 
dried,  3IO 

Restrain’d  the  rage  the  vengeful  foe  ex- 
press’d, 

And  turn’d  the  deadly  weapons  from  my 
breast. 

Pious  ! to  guard  the  hospitable  rite, 

And  fearing  Jove,  whom  mercy’s  works  de- 
light. 

‘ In  iEgypt  thus  with  peace  and  plenty 
bless’d, 

I liv’d  (and  happy  still  had  liv’d)  a guest. 
On  sev’11  bright  years  successive  blessings 
wait; 

The  next  changed  all  the  colour  of  my  fate. 
A false  Phoenician,  of  insidious  mind,  319 
Vers’d  in  vile  arts,  and  foe  to  humankind, 
With  semblance  fair  invites  me  to  his 
home. 

I seiz’d  the  proffer  (ever  fond  to  roam): 
Domestic  in  his  faithless  roof  I stay’d, 

Till  the  swift  sun  his  annual  circle  made. 

To  Libya  then  he  meditates  the  way ; 

With  guileful  art  a stranger  to  betray, 

And  sell  to  bondage  in  a foreign  land: 

Much  doubting,  yet  compell’d,  I quit  the 
strand. 

Thro’  the  mid  seas  the  nimble  pinnace 
sails, 

Aloof  from  Crete,  before  the  northern 
gales:  33o 

But  when  remote  her  chalky  cliffs  we  lost, 
And  far  from  ken  of  any  other  coast, 


When  all  was  wild  expanse  of  sea  and  air 
Then  doom’d  high  Jove  due  vengeance  t 
prepare. 

He  hung  a night  of  horrors  o’er  their  head 
(The  shaded  ocean  blacken’d  as  it  spread) 
He  launch’d  the  fiery  bolt;  from  pole  t 
pole 

Broad  burst  the  lightnings,  deep  the  thuii 
ders  roll ; 

In  giddy  rounds  the  whirling  ship  is  toss’d 
And  all  in  clouds  of  smoth’ring  sulphu 
iost.  34 

As  from  a hanging  rock’s  tremendou 
height, 

The  sable  crows  with  intercepted  flight 
Drop  endlong;  scarr’d  and  black  with  sul 
phurous  hue, 

So  from  the  deck  are  hurl’d  the  ghastb 
crew. 

Such  end  the  wicked  found  ! but  Jove’; 
intent 

Was  yet  to  save  tli’  oppress’d  and  innocent 
Placed  on  the  mast  (the  last  resource  o 
life), 

With  winds  and  waves  I held  unequal 
strife; 

For  nine  long  days  the  billows  tilting  o’er 
The  tenth  soft  wafts  me  to  Thesprotia’: 

shore.  35 

The  Monarch’s  son  a shipwreck’d  wretcl 
reliev’d, 

The  Sire  with  hospitable  rites  receiv’d, 
And  in  his  palace  like  a brother  placed, 
With  gifts  of  price  and  gorgeous  garments 
graced. 

While  here  I sojourn’d,  oft  I heard  tin 
fame 

How  late  Ulysses  to  the  country  came, 
How  lov’d,  how  honour’d,  in  this  court  h« 
stay’d, 

And  here  his  whole  collected  treasure 
laid; 

I saw  myself  the  vast  unnumber’d  store 
Of  steel  elab’rate,  and  refulgent  ore,  36c 
And  brass  high  heap’d  amidst  the  regal 
dome; 

Immense  supplies  for  ages  yet  to  come  ! 
Meantime  he  voyaged  to  explore  the  will 
Of  Jove,  on  high  Dodona’s  holy  hill, 

What  means  might  best  his  safe  return 
avail, 

To  come  in  pomp,  or  bear  a secret  sail  ? 
Full  oft  has  Phidon,  whilst  he  pour’d  the 
wine, 

Attesting  solemn  all  the  Powers  divine, 


THE  ODYSSEY 


59i 


That  soon  Ulysses  would  return,  declared, 
The  sailors  waiting,  and  the  ships  pre- 
pared. 370 

But  first  the  King  dismiss’d  me  from  his 
shores, 

For  fair  Dulichium  crowu’d  with  fruitful 
stores; 

To  good  Acastus’  friendly  care  consign’d: 
But  other  counsels  pleas’d  the  sailors’  mind: 
New  frauds  were  plotted  by  the  faithless 
train, 

And  misery  demands  me  once  again. 

Soon  as  remote  from  shore  they  plough  the 
wave, 

With  ready  hands  they  rush  to  seize  their 
slave; 

Then  with  these  tatter’d  rags  they  wrapp’d 
me  round 

(Stripp’d  of  my  own),  and  to  the  vessel 
bound.  380 

At  eve,  at  Ithaca’s  delightful  land 
The  ship  arrived:  forth  issuing  on  the  sand, 
They  sought  repast:  while,  to  th’  unhappy 
kind, 

The  pitying  Gods  themselves  my  chains  un- 
bind. 

Soft  I descended,  to  the  sea  applied 
My  naked  breast,  and  shot  along  the  tide. 
Soon  pass’d  beyond  their  sight,  I left  the 
flood. 

And  took  the  spreading  shelter  of  the  wood. 
Their  prize  escaped  the  faithless  pirates 
mourn’d; 

But  deem’d  inquiry  vain,  and  to  their  ships 
return’d.  390 

Screen’d  by  protecting  Gods  from  hostile 
eyes, 

They  led  me  to  a good  man  and  a wise, 

To  live  beneath  thy  hospitable  care, 

And  wait  the  woes  Heav’n  dooms  me  yet 
to  bear.’ 

* Unhappy  Guest ! whose  sorrows  touch 
my  mind  ’ 

(Thus  good  Eumseus  with  a sigh  rejoin’d), 
‘ For  real  suff ’rings  since  I grieve  sincere, 
Check  not  with  fallacies  the  springing  tear: 
Nor  turn  the  passion  into  groundless  joy 
For  him  whom  Heav’n  has  destin’d  to  de- 
stroy. 400 

Oh  ! had  he  perish’d  on  some  well-fought 
day, 

Or  in  his  friends’  embraces  died  away  ! 
That  grateful  Greece  with  streaming  eyes 
might  raise 

Historic  marbles  to  record  his  praise; 


His  praise,  eternal  on  the  faithful  stone, 
Had  with  transmissive  honours  graced  his 
sou. 

Now,  snatch’d  by  Harpies  to  the  dreary 
coast, 

Sunk  is  the  hero,  and  his  glory  lost  1 
While  pensive  in  this  solitary  den,  409 
Far  from  gay  cities  and  the  ways  of  men, 

I linger  life;  nor  to  the  Court  repair, 

But  when  my  constant  Queen  commands 
my  care; 

Or  when,  to  taste  her  hospitable  board, 
Some  guest  arrives,  with  rumours  of  her 
lord; 

And  these  indulge  their  want,  and  those 
their  woe, 

And  here  the  tears,  and  there  the  goblets 
flow. 

By  many  such  have  I been  warn’d;  but 
chief 

By  one  iEtolian  robb’d  of  all  belief, 

Whose  hap  it  was  to  this  our  roof  to  roam, 
For  murder  banish’d  from  his  native  home, 
He  swore,  Ulysses  on  the  coast  of  Crete  421 
Stay’d  but  a season  to  refit  his  fleet; 

A few  revolving  months  should  waft  him 
o’er, 

Fraught  with  bold  warriors,  and  a bound- 
less store. 

O thou  ! whom  age  has  taught  to  under- 
stand, 

And  Heav’n  has  guided  with  a fav’ring 
hand  ! 

On  God  or  mortal  to  obtrude  a lie 
Forbear,  and  dread  to  flatter,  as  to  die. 

Not  for  such  ends  my  house  and  heart  are 
free, 

But  dear  respect  to  Jove,  and  charity.’  430 
‘ And  why,  O swain  of  unbelieving  mind  ! ’ 
(Thus  quick  replied  the  wisest  of  man- 
kind), 

‘ Doubt  you  my  oath  ? yet  more  my  faith  "| 
to  try, 

A solemn  compact  let  us  ratify,  V 

And  witness  ev’ry  Power  that  rules  the 

sky  ! _ J 

If  here  Ulysses  from  his  labours  rest, 

Be  then  my  prize  a tunic  and  a vest; 

And,  where  my  hopes  invite  me,  straight 
transport 

In  safety  to  Dulichium’s  friendly  court. 

But  if  he  greets  not  thy  desiring  eye,  440) 
Hurl  me  from  yon  dread  precipice  on  I 
high;  [ 

The  due  reward  of  fraud  and  perjury.’  J 


592 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


‘ Doubtless,  O Guest ! great  laud  and 
praise  were  mine  ’ 

(Replied  the  swain),  5 for  spotless  faith 
divine, 

If,  after  social  rites  and  gifts  bestow’d, 

I stain’d  my  hospitable  hearth  with  blood. 
How  would  the  Gods  my  righteous  toils 
succeed, 

And  bless  the  hand  that  made  a stranger 
bleed  ? 

No  more  — tli’  approaching  hours  of  silent 
night 

First  claim  refection,  then  to  rest  invite;  450 
Beneath  our  humble  cottage  let  us  haste, 
And  here,  unenvied,  rural  dainties  taste.’ 

Thus  communed  these;  while  to  their 
lowly  dome 

The  full-fed  swine  return’d  with  ev’uing 
home : 

Compell’d,  reluctant,  to  their  sev’ral  sties, 
With  din  obstrep’rous,  and  ungrateful  cries. 
Then  to  the  slaves:  ‘Now  from  the  herd 
the  best 

Select,  in  honour  of  our  foreign  guest: 
With  him  let  us  the  genial  banquet  share, 
For  great  and  many  are  the  griefs  we  bear; 
While  those  who  from  our  labours  heap 
their  board  461 

Blaspheme  their  feeder,  and  forget  their 
lord,’ 

Thus  speaking,  with  despatchful  hand 
he  took 

A weighty  axe,  and  cleft  the  solid  oak; 

This  on  the  earth  he  piled;  a boar  full  fed. 
Of  five  years’  age,  before  the  pile  was  led: 
The  swain,  whom  acts  of  piety  delight. 
Observant  of  the  Gods,  begins  the  rite; 
First  shears  the  forehead  of  the  bristly  ) 
boar, 

And  suppliant  stands,  invoking  ev’ry  >- 
Power  47o 

To  speed  Ulysses  to  his  native  shore,  J 
A knotty  stake  then  aiming  at  his  head, 
Down  dropp’d  he  groaning,  and  the  spirit 
fled. 

The  scorching  flames  climb  round  on  ev’ry 
side: 

Then  the  singed  members  they  with  skill 
divide; 

On  these,  in  rolls  of  fat  involv’d  with  art, 
The  choicest  morsels  lay  from  ev’ry  part. 
Some  in  the  flames  bestrew’d  with  flour 
they  threw; 

Some  cut  in  fragments  from  the  forks  they 

drew : 479 


These,  while  on  sev’ral  tables  they  dispose, 
A priest  himself,  the  blameless  rustic  rose; 
Expert  the  destin’d  victim  to  dispart 
In  sev’n  just  portions,  pure  of  hand  and 
heart. 

One  sacred  to  the  Nymphs  apart  they  lay; 
Another  to  the  winged  son  of  May: 

The  rural  tribe  in  common  share  the  rest, 
The  King,  the  chine,  the  honour  of  the 
feast  ; 

Who  sate  delighted  at  his  servant’s  board; 
The  faithful  servant  joy’d  his  unknown 
lord.  489 

‘ 0 be  thou  dear’  (Ulysses  cried)  ‘ to  Jove, 
As  well  thou  claim’st  a grateful  stranger’s 
love  ! ’ 

‘ Be  then  thy  thanks’  (the  bounteous 
swain  replied) 

‘ Enjoyment  of  the  good  the  Gods  provide. 
From  God’s  own  hand  descend  our  joys  and 
woes; 

These  he  decrees,  and  he  but  suffers  those: 
All  power  is  his,  and  whatsoe’er  he  wills, 
The  will  itself,  omnipotent,  fulfils.’ 

This  said,  the  first-fruits  to  the  Gods  he 
gave; 

Then  pour’d  of  offer’d  wine  the  sable  wave: 
In  great  Ulysses’  hand  he  placed  the  bowl; 
He  sate,  and  sweet  refection  cheer’d  his 

SOUL  501 

The  bread  from  canisters  Mesanlius  gave 
(Eumseus’  proper  treasure  bought  this  slave, 
And  led  from  Taphos,  to  attend  his  board, 
A servant  added  to  his  absent  lord); 

His  task  it  was  the  wheaten  loaves  to  lay, 
And  from  the  banquet  take  the  bowls 
away. 

And  now  the  rage  of  hunger  was  repress’d, 
And  each  betakes  him  to  his  couch  to  rest. 

Now  came  the  night,  and  darkness 
cover’d  o’er  510 

The  face  of  things;  the  winds  began  to 
roar ; 

The  driving  storm  the  wat’ry  west-wind 
pours, 

And  Jove  descends  in  deluges  of  showers. 
Studious  of  rest  and  warmth,  Ulysses  lies, 
Foreseeing  from  the  first  the  storm  would 
rise; 

In  mere  necessity  of  coat  and  cloak, 

With  artful  preface  to  his  host  he  spoke: 

‘ Hear  me,  my  friends,  who  this  good  ban- 
quet grace; 

’T  is  sweet  to  play  the  fool  in  time  and 
place, 


THE  ODYSSEY 


593 


Ind  wine  can  of  their  wits  the  wise  be- 
guile, 520 

vlake  the  sage  frolic,  and  the  serious  smile, 
Hie  grave  in  merry  measures  frisk  about, 
Ind  many  a long  repented  word  bring 
out. 

Since  to  be  talkative  I now  commence, 

^et  Wit  cast  off  the  sullen  yoke  of  Sense. 
Once  I was  strong  (would  Heav’n  restore 
those  days  !) 

^nd  with  my  betters  claim’d  a share  of 
praise. 

Jlysses,  Menelaxis,  led  forth  a band, 

\.nd  join’d  me  with  them  (’t  was  their  own 
command) ; 

A deathful  ambush  for  the  foe  to  lay,  530 
3eneatli  Troy  walls  by  night  we  took  our 
way; 

There,  clad  in  arms,  along  the  marshes 
spread, 

We  made  the  ozier-fringed  bank  our  bed. 
Full  soon  th’  inclemency  of  Heav’n  I feel, 
Sor  had  these  shoulders  cov’ring,  but  of 
steel. 

Sharp  blew  the  north;  snow  whitening  all 
the  fields 

Froze  with  the  blast,  and,  gath’ring,  glazed 
our  shields. 

There  all  but  I,  well-fenc’d  with  cloak  and 
vest,  538 

Lay  cover’d  by  their  ample  shields  at  rest. 
Fool  that  I was  ! 1 left  behind  my  own, 

The  skill  of  weather  and  of  winds  un- 
known, 

And  trusted  to  my  coat  and  shield  alone  ! 
When  now  was  wasted  more  than  half  the 
night, 

And  the  stars  faded  at  approaching  light, 
Sudden  I jogg’d  Ulysses,  who  was  laid 
Fast  by  my  side,  and  shiv’ring  thus  I said: 

‘“Here  longer  in  this  field  I cannot  lie; 
The  winter  pinches,  and  with  cold  I die; 
And  die  ashamed  (O  wisest  of  mankind  !), 
The  only  fool  who  left  his  cloak  behind.”  550 
‘ He  thought  and  answer’d;  hardly  wak- 
ing yet, 

Sprung  in  his  mind  the  momentary  wit 
(That  wit  which,  or  in  council  or  in  fight, 
Still  met  th’  emergence,  and  determin’d 
right). 

“ Hush  thee  ” (he  cried,  soft  whisp’ring  in 
my  ear), 

“ Speak  not  a word,  lest  any  Greek  may 
hear  ” — 

And  then  (supporting  on  his  arm  his  head), 


“ Hear  me,  Companions  1 ” (thus  aloud  he 
said): 

“ Metliinks  too  distant  from  the  fleet  we  ) 
lie: 

Ev’11  now  a vision  stood  before  my  eye,  560  > 
And  sure  the  warning  vision  was  from 

high : J 

Let  from  among  us  some  swift  courier  rise, 
Haste  to  the  Gen’ral,  and  demand  supplies.” 

‘ Up  started  Thoas  straight,  Andrsemon’s 
son, 

Nimbly  he  rose,  and  cast  his  garment  down; 
Instant,  the  racer  vanish’d  off  the  ground; 
That  instant  in  his  cloak  I wrapp’d  me 
round; 

And  safe  I slept,  till,  brightly  dawning, 
shone 

The  Morn  conspicuous  on  her  golden 
throne. 

‘ Oh  were  my  strength  as  then,  as  then 
my  age  ! 570 

Some  friend  would  fence  me  from  the 
winter’s  rage. 

Yet,  tatter’d  as  I look,  I challenged  then 
The  honours  and  the  offices  of  men: 

Some  master,  or  some  servant  would  allow 
A cloak  and  vest  — but  I am  nothing  now  ! ’ 

‘ Well  hast  thou  spoke’  (rejoin’d  th’  at* 
tentive  swain); 

‘ Thy  lips  let  fall  no  idle  word  or  vain  ! 

Nor  garment  shall  thou  want,  nor  aught 
beside, 

Meet  for  the  wand’ring  suppliant  to  pro- 
vide. 579 

But  in  the  morning  take  thy  clothes  again, 
For  here  one  vest  suffices  ev’ry  swain; 

No  change  of  garments  to  our  hinds  is 
known; 

But  when  return’d,  the  good  Ulysses’  son 
With  better  hand  shall  grace  with  fit  at- 
tires 

His  guest,  and  send  thee  where  thy  soul 
desires.’ 

The  honest  herdsman  rose,  as  this  he  said, 
And  drew  before  the  hearth  the  stranger’s 
bed; 

The  fleecy  spoils  of  sheep,  a goat’s  rough 
hide 

He  spreads:  and  adds  a mantle  thick  and 
wide : 589 

With  store  to  heap  above  him,  and  below, 
And  guard  each  quarter  as  the  tempests 
blow. 

There  lay  the  King,  and  all  the  rest  supine; 
All,  but  the  careful  master  of  the  swine: 


594 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


Forth  hasted  he  to  tend  his  bristly  care; 

W 11  arm’d,  and  fenc’d  against  nocturnal 
air: 

His  weighty  faulchion  o’er  his  shoulder 
tied; 

His  shaggy  cloak  a mountain  goat  sup- 
plied: 

With  his  broad  spear,  the  dread  of  dogs 
and  men, 

He  seeks  his  lodging  in  the  rocky  den.  599 

I here  to  the  tusky  herd  he  bends  his  way, 

Where,  screen’d  from  Boreas,  high  o’er- 
arch’d  they  lay. 


BOOK  XV 

THE  RETURN  OF  TELEMACHUS 
ARGUMENT 

The  Goddess  Minerva  commands  Telemachus 
in  a vision  to  return  to  Ithaca.  Pisistratus 
and  he  take  leave  of  Menelaiis,  and  arrive  at 
Pylos,  where  they  part ; Telemachus  sets 
sail,  after  having  received  on  board  Theo- 
clymenus  the  soothsayer.  The  scene  then 
changes  to  the  cottage  of  Eumseus,  who  en- 
tertains Ulysses  with  a recital  of  his  adven- 
tures. In  the  meantime  Telemachus  arrives 
on  the  coast,  and,  sending  the  vessel  to  the 
town,  proceeds  by  himself  to  the  lodge  of  Eu- 
mseus. 

Now  had  Minerva  reach’d  those  ample 
plains, 

Famed  for  the  dance,  where  Menelaiis 
reigns; 

Anxious  she  flies  to  great  Ulysses’  heir, 

His  instant  voyage  challenged  all  her  care. 

Beneath  the  royal  portico  display’d, 

With  Nestor’s  son  Telemachus  was  laid; 

In  sleep  profound  the  son  of  Nestor  lies; 

Not  thine,  Ulysses  ! Care  unseal’d  his  eyes: 

Restless  he  griev’d,  with  various  fears  op- 
press’d, 

And  all  thy  fortunes  roll’d  within  his 
breast.  xo 

When  ‘ O Telemachus!  ’ (the  Goddess  said) 

‘ Too  long  in  vain,  too  widely  hast  thou 
stray’d, 

Thus  leaving  careless  thy  paternal  right 

The  robbers’  prize,  the  prey  to  lawless 
might. 

On  fond  pursuits  neglectful  while  you  roam, 

Ev’n  now  the  hand  of  rapine  sacks  the 
dome. 


Hence  to  Atrides;  and  his  leave  implore 
To  launch  thy  vessel  for  thy  natal  shore: 
Fly,  whilst  thy  mother  virtuous  yet  with- 
stands 

Her  kindred’s  wishes,  and  her  sire’s  com- 
mands; 20 

Thro’  both,  Eurymachus  pursues  the  dame, 
And  with  the  noblest  gifts  asserts  his  claim. 
Hence  therefore,  while  thy  stores  thy  own 
remain; 

Thou  know’st  the  practice  of  the  female 
train ; 

Lost  in  the  children  of  the  present  spouse, 
They  slight  the  pledges  of  their  former 
vows; 

Their  love  is  always  with  the  lover  past; 
Still  the  succeeding  flame  expels  the  last. 
Let  o’er  thy  house  some  chosen  maid  pre- 
side, 29 

Till  Heav’n  decrees  to  bless  thee  in  a bride. 
But  now  thy  more  attentive  ears  incline, 
Observe  the  warnings  of  a Power  divine ; 
For  thee  their  snares  the  suitor  lords  shall 
lay 

In  Samos’  sands,  or  straits  of  Ithaca; 

To  seize  thy  life  shall  lurk  the  murd’rous 
band, 

Ere  yet  thy  footsteps  press  thy  native  land. 
No  — sooner  far  their  riot  and  their  lust 
All-cov’ring  earth  shall  bury  deep  in  dust. 
Then  distant  from  the  scatter’d  islands 
steer, 

Nor  let  the  night  retard  thy  full  career;  40 
Thy  heav’nly  guardian  shall  instruct  the 
gales  ' 

To  smooth  thy  passage  and  supply  thy 
sails  : 

And  when  at  Ithaca  thy  labour  ends, 

Send  to  the  town  the  vessel  with  thy 
friends; 

But  seek  thou  first  the  master  of  the  swine, 
(For  still  to  thee  his  loyal  thoughts  in- 
cline); 

There  pass  the  night;  while  he  his  course 
pursues 

To  bring  Penelope  the  wish’d-for  news, 
That  thou,  safe  sailing  from  the  Pylian 
strand, 

Art  come  to  bless  her  in  thy  native  land.’  50 
Thus  spoke  the  Goddess,  and  resumed 
her  flight 

To  the  pure  regions  of  eternal  light. 
Meanwhile  Pisistratus  he  gently  shakes, 
And  with  these  words  the  slumb’ring  youth 
awakes  : 


THE  ODYSSEY 


595 


‘ Rise,  son  of  Nestor;  for  the  road  pre- 
pare, 

i.nd  join  the  harness’d  coursers  to  the  car.’ 

‘ What  cause,’  he  cried,  ‘ can  justify  our 
flight 

’o  tempt  the  dangers  of  forbidding  night  ? 
lere  wait  we  rather,  till  approaching  day 
hall  prompt  our  speed,  and  point  the  ready 
way.  60 

Jor  think  of  flight  before  the  Spartan 
King 

ihall  bid  farewell,  and  bounteous  presents 
bring; 

lifts,  which  to  distant  ages  safely  stor’d, 

?he  sacred  act  of  friendship  shall  record.’ 

Thus  he.  But  when  the  dawn  bestreak’d 
the  east, 

?he  King  from  Helen  rose,  and  sought  his 
guest. 

^s  soon  as  his  approach  the  Hero  knew, 

?he  splendid  mantle  round  him  first  he 
threw, 

[lien  o’er  his  ample  shoulders  whirl’d  the 
cloak,  69 

lespectful  met  the  Monarch,  and  bespoke: 

‘ Hail,  great  Atrides,  favour’d  of  high 
Jove! 

jet  not  thy  friends  in  vain  for  license 
move. 

iwift  let  us  measure  back  the  wat’rv  way, 
>Jor  check  our  speed,  impatient  of  delay.’ 

‘ If  with  desire  so  strong  thy  bosom 
glows, 

11,’  said  the  King,  ‘ should  I thy  wish  op- 
pose : 

ror  oft  in  others  freely  I reprove 
Hie  ill-timed  efforts  of  officious  love; 

Yho  love  too  much,  hate  in  the  like  ex- 
treme, 79 

^nd  both  the  golden  mean  alike  condemn. 
Hike  he  thwarts  the  hospitable  end, 
rVho  drives  the  free,  or  stays  the  hasty 
friend  : 

True  friendship’s  laws  are  by  this  rule  ex- 
press’d, 

Yelcome  the  coming,  speed  the  parting 
guest. 

fet  stay,  my  friends,  and  in  your  chariot 
take 

The  noblest  presents  that  our  love  can 
make; 

deantime  commit  we  to  our  women’s  care 
>ome  choice  domestic  viands  to  prepare; 
The  trav’ler,  rising  from  the  banquet  gay, 
eludes  the  labours  of  the  tedious  way.  90 


Then  if  a wider  course  shall  rather  please, 
Thro’  spacious  Argos  and  the  realms  of 
Greece, 

Atrides  in  his  chariot  shall  attend; 

Himself  thy  convoy  to  each  royal  friend. 

No  Prince  will  let  Ulysses’  heir  remove 
Without  some  pledge,  some  monument  of 
love  : 

These  will  the  cauldron,  these  the  tripod ' 
give; 

From  those  the  well-pair’d  mules  we  shall 
receive, 

Or  bowl  emboss’d  whose  golden  figures 
live.’ 

To  whom  the  youth,  for  prudence  famed, 
replied  : 100 

‘ O Monarch,  Care  of  Heav’n  ! thy  people’s 
pride  ! 

No  friend  in  Ithaca  my  place  supplies, 

No  powerful  hands  are  there,  no  watchful 
eyes  : 

My  stores  exposed  and  fenceless  house  de- 
mand 

The  speediest  succour  from  my  guardian 
hand ; 

Lest,  in  a search  too  anxious  and  too  vain 
Of  one  lost  joy,  I lose  what  yet  remain.’ 

His  purpose  when  the  gen’rous  Warrior 
heard, 

He  charged  the  household  cates  to  be  pre- 
pared. 

Now  with  the  dawn,  from  his  adjoining 
home,  no 

Was  Bcethcedes  Eteoneus  come; 

Swift  at  the  word  he  forms  the  rising 
blaze, 

And  o’er  the  coals  the  smoking  fragments 
lays. 

Meantime  the  King,  his  son,  and  Helen 
went 

Where  the  rich  wardrobe  breathed  a costly 
scent. 

The  King  selected  from  the  glitt’ring 
rows 

A bowl;  the  Prince  a silver  beaker  chose. 
The  beauteous  Queen  revolv’d  with  careful 
eyes 

Her  various  textures  of  unnumber’d  dyes, 
And  chose  the  largest;  with  no  vulgar 
art  120 

Her  own  fair  hands  embroider’d  every 
part  : 

Beneath  the  rest  it  lay  divinely  bright, 

Like  radiant  Hesper  o’er  the  gems  of 
night. 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


596 


Then  with  each  gift  they  hasten’d  to  their 
guest, 

And  thus  the  King  Ulysses’  heir  address’d: 
‘Since  fix’d  are  thy  resolves,  may  thun- 
d’ring  Jove 

With  happiest  omens  thy  desires  approve! 
This  silver  bowl,  whose  costly  margins 
shine 

Enchased  with  gold,  this  valued  gift  be 
thine  ; 

To  me  this  present,  of  Vulcanian  frame,  130 
From  Sidon’s  hospitable  Monarch  came; 

To  thee  we  now  consign  the  precious  load, 
The  pride  of  Kings,  and  labour  of  a God.’ 

Then  gave  the  cup,  while  Megapenthe 
brought 

The  silver  vase  with  living  sculpture 
wrought. 

The  beauteous  Queen,  advancing  next,  dis- 
play’d 

The  shining  veil,  and  thus  endearing  said: 

‘Accept,  dear  youth,  this  monument  of 
love, 

Long  since,  in  better  days,  by  Helen  wove: 
Safe  in  thy  mother’s  care  the  vesture 

140 

To  deck  thy  bride,  and  grace  thy  nuptial 
day. 

Meantime  may’st  thou  with  happiest  speed 
regain 

Thy  stately  palace,  and  thy  wide  domain.’ 

She  said,  and  gave  the  veil;  with  grate- 
ful look 

The  Prince  the  variegated  present  took. 

And  now,  when  thro’  the  royal  dome  they 
pass’d, 

High  on  a throne  the  King  each  stranger 
placed. 

A golden  ewer  th’  attendant  damsel  brings, 
Replete  with  water  from  the  crystal 
springs; 

With  copious  streams  the  shining  vase  sup- 
plies ,so 

A silver  laver  of  capacious  size. 

They  wash.  The  tables  in  fair  order 
spread, 

The  glitt’ring  canisters  are  crown’d  with 
bread; 

Viands  of  various  kinds  allure  the  taste, 

Of  choicest  sort  and  savour;  rich  repast ! 
Whilst  Eteoneus  portions  out  the  shares, 
Atrides’  son  the  purple  draught  prepares. 
And  now  (each  sated  with  the  genial  feast, 
And  the  short  rage  of  thirst  and  hunger 
ceas’d), 


Ulysses’  son.  with  his  illustrious  friend,  160 
The  horses  join,  the  polish’d  car  ascend. 
Along  the  court  the  fiery  steeds  rebound, 
And  the  wide  portal  echoes  to  the  sound. 
The  King  precedes;  a bowl  with  fragrant 
wine 

(Libation  destin’d  to  the  Powers  divine) 

Plis  right  hand  held:  before  the  steeds  he 
stands, 

Then,  mix’d  with  prayers,  he  utters  these 
commands: 

‘Farewell,  and  prosper,  Youths ! let  Nes- 
tor know 

What  grateful  thoughts  still  in  this  bosom 
glow, 

For  all  the  proofs  of  his  paternal  care,  170 
Thro’  the  long  dangers  of  the  ten  years’ 
war.’ 

‘ Ah  ! doubt  not  our  report  ’ (the  Prince  : 
rejoin’d) 

‘ Of  all  the  virtues  of  thy  gen’rous  mind. 
And  0I1  ! return’d  might  we  Ulysses  meet ! 
To  him  thy  present^  show,  thy  words  re- 
peat: 

How  will  each  speech  his  grateful  wonder 
raise  ! 

How  will  each  gift  indulge  us  in  thy 
praise  ! ’ 

Scarce  ended  thus  the  Prince,  when  on 
the  right 

Advanc’d  the  bird  of  Jove:  auspicious 
sight  ! 

A milk-white  fowl  his  clinching  talons 
bore,  ,80 

With  care  domestic  pamper’d  at  the  floor. 
Peasants  in  vain  with  threat’ning  cries 
pursue, 

In  solemn  speed  the  bird  majestic  flew 
Full  dexter  to  the  car:  the  prosp’rous  sight 
Fill’d  ev’ry  breast  with  wonder  and  de- 
light. 

But  Nestor’s  son  the  cheerful  silence 
broke, 

And  in  these  words  the  Spartan  Chief  be- 
spoke: 

‘ Say  if  to  us  the  Gods  these  omens  send, 

Or  fates  peculiar  to  thyself  portend  ? ’ 

Whilst  yet  the  Monarch  paus’d,  with 
doubts  oppress’d,  190 

The  beauteous  Queen  reliev’d  his  lab’ring 
breast: 

‘ Hear  me  ’ (she  cried),  ‘ to  whom  the  Gods 
have  given 

To  read  this  sign,  and  mystic  sense  of 
Heav’n. 


THE  ODYSSEY 


597 


As  thus  the  plumy  sov’reign  of  the  air 
Left  oil  the  mountain’s  brow  his  callow 
care, 

And  wander’d  thro’  the  wide  ethereal  way 
To  pour  his  wrath  on  yon  luxurious  prey; 
So  shall  thy  godlike  father,  toss’d  in  vain 
Thro’  all  the  dangers  of  the  boundless 
main, 

Arrive  (or  is  perchance  already  come),  200 
jFrom  slaughter’d  gluttons  to  release  the 
dome.’ 

I'  ‘Oh!  if  this  promis’d  bliss  by  thund’ring 
Jove  ’ 

The  Prince  replied)  ‘stand  fix’d  in  Fate 
above ; 

To  thee,  as  to  some  God,  I ’ll  temples 
raise, 

\nd  crown  thy  altars  with  the  costly 
blaze.’ 

He  said;  and,  bending  o’er  his  chariot, 
flung 

Athwart  the  fiery  steeds  the  smarting 
thong; 

Hie  boundiug  shafts  upon  the  harness  play, 
Till  night  descending  intercepts  the  way. 

To  Diodes  at  Pherse  they  repair,  210 

Whose  boasted  sire  was  sacred  Alpheus’ 
heir; 

With  him  all  night  the  youthful  strangers 
stay’d, 

Nor  found  the  hospitable  rites  unpaid, 
bit  soon  as  Morning  from  her  orient  bed 
Tad  tinged  the  mountains  with  her  earliest 
t red, 

Tiey  join’d  the  steeds,  and  on  the  chariot 
i sprung; 

Tie  brazen  portals  in  their  passage  rung. 

To  Pylos  soon  they  came;  when  thus 
begun 

?o  Nestor’s  heir  Ulysses’  godlike  son:  219 

‘ Let  not  Pisistratus  in  vain  be  press’d, 
for  unconsenting  hear  his  friend’s  re- 
quest; 

lis  friend  by  long  hereditary  claim, 
n toils  his  equal,  and  in  years  the  same. 

<To  farther  from  our  vessel,  I implore, 

I Tie  coursers  drive;  but  lash  them  to  the 
shore. 

’oo  long  thy  father  would  his  friend  de- 
tain; 

dread  his  proffer’d  kindness  urged  in  vain.’ 

The  Hero  paus’d,  and  ponder’d  this  re- 
quest, 

VTiile  love  and  duty  warr’d  within  his 
breast. 


At  length  resolv’d,  he  turn’d  his  ready 
hand,  230 

And  lash’d  his  panting  coursers  to  the 
strand. 

There,  while  within  the  poop  with  care  he 
stor’d 

The  regal  presents  of  the  Spartan  lord, 

‘ With  speed  begone  ’ (said  he);  ‘call  every 
mate, 

Ere  yet  to  Nestor  I the  tale  relate: 

’T  is  true,  the  fervour  of  his  gen’rous 
heart 

Brooks  no  repulse,  nor  couldst  thou  soon 
depart: 

Himself  will  seek  thee  here,  nor  wilt  thou 
find, 

In  words  alone,  the  Pylian  Monarch  kind. 
But  when,  arrived,  he  thy  return  shall 
know,  240 

How  will  his  breast  with  honest  fury 
glow  ! ’ 

This  said,  the  sounding  strokes  his  horses 
fire, 

And  soon  lie  reach’d  the  palace  of  his  sire. 

‘ Now’  (cried  Telemachus)  ‘with  speedy 
care 

Hoist  ev’ry  sail,  and  ev’ry  oar  prepare ! ’ 
Swift  as  the  word  his  willing  mates  obey, 
And  seize  their  seats,  impatient  for  the 
sea. 

Meantime  the  Prince  with  sacrifice 
adores 

Minerva,  and  her  guardian  aid  implores; 
When  lo  ! a wretch  ran  breathless  to  the 
shore,  250 

New  from  his  crime;  and  reeking  yet  with 
gore. 

A seer  he  was,  from  great  Melampus 
sprung, 

Melampus,  who  in  Pylos  flourish’d  long, 
Till,  urged  by  wrongs,  a foreign  realm  he 
chose, 

Far  from  the  hateful  cause  of  all  his  woes. 
Neleus  his  treasures  one  long  year  de- 
tains: 

As  long  he  groan’d  in  Phylacus’s  chains: 
Meantime,  what  anguish  and  what  rage 
combin’d, 

For  lovely  Pero  rack’d  his  lab’ring  mind  ! 
Yet  ’scaped  he  death:  and,  vengeful  of  his 
wrong,  260 

To  Pylos  drove  the  lowing  herds  along: 
Then  (Neleus  vanquish’d,  and  consign’d  the 
fair 

To  Bias’  arms)  he  sought  a foreign  air; 


S98 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


Argos  the  rich  for  his  retreat  he  chose ; 
There  form’d  his  empire:  there  his  palace 
rose. 

From  him  Antiphates  and  Mantius  came;"] 
The  first  begot  Oicleus  great  in  fame,  > 
And  he  Amphiaraiis,  immortal  name  ! J 
The  people’s  saviour,  and  divinely  wise,  ) 
Belov’d  by  Jove,  and  him  who  gilds  the 

skies;  270  > 

Yet  short  his  date  of  life  ! by  female 
pride  he  dies.  J 

From  Mantius  Clitus,  whom  Aurora’s 
love 

Snatch’d  for  his  beauty  to  the  thrones 
above; 

And  Polyphides,  on  whom  Phoebus  shone 
With  fullest  rays,  Amphiaraiis  now  gone; 
In  Hyperesia’s  groves  he  made  abode, 

And  taught  mankind  the  counsels  of  the 
God. 

From  him  sprung  Theoclymenus,  who 
found 

(The  sacred  wine  yet  foaming  on  the 
ground) 

Telemachus:  whom,  as  to  Heav’n  he 
press’d  280 

His  ardent  vows,  the  stranger  thus  ad- 
dress’d: 

‘ O thou  ! that  dost  thy  happy  course  pre- 
pare 

With  pure  libations  and  with  solemn 
prayer ; 

By  that  dread  Power  to  whom  thy  vows  are 
paid; 

By  all  the  lives  of  these;  thy  own  dear 
head, 

Declare  sincerely  to  no  foe’s  demand 
Thy  name,  thy  lineage,  and  paternal  land.’ 

‘ Prepare,  then,’  said  Telemachus,  ‘ to 
know 

A tale  from  falsehood  free,  not  free  from 
woe. 

From  Ithaca,  of  royal  birth  I came,  2go 
And  great  Ulysses  (ever-honour’d  name  !) 
Once  was  my  sire,  tho’  now  for  ever  lost, 

In  Stygian  gloom  he  glides  a pensive  ghost! 
Whose  fate  inquiring  thro’  the  world  we 
rove : 

The  last,  the  wretched  proof  of  filial  love.’ 

The  stranger  then:  ‘Nor  shall  I aught 
conceal, 

But  the  dire  secret  of  my  fate  reveal. 

Of  my  own  tribe  an  Argive  wretch  I slew; 
Whose  powerful  friends  the  luckless  deed 
pursue 


With  unrelenting  rage,  and  force  from 
home  300 

The  blood-stain’d  exile,  ever  doom’d  to 
roam. 

But  bear,  oh  bear  me  o’er  yon  azure  flood; 
Receive  the  suppliant ! spare  my  destin’d 
blood  ! ’ 

‘ Stranger  ’ (replied  the  Prince),  ‘ se- 
curely rest 

Affianc’d  in  our  faith  henceforth  our 
guest.’ 

Thus  affable,  Ulysses’  godlike  heir 
Takes  from  the  stranger’s  hand  the  glit- 
t’ring  spear: 

He  climbs  the  ship,  ascends  the  stern  with 
haste, 

And  by  his  side  the  guest  accepted  placed. 
The  Chief  his  order  gives:  th’  obedient 
band  310 

With  due  observance  wait  the  Chief’s  com- 
mand. 

With  speed  the  njast  they  rear,  with  speed; 
unbind 

The  spacious  sheet,  and  stretch  it  to  the 
wind. 

Minerva  calls ; the  ready  gales  obey 
With  rapid  speed  to  whirl  them  o’er  the 
sea. 

Crunus  they  pass’d,  next  Chalcis  roll’d 
away, 

When  thick’ning  darkness  closed  the  doubt- 
ful day; 

The  silver  Phsea’s  glitt’ring  rills  they  lost, 
And  skimm’d  along  by  Elis’  sacred  coast. 
Then  cautions  thro’  the  rocky  reaches 
wind,  320 : 

And,  turning  sudden,  shun  the  death  de- 
sign’d. 

Meantime,  the  King,  Eumseus,  and  the 
rest, 

Sate  in  the  cottage,  at  their  rural  feast: 

The  banquet  pass’d,  and  satiate  ev’ry  man, 
To  try  his  host,  Ulysses  thus  began: 

‘ Yet  one  night  more,  my  friends,  indulge 
your  guest; 

The  last  I purpose  in  your  walls  to  rest; 
To-morrow  for  myself  I must  provide, 

And  only  ask  your  counsel,  and  a guide; 
Patient  to  roam  the  street,  by  hunger  led, 
And  bless  the  friendly  hand  that  gives  me 
bread.  33' 

There  in  Ulysses’  roof  I may  relate 
Ulysses’  wai,nd’rings  to  his  royal  mate; 

Or,  mingling  with  the  suitors’  haughty  train, 
Not  undeserving  some  support  obtain 


THE  ODYSSEY 


599 


lermes  to  me  his  various  gifts  imparts, 
’atron  of  industry  and  manual  arts: 

'ew  can  with  me  in  dext’rous  works  con- 
tend, 

,'he  pyre  to  build,  the  stubborn  oak  to 
rend ; 

’o  turn  the  tasteful  viand  o’er  the  flame;  340 
)r  foam  the  goblet  with  a purple  stream, 
uch  are  the  tasks  of  men  of  mean  estate, 
Vhom  fortune  dooms  to  serve  the  rich  and 
,•  great.’ 

‘ Alas  ! ’ (Euimeus  with  a sigh  rejoin’d) 
How  sprung  a thought  so  monstrous  in  thy 
, mind  ? 

f on  that  godless  race  thou  would’st  at- 
tend, 

ate  owes  thee  sure  a miserable  end  ! 

Teir  wrongs  and  blasphemies  ascend  the 
sky, 

Lnd  pull  descending  vengeance  from  on 
, high. 

Jot  such,  my  friend,  the  servants  of  their 
( feast;  35° 

L blooming  train  in  rich  embroid’ry  dress’d ! 
Yitk  earth’s  whole  tribute  the  bright  tabic 
, bends, 

i.nd  smiling  round  celestial  youth  attends, 
itay,  then;  no  eye  askance  beholds  thee 
here ; 

iweet  is  tliy  converse  to  each  social  ear: 
Yell  pleas’d,  and  pleasing,  in  our  cottage 
rest, 

T'ill  good  Telemachus  accepts  his  guest 
;Vith  genial  gifts,  and  change  of  fair  at- 
J tires, 

.ind  safe  conveys  thee  where  thy  soul  de- 
sires.’ 

To  him  the  man  of  woes:  ‘O  gracious 
Jove  360 

ieward  this  stranger’s  hospitable  love  ! 

Vho  knows  the  son  of  sorrow  to  relieve, 
’heers  the  sad  heart,  nor  lets  affliction 
. grieve. 

)f  all  the  ills  unhappy  mortals  know, 

L life  of- wand’rings  is  the  greatest  woe: 

)n  all  their  weary  ways  wait  Care  and 
Pain, 

Lnd  Pine  and  Penury,  a meagre  train. 

’o  such  a man  since  harbour  you  afford, 
telate  the  farther  fortunes  of  your  lord; 
Vhat  cares  his  mother’s  tender  breast  en- 
. gage>  370 

ind  sire  forsaken  on  the  verge  of  age ; 
Jeneath  the  sun  prolong  they  yet  their 
breath, 


Or  range  the  house  of  darkness  and  of 
death  ? ’ 

To  whom  the  swain:  ‘Attend  what  you 
inquire; 

Laertes  lives,  the  miserable  sire; 

Lives,  but  implores  of  ev’ry  Power  to  lay 
The  burden  down,  and  wishes  for  the  day. 
Torn  from  his  offspring  in  the  eve  of  life, 
Torn  from  th’  embraces  of  his  tender  wife, 
Sole,  and  all  comfortless,  he  wastes  away 
Old  age,  untimely  posting  ere  his  day.  381 
She  too,  sad  mother  ! for  Ulysses  lost 
Pined  out  her  bloom,  and  vanish’d  to  a ghost 
(So  dire  a fate,  ye  righteous  Gods  ! avert 
From  ev’ry  friendly,  ev’ry  feeling  heart) ; 
While  yet  she  was,  tho’  clouded  o’er  with 
grief, 

Her  pleasing  converse  minister’d  relief: 
With  Ctimene,  her  youngest  daughter,  bred, 
One  roof  contain’d  us,  and  one  table  fed. 
But  when  the  softly-stealing  pace  of  time 
Crept  on  from  childhood  into  youthful 
prime,  391 

To  Samos  isle  she  sent  the  wedded  fair; 

Me  to  the  fields,  to  tend  the  rural  care; 
Array’d  in  garments  her  own  hands  had 
wove, 

Nor  less  the  darling  object  of  her  love. 

Her  hapless  death  my  brighter  days  o’er- 
cast, 

Yet  Providence  deserts  me  not  at  last: 

My  present  labours  food  and  drink  procure, 
And  more,  the  pleasure  to  relieve  the  poor. 
Small  is  the  comfort  from  the  Queen  to 
hear  400 

Unwelcome  news,  or  vex  the  royal  ear; 
Blank  and  discountenanc’d  the  servants 
stand, 

Nor  dare  to  question  where  the  proud  com- 
mand : 

No  profit  springs  beneath  usurping  powers; 
Want  feeds  not  there,  where  Luxury  de- 
vours, 

Nor  harbours  charity  where  riot  reigns: 
Proud  are  the  Lords,  and  wretched  are  the 
Swains.’ 

The  suff’ring  Chief  at  this  began  to  melt; 
And,  * O Eumeeus  ! thou  ’ (he  cries)  ‘ hast 
felt 

The  spite  of  Fortune  too  ! her  cruel  hand  410 
Snatch’d  thee  an  infant  from  thy  native 
land  ! 

Snatch’d  from  thy  parents’  arms,  thy  par- 
ents’ eyes, 

To  early  wants  ! a man  of  miseries  ! 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


600 


The  whole  sad  story,  from  its  first,  declare: 
Sunk  the  fair  city  by  the  rage  of  war, 
Where  once  thy  parents  dwelt  ? or  did 
they  keep, 

In  humbler  life,  the  lowing  herds  and 
sheep  ? 

So  left  perhaps  to  tend  the  fleecy  train, 
Rude  pirates  seiz’d,  and  shipp’d  thee  o’er 
the  main  ? 

Doom’d  a fair  prize  to  grace  some  Prince’s 
board,  420 

The  worthy  purchase  of  a foreign  Lord.’ 

‘If  then  my  fortunes  can  delight  my 
friend, 

A story  fruitful  of  events  attend : 

Another’s  sorrow  may  thy  ear  enjoy, 

And  wine  the  lengthen’d  intervals  employ. 
Long  nights  the  now  declining  year  be- 
stows; 

A part  we  consecrate  to  soft  repose, 

A part  in  pleasing  talk  we  entertain; 

For  too  much  rest  itself  becomes  a pain. 

Let  those,  whom  sleep  invites,  the  call 
. obey>  . 430 

.Lheir  cares  resuming  with  the  dawning 
day: 

Here  let  us  feast,  and  to  the  feast  be  join’d 
Discourse,  the  sweeter  banquet  of  the 
mind; 

Review  the  series  of  our  lives,  and  taste 
The  melancholy  joy  of  evils  pass’d: 

For  he  who  much  has  suffer’d,  much  will 
know, 

And  pleas’d  remembrance  builds  delight 
on  woe. 

‘ Above  Ortygia  lies  an  isle  of  fame, 

Far  hence  remote,  and  Syria  is  the  name 
(There  curious  eyes  inscribed  with  wonder 
trace  440 

The  sun’s  diurnal,  and  his  annual  race) ; 

Not  large,  but  fruitful;  stored  with  grass, 
to  keep 

The  bell’wingoxen  and  the  bleating  sheep; 
Her  sloping  hills  the  mantling  vines  adorn, 
And  her  rich  valleys  wave  with  golden  corn. 
No  want,  no  famine,  the  glad  natives  know, 
Nor  sink  by  sickness  to  the  shades  below; 
But  when  a length  of  years  unnerves  the 
strong,  448 

Apollo  comes,  and  Cynthia  comes  along. 
They  bend  the  silver  bow  with  tender  skill, 
And,  void  of  pain,  the  silent  arrows  kill. 
Two  equal  tribes  this  fertile  land  divide, 
Where  two  fair  cities  rise  with  equal  pride, 
But  both  in  constant  peace  one  Prince  obey, 


And  Ctesius  there,  my  father,  holds  the 
sway. 

Freighted,  it  seems,  with  toys  of  ev’ry  sort, 
A ship  of  Sidon  anchor’d  in  our  port; 

What  time  it  chanc’d  the  palace  enter- 
tain’d, 

Skill’d  in  rich  works,  a woman  of  their 
land: 

This  nymph,  where  anchor’d  the  Phoenician 

train>  460 

To  wash  her  robes  descending  to  the  main, 
A smooth-tongued  sailor  won  her  to  his 
mind 

(For  love  deceives  the  best  of  womankind). 
A sudden  trust  from  sudden  liking  grew; 
She  told  her  name,  her  race,  and  all  she 
knew. 

“ I too”  (she  cried)  “ from  glorious  Sidon 
came. 

My  father  Ary  has,  of  wealthy  fame; 

But,  snatch’d  by  pirates  from  my  native 
place, 

The  Taphians  sold  me  to  this  man’s  em- 
brace.” 

‘ “ Haste  then  ” (the  false  designingyouth 
replied),  470 

“Haste  to  thy  country;  love  shall  be  thy 
guide; 

Haste  to  thy  father’s  house,  thy  father’s 
breast, 

For  still  he  lives,  and  lives  with  riches 
blest.” 

‘ “ Swear  first  ” (she  cried),  “ ye  Sail-  ) 
ors  ! to  restore 

A wretch  in  safety  to  her  native  shore.”  I 
Swift  as  she  ask’d,  the  ready  sailors 
swore. 

She  then  proceeds:  “ Now  let  our  compact 
made 

Be  nor  by  signal  nor  by  word  betray’d, 

Nor  near  me  any  of  your  crew  descried, 

By  road  frequented,  or  by  fountain  side:  480 
Be  silence  still  our  guard.  The  Monarch’s 
spies 

(For  watchful  age  is  ready  to  surmise) 

Are  still  at  hand;  and  this  reveal’d,  must 
be 

Death  to  yourselves,  eternal  chains  to  me. 
Your  vessel  loaded,  and  your  traffic  pass’d, 
Despatch  a wary  messenger  with  haste; 
Then  gold  and  costly  treasures  will  I bring, 
And  more,  the  infant-offspriug  of  the  King. 
Him,  childlike  wand’ring  forth,  I ’ll  lead 
away 

(A  noble  prize  !)  and  to  your  ship  convey.” 


THE  ODYSSEY 


601 


‘Thus  spoke  the  dame,  and  homeward 
took  the  road.  491 

A year  they  traffic,  and  their  vessel  load. 
Their  stores  complete,  and  ready  now  to 
weigh, 

A spy  was  sent  their  summons  to  convey: 

An  artist  to  my  father’s  palace  came, 

With  gold  and  amber  chains,  elab’rate 
frame: 

Each  female  eye  the  glitt’ring  links  em- 
ploy; . 

They  turn,  review,  and  cheapen  ev  ry  toy. 

He  took  tli’  occasion,  as  they  stood  intent, 
Gave  her  the  sign,  and  to  his  vessel  went. 
She  straight  pursued,  and  seiz’d  my  willing 
arm;  5QI 

I follow’d  smiling,  innocent  of  harm. 

Three  golden  goblets  in  the  porch  she 
found 

(The  guests  not  enter’d,  but  the  table 
crown’d) ; 

Hid  in  her  fraudful  bosom  these  she  bore: 
Now  set  the  sun,  and  darken’d  all  the 
shore. 

Arriving  then,  where,  tilting  on  the  tides, 
Prepared  to  launch  the  freighted  vessel 
rides, 

Aboard  they  heave  us,  mount  their  decks, 
and  sweep 

With  level  oar  along  the  glassy  deep.  510 
Six  caliny  days  and  six  smooth  nights  we 
sail, 

And  constant  Jove  supplied  the  gentle 
gale. 

The  sev’nth,  the  fraudful  wretch  (no  cause 
descried), 

Touch’d  by  Diana’s  vengeful  arrow,  died. 
Down  dropp’d  the  caitiff-corse,  a worth-' 
less  load, 

Down  to  the  deep;  there  roll’d,  the  future 
food 

Of  tierce  sea-wolves,  and  monsters  of  the 
flood. 

A helpless  infant  I remain’d  behind; 
Thence  borne  to  Ithaca  by  wave  and  wind; 
Sold  to  Laertes  by  divine  command,  s 20 

And  now  adopted  to  a foreign  land.’ 

To  him  the  King:  ‘Reciting  thus  thy 
cares, 

My  secret  soul  in  all  thy  sorrow  shares; 
But  one  choice  blessing  (such  is  Jove’s 
high  will) 

Has  sweeten’d  all  thy  bitter  draught  of  ill: 
Torn  from  thy  country  to  no  hapless  end, 
The  Gods  have,  in  a master,  giv’n  a friend. 


Whatever  frugal  nature  needs  is  thine 
(For  she  needs  little),  daily  bread  and 
wine. 

While  I,  so  many  wand’rings  past  and 
woes,  53° 

Live  but  on  what  thy  poverty  bestows.’ 

So  pass’d  in  pleasing  dialogue  away  I 
The  night;  then  down  to  short  repose  I 
they  lay ; f 

Till  radiant  rose  the  messenger  of  day.  J 
While  in  the  port  of  Ithaca,  the  band 
Of  young  Telemachus  approach’d  the  land; 
Their  sails  they  loos’d,  they  lash’d  the 
mast  aside, 

And  cast  their  anchors,  and  the  cables 
tied: 

Then  on  the  breezy  shore,  descending,  join 
In  grateful  banquet  o’er  the  rosy  wine.  540 
When  thus  the  Prince:  ‘Now  each  his 
course  pursue: 

I to  the  fields,  and  to  the  city  you. 

Long  absent  hence,  I dedicate  this  day 
My  swains  to  visit,  and  the  works  survey. 
Expect  me  with  the  morn,  to  pay  the  skies 
Our  debt  of  safe  return  in  feast  and  sacri- 
fice.’ 

Then  Theoclymenus:  ‘ But  who  shall  lend, 
Meantime,  protection  to  thy  stranger 
friend  ? 

Straight  to  the  Queen  and  Palace  shall  I 
fly,  549 

Or,  yet  more  distant,  to  some  Lord  apply  ? ’ 

The  Prince  return’d:  ‘ Renown’d  in  days 
of  yore 

Has  stood  our  father’s  hospitable  door; 

No  other  roof  a stranger  should  receive, 

No  other  hands  than  ours  the  welcome 
give. 

But  in  my  absence  riot  fills  the  place, 

Nor  bears  the  modest  Queen  a stranger’s 
face ; 

From  noiseful  revel  far  remote  she  flies, 
But  rarely  seen,  or  seen  with  weeping  eyes. 
No  — let  Eurymachus  receive  my  guest, 

Of  nature  courteous,  and  by  far  the  best; 
He  woos  the  Queen  with  more  respectful 
flame,  561 

And  emulates  her  former  husband’s  fame: 
With  what  success,  ’t  is  Jove’s  alone  to 
know, 

And  the  hoped  nuptials  turn  to  joy  or  woe.’ 

Thus  speaking,  on  the  right  up-soar’d  in 
air 

The  hawk,  Apollo’s  swift-wing’d  messen- 
I ger: 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


His  deathful  pounces  tore  a trembling 
dove;  6 

The  clotted  feathers,  scatter’d  from  above, 
Between  the  hero  and  the  vessel  pour 
I hick  plumage,  mingled  with  a sanguine 
shower.  S7o 

Th’  observing  augur  took  the  Prince 
aside, 

Seiz’d  by  the  band,  and  thus  prophetic 
cried: 

‘ Yon  bird,  that  dexter  cuts  th’  aerial  road, 
Rose  ominous,  nor  dies  without  a God: 

No  race  but  thine  shall  Ithaca  obey; 
lo  thine,  for  ages,  Heav’n  decrees  the 
sway.’ 

‘ Succeed  the  omens,  Gods  ! ’ (the  youth 
rejoin’d) 

* Soon  shall  my  bounties  speak  a grateful 
mind, 

And  soon  each  envied  happiness  attend  579 
The  man  who  calls  Telemachus  his  friend.’ 
Then  to  Peiraeus:  ‘Thou  whom  time  has 
prov’d 

A faithful  servant,  by  thy  Prince  belov’d! 
Till  we  returning  shall  our  guest  demand, 
Accept  this  charge  with  honour,  at  our 
hand.’ 

To  this  Peiraeus:  ‘Joyful  I obey, 

Well  pleas’d  the  hospitable  rites  to  pay. 

The  presence  of  thy  guest  shall  best  re- 
ward 

(If  long  thy  stay)  the  absence  of  my  lord.’ 

W ith  that,  their  anchors  he  commands  to 
weigh, 

Mount  the  tall  bark,  and  launch  into  the 

. Sea*  . 59° 

All  with  obedient  haste  forsake  the  shores, 
And,  placed  in  order,  spread  their  equal 
oars. 

Then  from  the  deck  the  Prince  his  sandals 
takes; 

Pois’d  in  his  hand  the  pointed  jav’lin  shakes. 
They  part;  while,  less’ning  from  the  hero’s 
view, 

Swift  to  the  town  the  well-row’d  galley  flew: 
The  hero  trod  the  margin  of  the  main, 

And  reach’d  the  mansion  of  his  faithful 
swain. 


BOOK  XVII 

ARGUMENT 

Telemachus,  returning-  to  the  city,  relates  to 
Penelope  the  sum  of  his  travels.  Ulysses  is 


conducted  by  Eurmeus  to  the  palace,  whei 
his  old  dog  Argus  acknowledges  his  masle 
alter  an  absence  of  twenty  years,  and  d:< 
with  joy.  Eumaeus  returns  into  the  countr- 
and  Ulysses  remains  among  the  Suitor 
whose  behaviour  is  described. 


Soon  as  Aurora,  Daughter  of  the  Dawr 
Sprinkled  with  roseate  light  the  dew 
lawn, 

In  haste  the  Prince  arose,  prepared  to  part 
His  hand  impatient  grasps  the  pointei 
dart; 

Fair  on  his  feet  the  polish’d  sandals  shine, 
And  thus  he  greets  the  master  of  tin 
swine: 

‘My  friepd,  adieu!  let  this  short  stay! 
suffice; 

I haste  to  meet  my  mother’s  longing  eyes,  1 
And  end  her  tears,  her  sorrows,  and  her 
sighs, 

But  thou,  attentive,  what  we  order  heed:  J 
This  hapless  stranger  to  the  city  lead: 

By  public  bounty  let  him  there  be  fed, 
And  bless  the  hand  that  stretches  forth  th( 
bread ; 

To  wipe  the  tears  from  all  afflicted  eyes, 
My  will  may  covet,  but  my  power  denies. 
If  this  raise  anger  in  the  stranger’s 
thought, 

The  pain  of  anger  punishes  the  fault: 

The  very  truth  I undisguised  declare; 

For  what  so  easy  as  to  be  sincere  ? ’ 

To  this  Ulysses:  ‘What  the  Prince  re- 
quires 2C 

Of  swift  removal,  seconds  my  desires. 

To  want  like  mine  the  peopled  town  can 
yield 

More  hopes  of  comfort  than  the  lonely 
field: 

Nor  fits  my  age  to  till  the  labour’d  lands, 
Or  stoop  to  tasks  a rural  lord  demands. 
Adieu  ! but  since  this  ragged  garb  can 
bear 

So  ill  th’  inclemencies  of  morning  air, 

A few  hours’  space  permit  me  here  to) 
stay: 

My  steps  Eumseus  shall  to  town  convey,  i- 
With  riper  beams  when  Phoebus  warms  J 
the  day.’  30J 

Thus  he;  nor  aught  Telemachus  replied, 
But  left  the  mansion  with  a lofty  stride: 
Schemes  of  revenge  his  pond’ring  breast 
elate, 

Revolving  deep  the  suitors’  sudden  fate. 


THE  ODYSSEY 


603 


Arriving1  now  before  th’  imperial  hall, 

He  props  his  spear  against  the  pillar’d 
wall; 

Then  like  a lion  o’er  the  threshold  bounds; 
iTlie  marble  pavement  with  his  step  re- 
sounds; 

His  eye  first  glanc’d  where  Euryclea 
spreads 

With  furry  spoils  of  beasts  the  splendid 
beds:  40 

'She  saw,  she  wept,  she  ran  with  eager 
pace, 

And  reach’d  her  master  with  a long  em- 
brace. 

All  crowded  round  the  family  appears 
With  wild  entrancement,  and  ecstatic 
tears. 

Swift  from  above  descends  the  royal  Fair 
(Her  beauteous  cheeks  the  blush  of  V enus 
wear,  I 

Chasten’d  with  coy  Diana’s  pensive  air) ; J 
‘Hangs  o’er  her  son,  in  his  embraces  dies; 
Rains  kisses  on  his  neck,  his  face,  his  eyes: 
Few  words  she  spoke,  tho’  much  she  had  to 
say : 5° 

And  scarce  those  few,  for  tears,  could  force 
their  way. 

‘ Light  of  my  eyes  ! he  comes  ! unhoped- 
for joy  ! 

Has  Heav’n  from  Pylos  brought  my  lovely 
boy  ? 

So  snatch’d  from  all  our  cares  ! — Tell, 
hast  thou  known 

' Thy  father’s  fate,  and  tell  me  all  thy  own.’ 

‘ Oh  dearest  ! most  revered  of  woman- 
kind ! 

1 Cease  with  those  tears  to  melt  a manly 
mind  ’ 

\ (Replied  the  Prince);  ‘nor  be  our  fates 
deplor’d, 

From  death  and  treason  to  thy  arms  re- 
stor’d. 

' Go,  bathe,  and  robed  in  white  ascend  the 
towers ; 60 

With  all  thy  handmaids  thank  th’  immor- 
tal Powers: 

To  ev’ry  God  vow  hecatombs  to  bleed, 

! And  call  Jove’s  vengeance  on  the  guilty 
deed. 

While  to  th’  assembled  council  I repair; 

A stranger  sent  by  Heav’n  attends  me 
there ; 

1 My  new  accepted  guest  I haste  to  find, 
Now  to  Peirseus’  honour’d  charge  con- 
sign’d.’ 


The  matron  heard,  nor  was  his  word  in 
vain. 

She  bathed;  and,  robed  in  white,  with  all 
her  train, 

To  ev’ry  God  vow’d  hecatombs  to  bleed,  70 
And  call’d  Jove’s  vengeance  on  the  guilty 
deed. 

Arm’d  with  his  lance,  the  Prince  then  pass’d 
the  gate; 

Two  dogs  behind,  a faithful  guard,  await; 
Pallas  his  form  with  grace  divine  im- 
proves : 

The  gazing  crowd  admires  him  as  he 
moves: 

Him,  gath’ring  round,  the  haughty  suitors 
greet 

With  semblance  fair,  but  inward  deep  de- 
ceit. 

Their  false  addresses  gen’rous  he  denied, 
Pass’d  on,  and  sate  by  faithful  Mentor’s 
side; 

With  Antiphus,  and  Halitherses  sage,  80 
His  father’s  counsellors,  revered  for  age. 

Of  his  own  fortunes,  and  Ulysses’  fame, 
Much  ask’d  the  seniors;  till  Peirseus  came. 
The  stranger-guest  pursued  him  close  be- 
hind; 

Whom  when  Teleir.achus  beheld,  he  join’d. 
He  (when  Peirseus  ask’d  for  slaves  to  bring 
The  gifts  and  treasures  of  the  Spartan 
King) 

Thus  thoughtful  answer’d:  ‘ Those  we  shall 
not  move, 

Dark  and  unconscious  of  the  will  of  Jove: 
We  know  not  yet  the  full  event  of  all;  90 
Stabb’d  in  his  palace  if  your  Prince  must 
fall. 

Us,  and  our  house,  if  treason  must  o’er- 
throw, 

Better  a friend  possess  them  than  a foe; 

If  death  to  these,  and  vengeance,  Heav’n 
decree, 

Riches  are  welcome  then,  not  else,  to  me. 
Till  then  retain  the  gifts.’  — The  hero  said, 
And  in  his  hand  the  willing  stranger  led. 
Then,  disarray’d,  the  shining  bath  they 
sought 

(With  unguents  smooth)  of  polish’d  marble 
wrought; 

Obedient  handmaids  with  assistant  toil  10c 
Supply  the  limpid  wave,  and  fragrant  oil; 
Then  o’er  their  limbs  refulgent  robes  they 
threw, 

And  fresh  from  bathing  to  their  seats  with^ 
drew. 


6 04 


translations  from  homer 


The  golden  ewer  a uyinpli  attendant 
brings, 

Replenishd  from  the  pure  translucent 
springs: 

With  copious  streams  that  golden  ewer 
supplies 

A silver  laver  of  capacious  size, 
dhey  wash:  the  table,  in  fair  order  spread, 
Is  piled  with  viands  and  the  strength  of 
bread. 

Full  opposite,  before  the  folding  gate,  XIO 
The  pensive  mother  sits  in  humble  state; 
Lowly  she  sate,  and.  with  dejected  view 
The  fleecy  threads  her  iv’ry  fingers  drew. 
The  Prince  and  stranger  shared  the  genial 
feast, 

Till  now  the  rage  of  thirst  and  hunger 
ceas’d. 

When  thus  the  Queen:  ‘My  son!  mv 
only  friend  ! 

Say,  to  my  mournful  couch  shall  I ascend 
(The  couch  deserted  now  a length  of 
years ; 

The  couch  for  ever  water’d  with  my  tears)? 
Say,  wilt  thou  not  (ere  yet  the  suitor  crew 
Return,  and  riot  shakes  our  walls  anew),  121 
Say,  wilt  thou  not  the  least  account  af- 
ford ? 

The  least  glad  tidings  of  my  absent  lord  ? ’ 
To  her  the  youth : ‘ We  reach’d  the  Py- 
lian  plains, 

Where  Nestor,  shepherd  of  his  people, 
reigns. 

All  arts  of  tenderness  to  him  are  known, 
Kind  to  Ulysses’  race  as  to  his  own  : 

No  father  with  a fonder  grasp  of  joy 
Strains  to  his  bosom  his  long-absent  bov. 

But  all  unknown,  if  yet  Ulysses  breathe,  130 
Or  glide  a spectre  in  the  realms  beneath: 
For  farther  search,  his  rapid  steeds  trans- 
port 

My  lengthen’d  journey  to  the  Spartan 
court. 

There  Argive  Helen  I beheld,  whose  charms 
(So  Heav’n  decreed)  engaged  the  great  in 
arms. 

My  cause  of  coming  told,  he  thus  rejoin’d; 
And  still  his  words  live  perfect  in  my 
mind  : 

: “ Heav’ns!  would  a soft,  inglorious,  das- 
tard train 

An  absent  hero’s  nuptial  joys  profane  ! 

So  with  her  young,  amid  the  woodland 
shades,  140 

A tim’roiis  hind  the  lion’s  court  invades, 


Leaves  in  that  fatal  lair  her  tender  fawns 
And  climbs  the  cliffs,  or  feeds  along  the 
lawns; 

Meantime  returning,  with  remorseless  sway 
Phe  monarch  savage  rends  the  panting 
prey  : & 

With  equal  fury,  and  with  equal  fame, 
Shall  great  Ulysses  reassert  his  claim. 

O Jove!  Supreme!  whom  men  and  Gods 


revere; 

And  thou,  whose  lustre  gilds  the  rolling 
sphere  ! 

With  power  congenial  join’d,  propitious 
aid  150 

The  Chief  adopted  by  the  Martial  Maid! 

Such  to  our  wish  the  warrior  soon  restore, 

As  when,  contending  on  the  Lesbian  shore, 

His  prowess  Pliilomelides  confess’d, 

And  loud  acclaiming  Greeks  the  victor 
bless’d  : 

Then  soon  th’  invaders  of  his  bed  and 
throne, 

Their  love  presumptuous  shall  by  death 
atone. 

Now  what  you  question  of  my  ancient 
friend, 

With  truth  I answer  ; thou  the  truth  at- 
tend. 

Learn  what  I heard  the  sea-born  seer  re- 

w.  late’  . ■<*> 

Whose  eye  can  pierce  the  dark  recess  of 

fate. 


*.**^/*  Vi.  KJJ  tuc  II J (11  I I J 

The  sad  survivor  of  his  numerous  train, 
Ulysses  lies;  detain’d  by  magic  charms, 
And  press’d  unwilling  in  Calypso’s  arms. 
No  sailors  there,  no  vessels  to  convey, 

No  oars  to  cut  th’  immeasurable  way.” 
This  told  Atrides,  and  he  told  no  more. 
Then  safe  I voyaged  to  my  native  shore/ 
He  ceas’d;  nor  made  the  pensive  Queen 
reply,  I70 

But  droop’d  her  head,  and  drew  a secret 
sigh. 

When  Theoclymenus  the  seer  began  : 

‘O  suff’ring  consort  of  the  suff’ring  man! 
What  human  knowledge  could,  those  Kings 
might  tell, 

But  I the  secrets  of  high  Heav’n  reveal. 
Before  the  first  of  Gods  be  this  declared, 
Before  the  board  whose  blessings  we  have 
shared ; 

W itness  the  genial  rites,  and  witness  all 
This  house  holds  sacred  in  her  ample 
wall  J 1 


THE  ODYSSEY 


605 


Ev’n  now,  this  instant,  great  Ulysses, 
laid  180 

At  rest,  or  wand’ring  in  his  country’s  shade, 
Their  guilty  deeds,  in  hearing,  and  in  view, 
Secret  revolves;  and  plans  the  vengeance 
due. 

Of  this  sure  auguries  the  Gods  bestow’d, 
When  first  our  vessel  anchor’d  in  your 
road.’ 

‘ Succeed  those  omens,  Heav’n  ! ’ (the 
Queen  rejoin’d) 

‘ So  shall  our  bounties  speak  a grateful 
mind  : 

And  every  envied  happiness  attend 
The  man  who  calls  Penelope  his  friend.’ 

Thus  communed  they:  while  in  the  mar- 
ble court  19° 

(Scene  of  their  insolence)  the  lords  resort; 
Athwart  the  spacious  square  each  tries  his 
art, 

To  whirl  the  disk,  or  aim  the  missile  dart. 

Now  did  the  hour  of  sweet  repast  arrive, 
And  from  the  field  the  victim  flocks  they 
drive  : 

Medon  the  Herald  (one  who  pleas’d  them 
best, 

And  honour’d  with  a portion  of  their  feast), 

' To  bid  the  banquet,  interrupts  their  play  : 
Swift  to  the  hall  they  haste;  aside  they 

lay  . _ )■ 

Their  garments,  and  succinct  the  victims 

slay.  200  J 

Then  sheep,  and  goats,  and  bristly  porkers 
bled, 

And  the  proud  steer  was  o’er  the  marble 
spread. 

While  thus  the  copious  banquet  they 
provide, 

Along  the  road,  conversing  side  by  side, 
Proceed  Ulysses  and  the  faithful  swain: 
When  thus  Eumseus,  gen’rous  and  humane: 

‘ To  town,  observant  of  our  lord’s  behest, 
Now  let  us  speed:  my  friend,  no  more  my 
guest ! 

Yet  like  myself  I wish  thee  here  preferr’d, 
Guard  of  the  flock,  or  keeper  of  the  herd.  210 
But  much  to  raise  my  master’s  wrath  I 
fear; 

The  wrath  of  Princes  ever  is  severe. 

Then  heed  his  will,  and  be  our  journey " 
made 

While  the  broad  beams  of  Phoebus  are 
display’d, 

Or  ere  brown  ev’ning  spreads  her  chilly 
shade.’ 


‘Just  thy  advice  ’ (the  prudent  Chief  re- 
join’d), 

‘ And  such  as  suits  the  dictate  of  my  mind. 
Lead  on:  but  help  me  to  some  staff  to  stay 
My  feeble  step,  since  rugged  is  the  way.’ 

Across  his  shoulders  then  the  scrip  he 
flung,  220 

Wide-patch’d,  and  fasten’d  by  a twisted 
thong. 

A staff  Eumseus  gave.  Along  the  way 
Cheerly  they  fare  : behind,  the  keepers 
stay; 

These  with  their  watchful  dogs  (a  constant 
guard) 

Supply  his  absence,  and  attend  the  herd. 
And  now  his  city  strikes  the  Monarch’s  eyes, 
Alas!  how  changed!  a man  of  miseries; 
Propp’d  on  a staff,  a beggar  old  and  bare, 
In  rags  dishonest  flutt’ring  with  the  air  ! 
Now,  pass’d  the  rugged  road,  they  journey 
down  230 

The  cavern’d  way  descending  to  the  town, 
Where,  from  the  rock,  with  liquid  drops 
distils 

A limpid  fount,  that,  spread  in  parting 
rills, 

Its  current  thence  to  serve  the  city  brings  ; 
A useful  work,  adorn’d  by  ancient  kings. 
Neritus,  Ithacus,  Folyctor,  there, 

In  sculptured  stone  immortalized  their 
care  ; 

In  marble  urns  receiv’d  it  from  above, 

And  shaded  with  a green  surrounding 
grove;  239 

Where  silver  alders,  in  high  arches  twin’d, 
Drink  the  cool  stream,  and  tremble  to  the 
wind. 

Beneath,  sequester’d  to  the  nymphs,  is  seen 
A mossy  altar,  deep  embower’d  in  green  ; 
Where  constant  vows  by  travellers  are  paid, 
And  holy  horrors  solemnize  the  shade. 

Here,  with  his  goats  (not  vow’d  to  sacred 
flame, 

But  pamper’d  luxury),  Melanthius  came: 
Two  grooms  attend  him.  With  an  envious 
look 

He  eyed  the  stranger,  and  imperious  spoke: 

‘ The  good  old  proverb  how  this  pair 
fulfil  ! 250 

One  rogue  is  usher  to  another  still. 

Heav’n  with  a secret  principle  endued 
Mankind,  to  seek  their  own  similitude. 
Where  goes  the  swineherd  with  that  ill- 
look’d  guest  ? 

That  giant  glutton,  dreadful  at  a feast! 


6o6 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


Full  many  a post  have  those  broad  shoul- 
ders worn, 

From  ev’ry  great  man’s  gate  repuls’d  with 
scorn: 

To  no  brave  prize  aspired  the  worthless 
swain, 

’T  was  but  for  scraps  he  ask’d,  and  ask’d  in 
vain.  259 

To  beg,  than  work,  he  better  understands; 
Or  we  perhaps  might  take  him  off  thy 
hands. 

For  any  office  could  the  slave  be  good, 

To  cleanse  the  fold,  or  help  the  kids  to 
food, 

If  any  labour  those  big  joints  could  learn, 
Some  whey,  to  wash  his  bowels,  he  might 
earn. 

To  cringe,  to  whine,  his  idle  hands  to 
spread, 

Is  all  by  which  that  graceless  maw  is  fed. 
Yet  hear  me!  if  thy  impudence  but  dare 
Approach  yon  walls,  I prophesy  thy  fare: 
Dearly,  full  dearly,  shalt  thou  buy  thy 
bread  27Q 

With  many  a footstool  thund’ring  at  thy 
head.’ 

He  thus:  nor  insolent  of  word  alone, 
Spurn’d  with  his  rustic  heel  his  King  un- 
known; 

Spurn’d,  but  not  mov’d:  he  like  a pillar 
stood, 

Nor  stirr’d  an  inch,  contemptuous,  from  the 
road: 

Doubtful,  or  with  his  staff  to  strike  him 
dead, 

Or  greet  the  pavement  with  his  worthless 
head. 

Short  was  that  doubt  ; to  quell  his  rage 
inured, 

The  hero  stood  self-conquer’d,  and  en- 
dured. 279 

But  hateful  of  the  wretch,  Eumseus  heav’d 
His  hands  obtesting,  and  this  prayer  con- 
ceiv’d: 

* Daughters  of  Jove!  who  from  th’  ethereal 
bowers 

Descend  to  swell  the  springs,  and  feed  the 
flowers ! 

Nymphs  of  this  fountain!  to  whose  sacred 
names 

Our  rural  victims  mount  in  blazing  flames! 
To  whom  Ulysses’  piety  preferr’d 
The  yearly  firstlings  of  his  flock,  and  herd; 
Succeed  my  wish,  your  votary  restore: 

Oh,  be  some  God  his  convoy  to  our  shore! 


Due  pains  shall  punish  then  this  slave’s 
offence, 

And  humble  all  his  airs  of  insolence, 

Who,  proudly  stalking,  leaves  the  herds  at 
large, 

Commences  courtier,  and  neglects  his 
charge.’ 

‘ What  mutters  he  ? ’ (Melanthius  sharp 
rejoins) 

‘This  crafty  miscreant  big  with  dark  de- 
signs ? 

The  day  shall  come;  nay,  ’t is  already 
near, 

When,  slave!  to  sell  thee  at  a price  too 
dear 

Must  be  my  care;  and  hence  transport  thee 
o’er, 

A load  and  scandal  to  this  happy  shore. 

Oh  that  as  surely  great  Apollo’s  dart,  300 
Or  some  brave  suitor’s  sword,  might  pierce 
the  heart 

Of  the  proud  son,  as  that  we  stand  this  hour 
In  lasting  safety  from  the  father’s  power!  ’ 

So  spoke  the  wretch,  but,  shunnino- 
farther  fray, 

Turn’d  his  proud  step,  and  left  them  on 
their  way. 

Straight  to  the  feastful  palace  he  repair’d, 
Familiar  enter’d,  and  the  banquet  shared;’ 
Beneath  Eurymachus,  his  patron  lord, 

He  took  his  place,  and  plenty  heap'd  the 
board. 

Meantime  they  heard,  soft-circling  in  the 
_ skD  310 

Sweet  airs  ascend,  and  heav’nly  minstrelsy 
(For  Phemius  to  the  lyre  attuned  the 
strain) : 

Ulysses  hearken’d,  then  address’d  the 
swain: 

‘ Well  may  this  palace  admiration  claim, 
Great,  and  respondent  to  the  master’s 
fame! 

Stage  above  stage  th’  imperial  structure 
stands, 

Holds  the  chief  honours,  and  the  town  com- 
mands: 

High  walls  and  battlements  the  courts  in- 
close, 

And  the  strong  gates  defy  a host  of  foes. 

Far  other  cares  its  dwellers  now  employ;  320 
The  throng’d  assembly  and  the  feast  of 
j°y: 

I see  the  smokes  of  sacrifice  aspire, 

And  hear  (what  graces  ev’ry  feast)  the 
lyre.’ 


THE  ODYSSEY 


607 


Then  thus  Eumseus  : * Judge  we  which 
were  best: 

Amidst  yon  revellers  a sudden  guest 
Dhoose  you  to  mingle,  while  behind  I 
stay  ? 

Or  I first  ent’ring  introduce  the  way  ? 

Wait  for  a space  without,  but  wait  not 
long; 

This  is  the  house  of  violence  and  wrong: 
Some  rude  insult  thy  rev’rend  age  may 
bear;  330 

For  like  their  lawless  lords  the  servants 
are.’ 

‘ Just  is,  O Friend  ! thy  caution,  and 
address’d  ’ 

(Replied  the  Chief)  ‘to  no  unheedful  breast: 
The  wrongs  and  injuries  of  base  mankind 
Fresh  to  my  sense,  and  always  in  my  mind. 
The  bravely-patient  to  no  fortune  yields: 

On  rolling  oceans,  and  in  fighting  fields, 
Storms  have  I pass’d,  and  many  a stern 
debate; 

And  now  in  humbler  scene  submit  to  Fate. 
What  cannot  Want  ? The  best  she  will 
expose,  340 

And  I am  learn ’d  in  all  her  train  of  woes; 
She  fills  with  navies,  hosts,  and  loud  alarms 
The  sea,  the  land,  and  shakes  the  world 
with  arms!  ’ 

Thus  near  the  gates  conferring  as  they 
drew, 

krgus,  the  dog,  his  ancient  master  knew; 
fie,  not  unconscious  of  the  voice  and  tread, 
'Lifts  to  the  sound  his  ear,  and  rears  his 
head; 

Bred  by  Ulysses,  nourish’d  at  his  board, 
But  ah!  not  fated  long  to  please  his  lord! 
To  him,  his  swiftness  and  his  strength 
were  vain;  35° 

The  voice  of  glory  call’d  him  o’er  the  main. 
Till  then  in  ev’ry  sylvan  chase  renown’d, 
With  Argus,  Argus,  rung  the  woods 
around: 

With  him  the  youth  pursued  the  goat  or 
fawn, 

Or  traced  the  mazy  lev’ret  o’er  the  lawn. 
Now  left  to  man’s  ingratitude  he  lay, 
Unhous’d,  neglected  in  the  public  way; 

And  where  on  heaps  the  rich  manure  was 
spread, 

Obscene  with  reptiles,  took  his  sordid  bed. 

He  knew  his  lord;  he  knew,  and  strove 
to  meet;  360 

In  vain  he  strove  to  crawl  and  kiss  his 
feet; 


Yet  (all  he  could)  his  tail,  his  ears,  his 
eyes 

Salute  his  master,  and  confess  his  joys. 

Soft  pity  touch’d  the  mighty  master’s  soul; 
Adown  his  cheek  a tear  unbidden  stole, 
Stole  unperceiv’d;  he  turn’d  his  head  and 
dried 

The  drop  humane;  then  thus  impassion’d 
cried : 

‘What  noble  beast  in  this  abandon’d 
state 

Lies  here  all  helpless  at  Ulysses’  gate  ? 

His  bulk  and  beauty  speak  no  vulgar 
praise:  370 

If,  as  he  seems,  he  was  in  better  days, 

Some  care  his  age  deserves;  or  was  he 
prized 

For  worthless  beauty  ? therefore  now  de- 
spised: 

Such  dogs  and  men  there  are,  mere  things 
of  state: 

And  always  cherish’d  by  their  friends,  the 
great.’ 

‘ Not  Argus  so  ’ (Eumseus  thus  rejoin’d), 

4 But  serv’d  a master  of  a nobler  kind, 

Who  never,  never  shall  behold  him  more! 
Long,  long  since  perish’d  on  a distant 
shore! 

Oh  had  you  seen  him,  vig’rous,  bold,  and 
young,  380 

Swift  as  a stag,  and  as  a lion  strong: 

Him  no  fell  savage  on  the  plain  withstood, 
None  ’scaped  him  bosom’d  in  the  gloomy 
wood: 

His  eye  how  piercing,  and  his  scent  how 
true, 

To  wind  the  vapour  in  the  tainted  dew! 
Such,  when  Ulysses  left  his  natal  coast; 
Now  years  unnerve  him,  and  his  lord  is 
lost! 

The  women  keep  the  gen’rous  creature 
bare, 

A sleek  and  idle  race  is  all  their  care: 

The  master  gone,  the  servants  what  re- 
strains ? 39° 

Or  dwells  humanity  where  riot  reigns? 
Jove  fix’d  it  certain,  that  whatever  day 
Makes  man  a slave,  takes  half  his  worth 
away.’ 

This  said,  the  honest  herdsman  strode 
before: 

The  musing  Monarch  pauses  at  the  door: 
The  dog,  whom  Fate  had  granted  to  behold 
His  lord,  when  twenty  tedious  years  had 
roll’d, 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


608 


Takes  a last  look,  and,  having  seen  him,  dies: 
So  closed  for  ever  faithful  Argus’  eyes! 

And  now  Telemachus,  the  first  of  all,  400 
Observ’d  Eumaeus  ent’ring  in  the  hall; 
Distant  he  saw,  across  the  shady  dome; 
Then  gave  a sign,  and  beckon’d  him  to 
come. 

There  stood  an  empty  seat,  where  late  was 
placed, 

In  order  due,  the  steward  of  the  feast 
(Who  now  was  busied  carving  round  the 
board) ; 

Eumaeus  took,  and  placed  it  near  his  lord. 
Before  him  instant  was  the  banquet  spread, 
And  the  bright  basket  piled  with  loaves  of 
bread; 

Next  came  Ulysses  lowly  at  the  door,  410 
A figure  despicable,  old,  and  poor, 

In  squalid  vests,  with  many  a gaping  rent, 
Propp  d on  a staff,  and  trembling  as  he  went. 
Then  resting  on  the  threshold  of  the  gate, 
Against  a cypress  pillar  lean’d  his  weight 
(Smooth’d  by  the  workman  to  a polish’d 
plane) ; 

The  thoughtful  son  beheld,  and  call’d  his 
swain: 

‘ These  viands,  and  this  bread,  Eunueus  ! 
bear, 

And  let  yon  mendicant  our  plenty  share  : 
Then  let  him  circle  round  the  suitors’ 
board,  420 

And  try  the  bounty  of  each  gracious  lord. 
Bold  let  him  ask,  encouraged  thus  by  me; 
How  ill,  alas  ! do  want  and  shame  agree  ! ’ 

His  lord’s  command  Pie  faithful  servant 
bears : 

The  seeming  beggar  answers  with  his 
prayers: 

‘ Bless’d  be  Telemachus  ! in  ev’ry  deed 
Inspire  him,  Jove  ! in  ev’ry  wish  succeed!’ 
This  said,  the  portion  from  his  son  convey’d 
With  smiles  receiving  on  his  scrip  he  laid. 
Long  as  the  minstrel  swept  the  sounding 
wire,  43D 

He  fed,  and  ceas’d  when  silence  held  the 
lyre. 

Soon  as  the  suitors  from  the  banquet  rose, 
Minerva  prompts  the  man  of  mighty  woes 
To  tempt  their  bounties  with  a suppliant’s 
art, 

And  learn  the  gen’rous  from  th’  ignoble 
heart 

(Not  but  his  soul,  resentful  as  humane, 
Dooms  to  full  vengeance  all  th’  offending 
train) ; 


With  speaking  eyes,  and  voice  of  plaintive 
sound, 

Humble  he  moves,  imploring  all  around. 
The  proud  feel  pity,  and  relief  bestow,  440 
With  such  an  image  touch’d  of  human 
woe; 

Inquiring  all,  their  wonder  they  confess, 
And  eye  the  man,  majestic  in  distress. 

While  thus  they  gaze  and  question  with 
their  eyes, 

The  bold  Melanthius  to  their  thought  re- 
plies: 

‘ My  lords  ! this  stranger  of  gigantic  port 
The  good  Eumseus  usher’d  to  your  court. 
•Full  well  I mark’d  the  features  of  his  face, 
Tho’  all  unknown  his  clime,  or  noble  race.’ 

‘ And  is  this  present,  swineherd  ! of  thv 
, hand  ? 450 

Bring’st  thou  these  vagrants  to  infest  the 
land  ? ’ 

(Returns  Antinous  with  retorted  eye) 

‘ Objects  uncouth,  to  check  the  genial  joy  ? 
Enough  of  these  our  court  already  grace, 

Of  giant  stomach,  and  of  famish’d  face. 
Such  guests  Euinseus  to  his  country  brings, 
To  share  our  feast,  and  lead  the  life  of 
Kings.’ 

To  whom  the  hospitable  swain  rejoin’d: 

‘ Thy  passion,  Prince,  belies  thy  knowing 
mind.  4S9 

Who  calls,  from  distant  nations  to  his  own, 
The  poor,  distinguish’d  by  their  wants 
alone  ? 

Round  the  wide  world  are  sought  those 
men  divine 

Who  public  structures  raise,  or  who  de- 
sign; 

Those  to  whose  eyes  the  Gods  their  ways 
reveal, 

Or  bless  with  salutary  arts  to  heal; 

But  chief  to  poets  such  respect  belongs, 

By  rival  nations  courted  for  their  songs: 
These  states  invite,  and  mighty  Kings  ad- 
mire, 

Wide  as  the  sun  displays  his  vital  fire.  469 
It  is  not  so  with  want  ! how  few  that  feed 
A wretch  unhappy,  merely  for  his  need  ! 
Unjust  to  me,  and  all  that  serve  the  state, 

To  love  Ulysses  is  to  raise  thy  hate. 

For  me,  suffice  the  approbation  won 
Of  my  great  mistress,  and  her  godlike  son.’ 

To  him  Telemachus:  ‘No  more  incense 
The  man  by  nature  prone  to  insolence; 
Injurious  minds  just  answers  but  provoke U 
Then,  turning  to  Antinous,  thus  he  spoke: 


THE  ODYSSEY 


609 


‘ Thanks  to  thy  care  ! whose  absolute  com- 
mand 480 

Tims  drives  the  stranger  from  our  court 
and  land. 

Heav’n  bless  its  owner  with  a better  mind  ! 
From  envy  free,  to  charity  inclin’d. 

This  both  Penelope  and  I afford: 

Then,  Prince  ! be  bounteous  of  Ulysses’ 
board. 

To  give  another’s  is  thy  hand  so  slow  ? 

So  much  more  sweet  to  spoil  than  to  be- 
stow ? ’ 

* Whence,  great  Telemachus  ! this  lofty 
strain  ? ’ 

(Antinoiis  cries  with  insolent  disdain) 

‘ Portions  like  mine  if  ev’ry  snitor  gave,  490 
Our  walls  this  twelvemonth  should  not  see 
the  slave.’ 

He  spoke,  and  lifting  high  above  the 
board 

His  pond’rous  footstool,  shook  it  at  his 
lord. 

The  rest  with  equal  hand  conferr’d  the  "I 
bread ; 

He  fill’d  his  scrip,  and  to  the  threshold  V 
sped; 

But  first  before  Antinoiis  stopp’d,  and  said : J 
‘ Bestow,  my  Friend  ! thou  dost  not  seem 
the  worst 

Of  all  the  Greeks,  but  prince-like  and  the 
first; 

!Then,  as  in  dignity,  be  first  in  worth, 

And  I shall  praise  thee  thro’  the  boundless 
earth.  5°° 

Once  I enjoy’d  in  luxury  of  state 
Whate’er  gives  man  the  envied  name  of 
great ; 

Wealth,  servants,  friends,  were  mine  in 
better  days; 

And  hospitality  was  then  my  praise; 

In  ev’ry  sorrowing  soul  I pour’d  delight, 
And  Poverty  stood  smiling  in  my  sight. 

But  Jove,  all-governing,  whose  only  will 
Determines  Fate,  and  mingles  good  with 
ill, 

Sent  me  (to  punish  my  pursuit  of  gain)  509 
With  roving  pirates  o’er  th’  ^Egyptian 
main: 

By  ^Egypt’s  silver  flood  our  ships  we  moor; 
Our  spies  commission’d  straight  the  coast 
explore ; 

But,  impotent  of  mind,  with  lawless  will 
The  country  ravage  and  the  natives  kill. 
The  spreading  clamour  to  their  city  flies, 
And  horse  and  foot  in  mingled  tumult  rise: 


The  redd’ning  dawn  reveals  the  hostile 
fields 

Horrid  with  bristly  spears,  and  gleaming 
shields: 

Jove  thunder’d  on  their  side:  our  guilty' 
head 

We  turn’d  to  flight;  the  gath’ring  ven-  ^ 
geance  spread  52<> 

On  all  parts  round,  and  heaps  on  heaps 
lay  dead. 

Some  few  the  foe  in  servitude  detain; 

Death  ill-exchanged  for  bondage  and  for 
pain  ! 

Unhappy  me  a Cyprian  took  aboard, 

And  gave  to  Dmetor,  Cyprus’  haughty 
lord: 

Hither,  to  ’scape  his  chains,  my  course  I 
steer, 

Still  curs’d  by  fortune,  and  insulted  here  ! ’ 

To  whom  Antinoiis  thus  his  rage  ex- 
press’d : 

‘ What  God  has  plagued  us  with  this  gor- 
mand  guest  ? 

Unless,  at  distance,  Wretch  ! thou  keep 'I 
behind,  530  I 

Another  isle,  than  Cyprus  more  unkind,  | 
Another  iEgypt,  shalt  thou  quickly  find.J 
From  all  thou  begg’st,  a bold  audacious 
slave ; 

Nor  all  can  give  so  much  as  thou  canst 
crave. 

Nor  wonder  I at  such  profusion  shown; 
Shameless  they  give,  who  give  what ’s  not 
their  own.’ 

The  Chief,  retiring,  1 Souls,  like  that  in 
thee, 

111  suit  such  forms  of  grace  and  dignity.  538 
Nor  will  that  hand  to  utmost  need  afford 
The  smallest  portion  of  a wasteful  board, 
Whose  luxury  whole  patrimonies  sweeps, 
Yet  starving  want,  amidst  the  riot,  weeps.’ 

The  haughty  suitor  with  resentment  bqrns, 
And,  sourly  smiling,  this  reply  returns: 

* Take  that,  ere  yet  thou  quit  this  princely* 
throng; 

And  dumb  for  ever  be  thy  sland’rous 
tongue  ! ’ 

He  said,  and  high  the  whirling  tripod 
flung. 

His  shoulder-blade  receiv’d  th’  ungentle 
shock: 

He  stood,  and  moved  not,  like  a marble  rock; 
But  shook  his  thoughtful  head,  nor  more 
complain’d,  550 

Sedate  of  soul,  his  character  sustain’d, 


6io 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


And  inly  form’d  revenge : then  back  with- 
drew: 

Before  his  feet  the  well-fill’d  scrip  he 
threw, 

And  thus  with  semblance  mild  address’d 
the  crew: 

‘May  what  I speak  your  princely  minds 
approve, 

Ye  Peers  and  Rivals  in  this  noble  love  ! 
Not  for  the  hurt  I grieve,  but  for  the  cause. 
If,  when  the  sword  our  country’s  quarrel 
draws, 

Or  if,  defending  what  is  justly  dear,  ) 
From  Mars  impartial  some  broad  wound  I 
we  bear,  _ s6o  f 

The  gen’rous  motive  dignifies  the  scar.  J 
But  for  mere  want,  how  hard  to  suffer 
wrong  ! 

Want  brings  enough  of  other  ills  along  ! 
Yet,  if  unjustice  never  be  secure, 

If  fiends  revenge,  and  Gods  assert  the 
poor, 

Death  shall  lay  low  the  proud  aggressor’s 
head, 

And  make  the  dust  Antinoiis’  bridal  bed.’ 

‘Peace,  wretch  ! and  eat  thy  bread  with- 
out offence  ’ 

(The  suitor  cried),  ‘ or  force  shall  drag  thee 
hence, 

Scourge  thro’  the  public  street,  and  cast 
thee  there,  57Q 

A mangled  carcass  for  the  hounds  to  tear.’ 

His  furious  deed  the  gen’ral  anger 
mov’d; 

All,  ev’n  the  worst,  condemn’d:  and  some 
reprov’d. 

‘Was  ever  Chief  for  wars  like  these  re- 
no  wil’d  ? 

Ill  fits  the  stranger  and  the  poor  to  wound. 
Unbless’d  thy  hand,  if,  in  this  low  dis- 
guise, 

Wander,  perhaps,  some  inmate  of  the 
skies: 

They  (curious  oft  of  mortal  actions)  deign 
In  forms  like  these  to  round  the  earth  and 
main, 

Just  and  unjust  recording  in  their  mind,  580 
And  with  sure  eyes  inspecting  all  man- 
kind.’ 

Telemachus,  absorb’d  in  thought  severe, 
Nourish’d  deep  anguish,  tho’  he  shed  no 
tear; 

But  the  dark  brow  of  silent  sorrow  shook: 
While  thus  his  mother  to  her  virgins 
spoke: 


‘ On  him  and  his  may  the  bright  God  of 
Day 

That  base  inhospitable  blow  repay  ! ’ 

The  nurse  replies:  ‘If  Jove  receives  my 
prayer, 

Not  one  survives  to  breathe  to-morrow’s 
air.’ 

‘ All,  all  are  foes,  and  mischief  is  their 
end ; S9<J 

Antinoiis  most  to  gloomy  death  a friend  ’ 
(Replies  the  Queen) : ‘ the  stranger  begg’d 
their  grace, 

And  melting  pity  soften’d  ev’ry  face; 

From  ev’ry  other  hand  redress  he  found, 
But  fell  Antinoiis  answer’d  with  a wound.’ 
Amidst  her  maids  thus  spoke  the  prudent 
Queen, 

Then  bade  Eumseus  call  the  pilgrim  in. 

‘ Much  of  th’  experienc’d  man  I long  to 
hear, 

If  or  his  certain  eye,  or  list’ning  ear, 

Have  learn ’d  the  fortunes  of  my  wand’ring* 

^ lord?>  60. 

Thus  she,  and  good  Eumseus  took  the 
word: 

‘A  private  audience  if  thy  grace  im- 
part, 

The  stranger’s  words  may  ease  the  royal 
heart. 

His  sacred  eloquence  in  balm  distils, 

And  the  soothed  heart  with  secret  pleasure 
fills. 

Three  days  have  spent  their  beams,  three 
nights  have  run 

Their  silent  journey  since  his  tale  begun, 
Unfinish’d  yet;  and  yet  I thirst  to  hear  ! 

As  when  some  Heav’n-taught  poet  charms 
the  ear 

(Suspending  sorrow  with  celestial  strain  610 
Breathed  from  the  Gods  to  soften  human 
pain), 

Time  steals  away  with  unregarded  wing, 
And  the  soul  hears  him,  tho’  he  cease  to 
sing. 

Ulysses  late  he  saw,  on  Cretan  ground 
(His  father’s  guest),  for  Minos’  birth  re- 
nown’d. 

He  now  but  waits  the  wind,  to  waft  him 
o’er, 

With  boundless  treasure,  from  Thesprotia’s 
shore.’ 

To  this  the  Queen:  ‘The  wand’rer  let 
me  hear, 

While  yon  luxurious  race  indulge  their 
cheer,  6l9 


THE  ODYSSEY 


611 


Devour  the  grazing  ox,  and  browsing 
goat, 

And  turn  my  gen’rous  vintage  down  their 
throat. 

For  where ’s  an  arm,  like  thine,  Ulysses  ! 
strong, 

To  curb  wild  riot,  and  to  punish  wrong  ? ’ 
She  spoke.  Telemachus  then  sneez’d 
aloud; 

Constrain’d,  his  nostril  echoed  thro’  the 
crowd. 

The  smiling  Queen  the  happy  omen  bless’d: 

‘ So  may  these  impious  fall,  by  Fate  op- 
press’d ! ’ 

Then  to  Eumaeus:  ‘Bring  the  stranger, 
fly  ! 

And  if  my  questions  meet  a true  reply, 
Graced  with  a decent  robe  he  shall  re- 
tire, 630 

A gift  in  season  which  his  wants  require.’ 

Thus  spoke  Penelope.  Eumaeus  flies 
In  duteous  haste,  and  to  Ulysses  cries: 

‘ The  Queen  invites  thee,  venerable  Guest! 
A secret  instinct  moves  her  troubled 
breast, 

Of  her  long  absent  lord  from  thee  to 
gain 

Some  light,  and  soothe  her  soul’s  eternal 
pain. 

If  true,  if  faithful  thou,  her  grateful  mind 
Of  decent  robes  a present  has  design’d: 

So  finding  favour  in  the  royal  eye,  640 

Thy  other  wants  her  subjects  shall  supply.’ 
‘"Fair  truth  alone  ’ (the  patient  man  re- 
plied) 

* My  words  shall  dictate,  and  my  lips  shall 
guide. 

To  him,  to  me,  one  common  lot  was  giv’n, 
In  equal  woes,  alas  ! involv’d  by  Heav’n. 
Much  of  his  fates  I know:  but  check’d  by 
fear 

I stand;  the  hand  of  violence  is  here: 

Here  boundless  wrongs  the  starry  skies  in- 
vade, 

And  injured  suppliants  seek  in  vain  for 
aid. 

Let  for  a space  the  pensive  Queen  at- 
tend, 650 

Nor  claim  my  story  till  the  sun  descend; 
Then  in  such  robes  as  suppliants  may  re- 
quire, 

Composed  and  cheerful  by  the  genial  fire, 
When  loud  uproar  and  lawless  riot  cease, 
Shall  her  pleas’d  ear  receive  my  words  in 
peace.’ 


Swift  to  the  Queen  returns  the  gentle 
swain: 

‘ And  say  ’ (she  cries),  ‘ does  fear,  or  shame, 
detain 

The  cautious  stranger  ? With  the  begging 
kind 

Shame  suits  but  ill.’  Eumaeus  thus  re- 
join’d: 659 

‘ He  only  asks  a more  propitious  hour, 
And  shuns  (who  would  not  ?)  wicked  men 
in  power; 

At  ev’ning  mild  (meet  season  to  confer), 

By  turns  to  question,  and  by  turns  to 
hear.’ 

‘ Whoe’er  this  guest  ’ (the  prudent 
Queen  replies), 

‘ His  ev’ry  step  and  ev’ry  thought  is  wise. 
For  men  like  these  on  earth  he  shall  not 
find 

In  all  the  miscreant  race  of  human  kind.’ 

Thus  she.  Eumaeus  all  her  words  at- 
tends, 

And,  parting,  to  the  suitor  powers  de- 
scends; 669 

There  seeks  Telemachus,  and  thus  apart 
Iu  whispers  breathes  the  fondness  of  his 
heart: 

‘ The  time,  my  lord,  invites  me  to  re- 
pair 

Hence  to  the  lodge;  my  charge  demands 
my  care. 

These  sons  of  murder  thirst  thy  life  to 
take; 

O guard  it,  guard  it,  for  thy  servants’ 
sake  ! ’ 

‘ Thanks  to  my  friend  ’ (he  cries) ; ‘ but 
now  the  hour 

Of  night  draws  on;  go  seek  the  rural 
bower: 

But  first  refresh;  and  at  the  dawn  of 
day 

Hither  a victim  to  the  Gods  convey. 

Our  life  to  Heav’n’s  immortal  Powers  we 
trust,  68® 

Safe  in  their  care,  for  Heav’n  protects  the 
just.’ 

Observant  of  his  voice,  Eunueus  sate, 
And  fed  recumbent  on  a chair  of  state. 
Then  instant  rose,  and,  as  lie  mov’d  along,  'j 
’T  was  riot  all  amid  the  suitor  throng:  I 
They  feast,  they  dance,  and  raise  the  j 
mirthful  song.  J 

Till  now,  declining  toward  the  close  of 
day, 

The  sun  obliquely  shot  his  dewy  ray. 


6l2 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


BOOK  XXI 

THE  BENDING  OF  ULYSSES*  BOW 
ARGUMENT 

Penelope,  to  put  an  end  to  the  solicitations  of 
the  suitors,  proposes  to  marry  the  person 
who  shall  first  bend  the  bow  of  Ulysses,  and 
shoot  through  the  ringlets.  After  their  at- 
tempts have  proved  ineffectual,  Ulysses,  tak- 
ing Eunueus  and  Philsetius  apart,  discovers 
himself  to  them;  then  returning,  desires  leave 
to  try  his  strength  at  the  bow,  which,  though 
refused  with  indignation  by  the  suitors,  Pe- 
nelope and  Telemachus  cause  to  be  delivered 
to  his  hands.  He  bends  it  immediately,  and 
shoots  through  all  the  rings.  Jupiter  at  the 
same  instant  thunders  from  heaven ; Ulysses 
accepts  the  omen,  and  gives  a sign  to  Tele- 
machus, who  stands  ready  armed  at  his  side. 

And  Pallas  now,  to  raise  the  rivals’  fires, 
With  her  own  art  Penelope  inspires: 

Who  now  can  bend  Ulysses’  bow,  and  wing 
The  well-aim’d  arrow  thro’  the  distant  ring, 
Shall  end  the  strife,  and  win  th’  imperial 
dame  ; 

But  discord  and  black  death  await  the 
game  ! 

The  prudent  Queen  the  lofty  stair  as- 
cends; 

At  distance  due  a virgin-train  attends  : 

A brazen  key  she  held,  the  handle  turn’d, 
With  steel  and  polish’d  elephant  adorn’d:  io 
Swift  to  the  inmost  room  she  bent  her  way, 
Where,  safe  reposed,  the  royal  treasures  lay; 
There  shone  high  heap’d  the  labour’d  brass 
and  ore, 

And  there  the  bow  which  great  Ulysses 
bore; 

And  there  the  quiver,  where  now  guiltless 
slept 

Those  winged  deaths  that  many  a matron 
wept. 

This  gift,  long  since  when  Sparta’s  shores 
he  trod, 

On  young  Ulysses  Iphitus  bestow’d  : 
Beneath  Orsilochus’s  roof  they  met; 

One  loss  was  private,  one  a public  debt;  20 
Messena’s  state  from  Ithaca  detains 
Three  hundred  sheep,  and  all  the  shepherd 
swains  ; 

And  to  the  youthful  Prince  to  urge  the 
laws, 

The  King  and  elders  trust  their  common 
cause. 


But  Iphitus,  employ’d  on  other  cares, 
Search  d the  wide  country  for  his  wand’ring 
mares, 

And  mules,  the  strongest  of  the  lab’rinff 
kind;  5 

Hapless  to  search!  more  hapless  still  to  find! 
For  journeying  on  to  Hercules,  at  length 
That  lawless  wretch,  that  man  of  brutal 
strength,  3C 

Deaf  to  Heav’n’s  voice,  the  social  rite  trans- 
gress’d; 

And  for  the  beauteous  mares  destroy’d  his 
guest. 

He  gave  the  bow;  and  on  Ulysses’  part 
Receiv’d  a pointed  sword,  and  missile  dart: 
Of  luckless  friendship  on  a foreign  shore 
Their  first,  last  pledges  ! for  they  met  no 
more. 

The  bow,  bequeath’d  by  this  unhappy 
hand, 

Ulysses  bore  not  from  his  native  land; 

Nor  in  the  front  of  battle  taught  to  bend, 
But  kept  in  dear  memorial  of  his  friend.  4o 
Now,  gently  winding  up  the  far  ascent, 
By  many  an  easy  step,  the  matron  went; 
Then  o’er  the  pavement  glides  with  grace 
divine 

(With  polish’d  oak  the  level  pavements 
shine) ; 

The  folding  gates  a dazzling  light  display’d, 
With  pomp  of  various  architrave  o’erlaid. 
The  bolt,  obedient  to  the  silken  string, 
Forsakes  the  staple  as  she  pulls  the  ring; 
The  wards  respondent  to  the  key  tur* 
round ; 

The  bars  fall  back;  the  flying  valves  re- 
sound; >v. 

Loud  as  a bull  makes  hill  and  valley  ring, 

So  roar’d  the  lock  when  it  releas’d  the 
spring. 

She  moves  majestic  thro’  the  wealthy  room, 
Where  treasured  garments  cast  a rich  per- 
fume; 

There  from  the  column,  where  aloft  it 
hung, 

Reach’d,  in  its  splendid  case,  the  bow  un- 
strung; 

Across  her  knees  she  laid  the  well-known 
bow, 

And  pensive  sate,  and  tears  began  to  flow. 

To  full  satiety  of  grief  she  mourns, 

Then  silent  to  the  joyous  hall  returns;  60 
To  the  proud  suitors  bears  in  pensive  state 
Th’  unbended  bow,  and  arrows  wing’d  with 
fate. 


THE  ODYSSEY 


613 


Behind,  her  train  the  polish’d  coffer 
brings, 

Which  held  th’  alternate  brass  and  silver 
rings. 

Full  in  the  portal  the  chaste  Queen  ap- 
pears, 

&nd  with  her  veil  conceals  the  coming 
tears  : 

pn  either  side  awaits  a virgin  fair; 

While  thus  the  matron,  with  majestic 'air  : 

‘ Say  you,  whom  these  forbidden  walls 
inclose, 

For  whom  my  victims  bleed,  my  vintage 
flows,  7° 

If  these  neglected,  faded  charms  can 
move  ? 

Or  is  it  but  a vain  pretence  you  love  ? 

If  I the  prize,  if  me  you  seek  to  wife, 

Hear  the  conditions,  and  commence  the 
strife. 

Who  first  Ulysses’  wondrous  bow  shall 
bend, 

And  thro’  twelve  ringlets  the  fleet  arrow 
send, 

Him  will  I follow,  and  forsake  my  home, 
For  him  forsake  this  lov’d,  this  wealthy 
dome, 

; Long,  long  the  scene  of  all  my  past  delight, 
And  still  to  last  the  vision  of  my  night!  ’ 80 
Graceful  she  said,  and  bade  Eumseus 
show 

The  rival  Peers  the  ringlets  and  the  bow. 
From  his  full  eyes  the  tears  unbidden 
spring, 

Touch’d  at  the  dear  memorials  of  his  King. 
Philsetius  too  relents,  but  secret  shed 
The  tender  drops.  Antinoiis  saw,  and 
said  : 

‘ Hence  to  your  fields,  ye  Rustics  ! hence 
away , 

Nor  stain  with  grief  the  pleasures  of  the 
day  : 

Nor  to  the  royal  heart  recall  in  vain 
The  sad  remembrance  of  a perish’d  man.  90 
Enough  her  precious  tears  already  flow:  "1 
Or  share  the  feast  with  due  respect,  or  go  V 
To  weep  abroad,  and  leave  to  us  the  bow:  J 
No  vulgar  task!  Ill  suits  this  courtly  crew 
That  stubborn  horn  which  brave  Ulysses 
drew. 

I well  remember  (for  I gazed  him  o’er 
While  yet  a child),  what  majesty  he  bore! 
And  still  (all  infant  as  I was)  retain 
The  port,  the  strength,  the  grandeur  of  the 
man.’  99 


He  said,  but  in  his  soul  fond  joys  arise, 
And  his  proud  hopes  already  win  the  prize 
To  speed  the  flying  shaft  thro’  ev’ry' 
ring, 

Wretch  ! is  not  thine  : the  arrows  of  the  k 
King 

Shall  end  those  hopes,  and  fate  is  on  the 
wing ! J 

Then  thus  Telemachus : * Some  God  I 
find 

With  pleasing  frenzy  has  possess’d  my 
mind ; 

When  a lov’d  mother  threatens  to  depart, 
Why  with  this  ill-timed  gladness  leaps  my 
heart  ? 

Come  then,  ye  suitors  ! and  dispute  a 
prize 

Richer  than  all  th’  Achaian  state  sup- 
plies, 110 

Than  all  proud  Argos  or  Mycsene  knows, 
Than  all  our  isles  or  continents  inclose: 

A woman  matchless,  and  almost  divine,. 

Fit  for  the  praise  of  ev’ry  tongue  but  mine. 
No  more  excuses  then,  no  more  delay; 

Haste  to  the  trial  — Lo  ! I lead  the  way. 

‘ I too  may  try,  and  if  this  arm  can  wing 
The  feather’d  arrow  thro’  the  destin’d 
ring, 

Then,  if  no  happier  knight  the  conquest 
boast, 

I shall  not  sorrow  for  a mother  lost;  120 
But,  bless’d  in  her,  possess  these  arms 
alone, 

Heir  of  my  father’s  strength,  as  well  as 
throne.’ 

He  spoke;  then,  rising,  his  broad  sword 
unbound, 

And  cast  his  purple  garment  on  the  ground. 
A trench  he  open’d;  in  a line  he  placed 
The  level  axes,  and  the  points  made  fast. 
(His  perfect  skill  the  wond’ring  gazers 
eyed, 

Tire  game  as  yet  unseen,  as  yet  untried.) 
Then,  with  a manly  pace,  he  took  his  stand, 
And  grasp’d  the  bow,  and  twang’d  it  in  his 
hand.  130 

Three  times,  with  beating  heart,  he  made 
essay; 

Three  times,  unequal  to  the  task,  gave  way; 
A modest  boldness  on  his  cheek  appear’d ; 
And  thrice  he  hoped,  and  thrice  again  he 
fear’d. 

The  fourth  had  drawn  it.  The  great  Sire 
with  joy 

Beheld,  but  with  a sign  forbade  the  boy. 


614  translations  from  homer 

His  ardour  straight  th’  obedient  Prince 


suppress  d, 

And,  artful,  thus  the  suitor-train  address’d: 

‘ O W tlie  cause  on  youth  yet  immature 
(for  Heav’n  forbid  such  weakness  should 
endure)  ! MO 

How  shall  this  arm,  unequal  to  the  bow, 
Ketort  an  insult,  or  repel  a foe  ? 

But  you  ! whom  Heav’n  with  better  nerves 
has  bless’d, 

Accept  the  trial,  and  the  prize  contest.’ 

He  cast  the  bow  before  him,  and  apart 
Against  the  polish’d  quiver  propp’d  the 
dart. 

Resuming  then  his  seat,  Eupithes’  son, 

The  bold  Antinoiis,  to  the  rest  begun: 
‘From  where  the  goblet  first  begins  to  flow, 
krom  right  to  left  in  order  take  the  bow; 
And  prove  your  sev’ral  strengths.’  — The 
Princes  heard,  ISI 

And  first  Leiodes,  blameless  priest,  ap- 
pear’d: 

The  eldest  born  of  CEnops’  noble  race, 

Who  next  the  goblet  held  his  holy  place; 
He,  only  he,  of  all  the  suitor  throng, 

Their  deeds  detested,  and  abjured  the 
wrong. 

With  tender  hands  the  stubborn  horn  he 
strains, 

The  stubborn  horn  resisted  all  his  pains  ! 
Already  in  despair  he  gives  it  o’er: 

‘ Take  it  who  will  ’ (he  cries),  ‘ I strive  no 
more.  i6o 

What  numerous  deaths  attend  this  fatal 
bow  ! 

What  souls  and  spirits  shall  it  send  below  ! 
Better,  indeed,  to  die,  and  fairly  give 
Nature  her  debt,  than  disappointed  live, 
With  each  new  sun  to  some  new  hope  a 

Prey> 

Yet  still  to-morrow  falser  than  to-day. 

How  long  in  vain  Penelope  we  sought  ! 
ihis  bow  shall  ease  us  of  that  idle  thought, 
And  send  us  with  some  humbler  wife  to 
live, 

Whom  gold  shall  gain,  or  destiny  shall 

Tu  glVe‘\.  , .70 

ihus  speaking,  on  the  floor  the  bow  he 
placed 

(With  rich  inlay  the  various  floor  was 
graced) ; 

At  distance  far  the  feather’d  shaft  he 
throws, 

And  to  the  seat  returns  from  whence  he 
rose. 


I \J°  him  AntinoUs  thus  with  fury  said: 

‘ What^words  ill-omen’d  from  thy  lips  have 

Thy  coward-function  ever  is  in  fear; 

Those  arms  are  dreadful  which  thou  canst 
not  bear. 

Why  should  this  bow  be  fatal  to  the  brave 
Because  the  priest  is  born  a peaceful 
slave  ? r igo 

Mark  then  what  others  can.’  He  ended 
there, 

And  bade  Melanthius  a vast  pile  prepare* 
He  gives  it  instant  flame,  then  fast  beside 
Spreads  o’er  an  ample  board  a bullock’s 
hide. 

With  melted  lard  they  soak  the  weapon 
o’er, 

Chafe  ev’ry  knot,  and  supple  ev’ry  pore. 
Vain  all  their  art,  and  all  their  strength  as 
vain : 

The  bow  inflexible  resists  their  pain. 

The  force  of  great  Eurymachus  alone,  x89 
And  bold  Antinoiis,  yet  untried,  unknown, 
Those  only  now  remain’d;  but  those  con- 
fess’d 

Of  all  the  train  the  mightiest  and  the  best. 

Then  from  the  hall,  and  from  the  noisy 
crew, 

The  masters  of  the  herd  and  flock  with- 
drew. 

The  King  observes  them;  he  the  hall  for- 
sakes, 

And  past  the  limits  of  the  court  o’ertakes. 
Then  thus  with  accent  mild  Ulysses  spoke: 

‘ Ye  faithful  guardians  of  the  herd  and 
flock  ! 

Shall  I the  secret  of  my  breast  conceal,  i99 
Or  (as  my  soul  now  dictates)  shall  I tell  ? 
Say,  should  some  fav’ring  God  restore 
again 

The  lost  Ulysses  to  his  native  reign, 

How  beat  your  hearts  ? what  aid  would 
you  afford 

To  the  proud  suitors,  or  your  ancient 
lord  ? ’ 

Philaetius  thus:  ‘ O were  thy  word  not 
vain  1 

Would  mighty  Jove  restore  that  man 
again  ! 

These  aged  sinews,  with  new  vigour  strung, 

In  his  blest  cause  should  emulate  the 
young.’ 

With  equal  vows  Eumaeus  too  implor’d 
Each  power  above,  with  wishes  for  his 


THE  ODYSSEY 


61  5 


He  saw  their  secret  souls,  and  thus  be- 
gan: 

Those  vows  the  Gods  accord;  behold  the 
man  ! 

Your  own  Ulysses!  twice  ten  years  de- 
tain’d 

By  woes  and  wand’rings  from  this  hapless 
land : 

At  length  he  comes;  hut  comes  despised, 
unknown, 

And  finding  faithful  you,  and  you  alone. 

All  else  have  cast  him  from  their  very 
thought, 

Ev’n  in  their  wishes  and  their  prayers  for- 
got  ! 

Hear  then,  my  friends:  If  Jove  this  arm 
succeed, 

And  give  yon  impious  revellers  to  bleed,  220 
My  care  shall  be  to  bless  your  future  lives 
With  large  possessions  and  with  faithful 
wives: 

.Fast  by  my  palace  shall  your  domes  as- 1 
cend,  I 

And  each  on  young  Telemachus  attend,  >• 
And  each  be  call’d  his  brother  and  my 
friend.  J 

To  give  you  firmer  faith,  now  trust  your 
eye; 

Lo  ! the  broad  scar  indented  on  my  thigh, 
When  with  Autolycus’s  sons,  of  yore, 

On  Parnass’  top  I chased  the  tusky  boar.’ 
His  ragged  vest  then  drawn  aside,  dis- 
closed 23° 

The  sign  conspicuous,  and  the  scar  exposed; 
Eager  they  view’d;  with  joy  they  stood 
amazed; 

With  tearful  eyes  o’er  all  their  master 
gazed: 

Around  his  neck  their  longing  arms  they 
cast, 

His  head,  his  shoulders,  and  his  knees  em- 
braced; 

Tears  follow’d  tears;  no  word  was  in  their 
power; 

In  solemn  silence  fell  the  kindly  shower. 
The  King  too  weeps,  the  King  too  grasps 
their  hands, 

And  moveless,  as  a marble  fountain,  stands. 

Thus  had  their  joy  wept  down  the  set- 
ting sun,  240 

But  first  the  wise  man  ceas’d,  and  thus  be- 
gun: 

‘Enough  — on  other  cares  your  thought 
employ,  . . . 

For  danger  waits  on  all  untimely  joy. 


Full  many  foes,  and  fierce,  observe  us  near; 
Some  may  betray,  and  yonder  walls  may 
hear. 

Re-enter  then,  not  all  at  once,  but  stay 
Some  moments  you,  and  let  me  lead  the  way. 
To  me,  neglected  as  I am,  I know 
The  haughty  suitors  will  deny  the  bow; 

But  thou,  Eumseus,  as ’t  is  borne  away,  250 
Thy  master’s  weapon  to  his  hand  convey. 

At  ev’rv  portal  let  some  matron  wait, 

And  each  lock  fast  the  well-compacted 
gate : 

Close  let  them  keep,  whate’er  invades  their 
ear; 

Tho’  arms,  or  shouts,  or  dying  groans  they 
hear. 

To  thy  strict  charge,  Philaetius,  we  consign 
The  court’s  main  gate;  to  guard  that  pass 
be  thine.’ 

This  said,  he  first  return’d ; the  faithful 
swains 

At  distance  follow,  as  their  King  ordains. 
Before  the  flame  Eurymachus  now  stands, 
And  turns  the  bow,  and  chafes  it  with  his 
hands;  261 

Still  the  tough  bow  unmov’d.  The  lofty 
man 

Sigh’d  from  his  mighty  soul,  and  thus  be- 
gan: 

‘I  mourn  the  common  cause:  for,  oh  my 
friends  ! 

On  me,  on  all,  what  grief,  what  shame  at- 
tends ! 

Not  the  lost  nuptials  can  affect  me  more 
(For  Greece  has  beauteous  dames  on  ev’ry 
shore), 

But  baffled  thus  ! confess’d  so  far  below 
Ulysses’  strength,  as  not  to  bend  his  bow  ! 
How  shall  all  ages  our  attempt  deride  ! 270 

Our  weakness  scorn  ! ’ Antinous  thus  re- 
plied: 

‘ Not  so,  Eurymachus:  that  no  man  draws 
The  wondrous  bow,  attend  another  cause. 
Sacred  to  Phcebus  is  the  solemn  day, 

Which  thoughtless  we  in  games  would 
waste  away ; 

Till  the  next  dawn  this  ill-timed  strife 
forego, 

And  here  leave  fix’d  the  ringlets  in  a row. 
Now  bid  the  sewer  approach,  then  let  us 
join 

In  due  libations,  and  in  rites  divine; 

So  end  our  night;  before  the  day  shall 
spring,  2S0 

The  choicest  off’rings  let  Melanthius  bring; 


6 1 6 


translations  from  homer 


Let  then  to  Phoebus’  name  the  fatted  thighs 
*eed  ride”011  Sm°keS’  high  curIi«g  to  the 
So  shall  the  patron  of  these  arts  bestow 
(lor  his  the  gift)  the  skill  to  bend  the 
bow. 

They  heard  well  pleas’d  ; the  ready 
heralds  bring  J 

The  cleansing  waters  from  the  limpid 
spring;  r 

The  goblet  high  with  rosy  wine  thev 
crown’d,  J 

In  order  circling  to  the  peers  around. 

1 hat  rite  complete,  uprose  the  thoughtful 
man, 

And  thus  his  meditated  scheme  began;  *9° 

‘ Ir  what  I ask  your  noble  minds  approve, 
V*®” and  Rl vals  in  the  ^yal  love  I 
Uuet,  if  it  hurt  not  great  Antinoiis’  ear 
\W,  ?neJage  decision  1 with  wonder  hear) 
And  if  Eurymachus  the  motion  please 
Live  Heav’n  this  day,  and  rest  the  bow  in 
peace. 

To-morrow  let  your  arms  dispute  the  prize, 
And  take  it  he,  the  favour’d  of  the  skies' 
But,  since  till  then  this  trial  you  delay,  'soo 
irust  it  one  moment  to  my  hands  to-day* 
Iain  would  I prove,  before  your  judging 

What  once  I was,  whom  wretched  you  de- 
spise; 

If  yet  this  arm  its  ancient  force  retain* 

Or  if  my  woes  (a  long-continued  train) 

And  wants  and  insults,  make  me  less 
than  man.’  . 

Rage  Hash’d  in  lightning  from  the  suitors 
e}ms, 

Yet  mix’d  with  terror  at  the  bold  emprise. 
Antinoiis  then:  ‘O  miserable  guest! 

Is  common  sense  quite  banish’d  from  thy 
breast  ? J 

Sufficed  it  not,  within  the  palace  placed, 
lo  sit  distinguish’d,  with  our  presence 
graced, 

Admitted  here  with  Princes  to  confer, 

A man  unknown,  a needy  wanderer  ? 

To  copious  wine  this  insolence  we  owe, 

And  much  thy  betters  wine  can  overthrow: 

I he  great  Eurytion  when  this  frenzy 
stung,  J 

Pirithous’  roofs  with  frantic  riot  runo-* 
Boundless  the  Centaur  raged;  till  one  and 
all 


His  nose  they  shorten’d,  and  his  ears  they 
sht, 

And  sent  him  sober’d  home,  with  better 
wit. 

Hence  with  long  war  the  double  race  was 
curs  d 

Fatal  to  all,  but  to  th’  aggressor  first. 

touch  late  I prophesy  our  guest  attends, 

It  here  this  interdicted  bow  he  bends: 

Nor  shall  these  walls  such  insolence  con- 
tain; 

The  first  fair  wind  transports  him  o’er  the 
main; 

Where  Echetus  to  death  the  guilty  brings 

(The  worst  of  mortals,  ev’n  the  worst  of 
Kings). 

Better  than  that,  if  thou  approve  our 
cheer, 

Cease  the  mad  strife,  and  share  our  bounty 
here.  J 

To  this  the  Queen  her  just  dislike  ex- 
press d : 

‘ ’T  is  impious,  Prince,  to  harm  the  stranger- 
guest;  ® 

Base  to  insult  who  bears  a suppliant’s 
name, 

And  some  respect  Telemachus  may  claim. 

H hat  if  th  Immortals  on  the  man  bestow 


The  heroes  rose,  and  dragg’d  him  from  the 
hail: 


toufficient  Strength  to  draw  the  mighty 
bow  ? & J 

Shall  I,  a Queen,  by  rival  chiefs  ador’d, 
Accept  a wand’ring  stranger  for  mv 
lord  ? J 

A hope  so  idle  never  touch’d  his  brain:  34° 
I hen  ease  your  bosom  of  a fear  so  vain, 
far  be  he  banish’d  from  this  stately  scene 
Who  wrongs  his  Princess  with  a 'thought 
so  mean.’ 

‘ 0 FaiJ!  and  wisest  of  so  fair  a kind  ! ’ 
(Kespeetful  thus  Eurymachus  rejoin’d) 

‘ Mov  d by  no  weak  surmise,  but  sense  of 
shame, 

dread  the  all  - arraigning  voice  of 
Fame: 

We  dread  the  censure  of  the  meanest 
slave, 

The  weakest  woman:  all  can  wrong  the 
brave.  6 

“Behold  what  wretches  to  the  bed  pre- 
tend 

Of  that  brave  Chief,  whose  bow  they  could 
not  bend! 

In  came  a beggar  of  the  strolling  crew, 

And  did  what  all  those  Princes  could  not 
do.” 


THE  ODYSSEY 


617 


Thus  will  the  common  voice  our  deed  de- 
fame, 

ind  thus  posterity  upbraid  our  name.’ 

To  whom  the  Queen:  ‘If  Fame  engage 
your  views, 

Forbear  those  acts  which  Infamy  pursues; 
Wrong  and  oppression  no  renown  can 
raise; 

Know,  Friend  ! that  virtue  is  the  path  to 
praise.  360 

The  stature  of  our  guest,  his  port,  his  face, 
Speak  him  descended  from  no  vulgar 
race. 

To  him  the  bow,  as  he  desires,  convey; 

And  to  his  hand  if  Phoebus  give  the  day, 
Hence,  to  reward  his  merit,  he  shall  bear 
A two-edg’d  faulchion  and  a shining  spear, 
Embroider’d  sandals,  a rich  cloak  and 
vest, 

And  safe  conveyance  to  his  port  of  rest.’ 

‘ O royal  Mother!  ever-honour’d  name! 
Permit  me  ’ (cries  Telemachus)  ‘ to  claim 
A son’s  just  right.  No  Grecian  Prince 
but  I 371 

Has  power  this  bow  to  grant,  or  to  deny! 

Of  all  that  Ithaca’s  rough  hills  contain,  _ 
And  all  wide  Elis’  courser-breeding  plain, 
To  me  alone  my  father’s  arms  descend; 

And  mine  alone  they  are,  to  give  or  lend. 
Retire,  O Queen!  thy  household  task  re- 
sume, 

Tend,  with  thy  maids,  the  labours  of  thy 
loom ; 

The  bow,  the  darts,  and  arms  of  chivalry, 
These  cares  to  man  belong,  and  most  to 
me.’  38° 

Mature  beyond  his  years,  the  Queen  ad- 
mired 

His  sage  reply,  and  with  her  train  retired ; 
There  in  her  chamber  as  she  sate  apart, 
Revolv’d  his  words,  and  placed  them  in  her 
heart. 

On  her  Ulysses  then  she  fix’d  her  soul ; 
Down  her  fair  cheek  the  tears  abundant 
roll, 

Till  gentle  Pallas,  piteous  of  her  cries, 

In  slumber  closed  her  silver-streaming 

eyes. 

Now  thro’  the  press  the  bow  Eumseus 
bore, 

And  all  was  riot,  noise,  and  wild  uproar.  39o 
‘ Hold!  lawless  rustic!  whither  wilt  thou 
go  ? 

To  whom,  insensate,  dost  thou  bear  the 
bow  ? 


Exil’d  for  this  to  some  sequester’d  den, 

Far  from  the  sweet  society  of  men, 

To  thy  own  dogs  a prey  thou  shalt  be 
made ; 

If  Heav’n  and  Phoebus  lend  the  suitors 
aid.’ 

Thus  they.  Aghast  he  laid  the  weapon 
down, 

But  bold  Telemachus  thus  urged  him  on: 

< Proceed,  false  slave,  and  slight  their  empty 
words; 

What ! hopes  the  fool  to  please  so  many 
lords  ? 4°o 

Young  as  I am,  thy  Prince’s  vengeful  hand 
Stretch’d  forth  in  wrath  shall  drive  thee 
from  the  land. 

Oh  ! could  the  vigour  of  this  arm  as  well 
Th’  oppressive  suitors  from  my  walls 
expel! 

Then  what  a shoal  of  lawless  men  should 
go 

To  fill  with  tumult  the  dark  courts  be- 
low! ’ 

The  suitors  with  a scornful  smile  survey 
The  youth,  indulging  in  the  genial  day.. 
Eunneus,  thus  encouraged,  hastes  to  bring 
The  strifeful  bow,  and  gives  it  to  the 
King.  410 

Old  Euryclea  calling  then  aside, 

‘ Hear  what  Telemachus  enjoins  ’ (he 
cried) : 

‘ At  ev’ry  portal  let  some  matron  wait, 

And  each  lock  fast  the  well-compacted 
gate ; 

And  if  unusual  sounds  invade  their  ear, 

If  arms,  or  shouts,  or  dying  groans  they 
hear, 

Let  none  to  call  or  issue  forth  presume, 

But  close  attend  the  labours  of  the  loom.’ 

Her  prompt  obedience  on  his  order 
waits;  4*9 

Closed  in  an  instant  were  the  palace 
gates. 

In  the  same  moment  forth  Philsetius  flies, 
Secures  the  court,  and  with  a cable  ties 
The  utmost  gate  (the  cable  strongly 
wrought 

Of  Byblos’  reed,  a ship  from  Egypt 
brought) ; 

Then  unperceiv’d  and  silent  at  the  board 
His  seat  he  takes,  his  eyes  upon  his  lord. 

And  now  his  well-known  bow  the  Master 
bore, 

Turn’d  on  all  sides,  and  view’d  it  o’er  and 
o’er; 


6i8 


TRANSLATIONS 


Lest  time  or  worms  had  done  the  weapon 
wrong, 

Its  owner  absent,  and  untried  so  long.  430 
While  some  deriding  : ‘How  he  turns  the 
bow  ! 

Some  other  like  it  sure  the  man  must 
know, 

Or  else  would  copy;  or  in  bows  he  deals; 
Perhaps  he  makes  them,  or  perhaps  he 
steals.’  — 

‘ Heav’n  to  this  wretch  ’ (another  cried) 

‘ be  kind  ! 

And  bless,  in  all  to  which  he  stands  in- 
clin’d, 

With  such  good  fortune  as  he  now  shall 
find.’  j 

Heedless  he  heard  them:  but  disdain’d 
reply, 

The  bow  perusing  with  exactest  eye. 

Then,  as  some  heav’nly  minstrel,  taught  to 

„.  . Sh;s  . 440 

High  notes  responsive  to  the  trembling 
string, 

To  some  new  strain  when  he  adapts  the 
lyre, 

Or  the  dumb  lute  refits  with  vocal  wire, 
Relaxes,  strains,  and  draws  them  to  and 
fro; 

So  the  great  master  drew  the  mighty  bow: 
And  drew  with  ease.  One  hand  aloft  dis- 
play’d 

The  bending  horns,  and  one  the  string-  es- 
say’d. 

From  Ins  essaying  hand  the  string  let  fly 
Twang’d  short  and  sharp  like  the  shrill 
swallow’s  cry. 

A gen’ral  horror  ran  thro’  all  the  race,  45o 
Sunk  was  each  heart,  and  pale  was  ev’ry 
face. 

Signs  from  above  ensued:  th’ unfolding  sky 
In  lightning  burst;  Jove  thunder’d  from  on 
high. 

Fired  at  the  call  of  Heav’n’s  almighty 
Lord, 

He  snatch’d  the  shaft  that  glitter’d  on  the 
board 

(Fast  by,  the  rest  lay  sleeping  in  the  sheath, 
But  soon  to  fly,  the  messengers  of  Death). 

Now,  sitting  as  he  was,  the  cord  he  drew, 
Thro’  every  ringlet  levelling  his  view; 

Then  notch’d  the  shaft,  releas’d,  and) 
gave  it  wing;  46o 

The  whizzing  arrow  vanish’d  from  the  V 
string, 

Sung  on  direct,  and  threaded  ev’ry  ring.  J I 


FROM  HOMER 


The  solid  gate  its  fury  scarcely  bounds; 

Pierc  d thro  and  thro’,  the  solid  gate  re 
sounds. 

Then  to  the  Prince:  ‘Nor  have  I wrough 
thee  shame; 

Nor  err’d  this  hand  unfaithful  to  its  aim; 

Nor  prov’d  the  toil  too  hard;  nor  have 
I lost 

That  ancient  vigour  once  my  pride  and 
boast. 

Ill  I deserv’d  these  haughty  Peers’  disdain 

Now  let  them  comfort  their  dejected 
train,  47t 

In  sweet  repast  their  present  hour  employ 

Nor  wait  till  ev’ning  for  the  genial  joy: 

Then  to  the  lute’s  soft  voice  prolong  the 
night; 

Music,  the  banquet’s  most  refin’d  delight.’ 

He  said,  theii  gave  a nod;  and  at  the 
word 

Telemachus  girds  on  his  shining  sword. 

Fast  by  his  father’s  side  he  takes  liisi 
stand: 

The  beamy  jav’lin  lightens  in  his  hand. 


BOOK  XXII 

THE  DEATH  OF  THE  SUITORS 
ARGUMENT 

Ulysses  begins  the  slaughter  of  the  suitors  by 
the  death  of  Antinoiis.  He  declares  him- 
self. and  lets  fly  his  arrows  at  the  rest.  Tele- 
machus assists,  and  brings  arms  for  his 
father,  himself,  Eumaeus,  and  Philastius. 
Melanthius  does  the  same  for  the  wooers. 
Minerva  encourages  Ulysses  in  the  shape  of 
Mentor.  The  suitors  are  all  slain,  only  Me- 
don  and  Phemius  are  spared.  Melanthius 
and  the  unfaithful  servants  are  executed. 
The  rest  acknowledge  their  master  with  all 
demonstrations  of  joy. 

Then  fierce  the  Hero  o’er  the  threshold 
strode; 

Stripp’d  of  his  rags,  he  blazed  out  like  a 
_ God. 

Full  in  their  face  the  lifted  bow  he  bore, 
And  quiver’d  deaths,  a formidable  store; 
Before  his  feet  the  rattling  shower  he 
threw, 

And  thus,  terrific,  to  the  suitor-crew: 

‘ One  venturous  game  this  hand  hath 
won  to-day, 

Another,  Princes  ! yet  remains  to  play; 


THE  ODYSSEY 


619 


Another  mark  our  arrow  must  attain. 
Phoebus,  assist  ! nor  be  the  labour  vain.’  10 
swift  as  the  word  the  parting  arrow  sings, 
And  bears  thy  fate,  Antinoiis,  on  its 
wings: 

Wretch  that  he  was,  of  un prophetic  soul  ! 
High  in  his  bauds  he  rear’d  the  golden 
bowl  ! 

Ev’11  then  to  drain  it  lengthen’d  out  his 
breath ; 

, Changed  to  the  deep,  the  bitter  draught  of 
death: 

For  Fate  who  fear’d  amidst  a feastful 
band  ? 

And  Fate  to  numbers,  by  a single  hand  ? 
Full  thro’  his  throat  Ulysses’  weapon 
pass’d, 

And  pierc’d  his  neck.  He  falls,  and 

breathes  his  last.  20 

The  tumbling  goblet  the  wide  floor  o’er- 
flows, 

A stream  of  gore  burst  spouting  from  his 
nose ; 

Grim  in  convulsive  agonies  he  sprawls: 
Before  him  spurn’d  the  loaded  table  falls, 
And  spreads  the  pavement  with  a mingled 
flood 

Of  floating  meats,  and  wine,  and  human 
blood. 

Amazed,  confounded,  as  they  saw  him  fall, 
Up  rose  the  throngs  tumultuous  round  the 
hall: 

O’er  all  the  dome  they  cast  a haggard  eye, 
Each  look’d  for  arms:  in  vain;  no  arms 
were  nigh:  30 

,f<  Aim’st  thou  at  Princes?’  (all  amazed 
they  said) 

*<Thy  last  of  games  unhappy  hast  thou 
play’d ; 

Thy  erring  shaft  has  made  our  bravest 
j bleed, 

And  Death,  unlucky  guest,  attends  thy 
deed. 

f Vultures  shall  tear  thee.’  Thus  incens’d 
they  spoke, 

While  each  to  chance  ascribed  the  won- 
drous stroke, 

Blind  as  they  were;  for  Death  even  now 
invades 

His  destin’d  prey,  and  wraps  them  all  in 
shades. 

Then,  grimly  frowning,  with  a dreadful 
1 look, 

That  wither’d  all  their  hearts,  Ulysses 
spoke:  4° 


* Dogs,  ye  have  had  your  day  ! ye  fear’d 
no  more 

Ulysses  vengeful  from  the  Trojan  shore; 
While,  to  your  lust  and  spoil  a guardless 
prey, 

Our  house,  our  wealth,  our  helpless  hand- 
maids lay: 

Not  so  content,  with  bolder  frenzy  fired, 
Ev’11  to  our  bed  presumptuous  you  aspired: 
Laws  or  divine  of  human  fail’d  to  move, 

Or  shame  of  men,  or  dread  of  Gods  above; 
Heedless  alike  of  infamy  or  praise, 

Or  Fame’s  eternal  voice  in  future  days,  50 
The  hour  of  vengeance,  wretches,  now  is 
come; 

Impending  fate  is  yours,  and  instant 
doom.’ 

Thus  dreadful  he.  Confused  the  suitors 
stood; 

From  their  pale  cheeks  recedes  the  flying 
blood : 

Trembling  they  sought  their  guilty  heads 
to  hide; 

Alone  the  bold  Eurymachus  replied: 

‘ If,  as  thy  words  import  ’ (he  thus 
began), 

1 Ulysses  lives,  and  thou  the  mighty  man, 
Great  are  thy  wrongs,  and  much  hast  thou 
sustain’d  59 

In  thy  spoil’d  palace,  and  exhausted  land; 
The  cause  and  author  of  those  guilty 
deeds, 

Lo  ! at  thy  feet  unjust  Antinoiis  bleeds. 
Not  love,  but  wild  ambition  was  his  guide;  'j 
To  slay  thy  son,  thy  kingdoms  to  divide,  I 
These  were  his  aims;  but  juster  Jove  J 
denied.  J 

Since  cold  in  death  th’  offender  lies,  oh 
spare 

Thy  suppliant  people,  and  receive  their 
prayer  ! 

Brass,  gold,  and  treasures,  shall  the  spoil 'j 
defray,  { 

Two  hundred  oxen  ev’ry  Prince  shall  pay  j 
The  waste  of  years  refunded  in  a day.  70  J 
Till  then  thy  wrath  is  just.’  Ulysses 
burn’d 

With  high  disdain,  and  sternly  thus  re- 
turn’d: 

‘All,  all  the  treasures  that  enrich’d  our 
throne 

Before  your  rapines,  join’d  with  all  your 
own, 

If  offer’d,  vainly  should  for  mercy  call; 

I ’Tis  you  that  offer,  and  I scorn  them  all: 


620 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


Your  blood  is  my  demand,  your  lives  the 
prize, 

Till  pale  as  yonder  wretch  each  suitor  lies. 
Hence  with  those  coward  terms;  or  fight 
or  fly  ; 

This  choice  is  left  you  to  resist  or  die;  80 
And  die  I trust  ye  shall.’  He  sternly 
spoke: 

With  guilty  fears  the  pale  assembly 
shook. 

Alone  Euryinachus  exhorts  the  train: 

‘ Yon  archer,  comrades,  will  not  shoot  in 
vain ; 

But  from  the  threshold  shall  his  darts  be 
sped 

(Whoe’er  he  be),  till  ev’ry  Prince  lie 
dead  ? 

Be  mindful  of  yourselves,  draw  forth  your 
swords, 

And  to  his  shafts  obtend  these  ample 
boards 

(So  need  compels).  Then,  all  united,  strive 
The  bold  invader  from  his  post  to  drive;  9o 
The  city  rous’d  shall  to  our  rescue  haste, 
And  this  mad  archer  soon  have  shot  his 
last.’ 

Swift  as  he  spoke,  he  drew  his  traitor 
sword, 

And  like  a lion  rush’d  against  his  lord: 

The  wary  Chief  the  rushing  foe  repress’d, 
Who  met  the  point  and  forc’d  it  in  his 
breast: 

His  falling  hand  deserts  the  lifted  sword, 
And  prone  he  falls  extended  o’er  the 
board! 

Before  him  wide,  in  mix’d  effusion,  roll 
Th’  untasted  viands,  and  the  jovial  bowl.  100 
Full  thro’  his  liver  pass’d  the  mortal 
wound, 

With  dying  rage  his  forehead  beats  the 
ground; 

He  spurn’d  the  seat  with  fury  as  he  fell, 
And  the  fierce  soul  to  darkness  dived,  and 
Hell. 

Next  bold  Amphinomus  his  arms  extends 
To  force  the  pass;  the  godlike  man  de- 
fends. 

Thy  spear,  Telemachus,  prevents  th’  attack; 
The  brazen  weapon,  driving  thro’  his  back, 
Thence  thro’  his  breast  its  bloody  pas-) 
sage  tore;  IQ9 

Flat  falls  he  tlmnd’ring  on  the  marble 
floor,  r 

And  his  crush’d  forehead  marks  the 
stone  with  gore. 


He  left  his  jav’lin  in  the  dead,  for  fear 
The  long  encumbrance  of  the  weight 
spear 

To  the  fierce  foe  advantage  might  afford, 
To  rush  between,  and  use  the  shorten’t 
sword. 

With  speedy  ardour  to  his  sire  he  flies, 
And,  ‘Arm,  great  Father!  arm’  (in  hast' 
he  cries): 

‘ Lo  ! hence  I run  for  other  arms  to  wield, 
For  missive  jav’lins,  and  for  helm  am 
shield; 

Fast  by  our  side,  let  either  faithful  swain 
In  arms  attend  us,  and  their  part  sustain.’ 

‘ Haste,  and  return  ’ (Ulysses  mad 
reply), 

‘While  yet  tli’  auxiliar  shafts  this  ham 
supply; 

Lest  thou  alone,  encounter’d  by  an  host, 
Driv’n  from  the  gate,  th’  important  pas: 
be  lost.’ 

With  speed  Telemachus  obeys,  and  flies) 
Where  piled  in  heaps  the  royal  armourlies 
Four  brazen  helmets,  eight  refulgent  spears 
And  four  broad  bucklers  to  his  sire  h< 
bears: 

At  once  in  brazen  panoply  they  shone,  i3< 
At  once  each  servant  braced  his  armour  on 
Around  their  King  a faithful  guard  the) 
stand, 

While  yet  each  shaft  flew  deathful  fron: 
his  hand: 

Chief  after  chief  expired  at  ev’ry  wound, 
And  swell’d  the  bleeding  mountain  on  the 
ground. 

Soon  as  his  store  of  flying  fates  was  spent, 
Against  the  wall  he  set  the  bow  unbent; 
And  now  his  shoulders  bear  the  massy 
shield, 

And  now  his  hands  two  beamy  jav’lins 
wield: 

He  frowns  beneath  his  nodding  plume,  that 
play’d  I40 

O’er  the  high  crest,  and  cast  a dreadful 
shade. 

There  stood  a window  near,  whence, 
looking  down 

From  o’er  the  porch,  appear’d  the  subject 
town. 

A double  strength  of  valves  secured  the 
place, 

A high  and  narrow,  but  the  only  pass: 

The  cautious  King,  with  all  preventing 
care, 

To  guard  that  outlet,  placed  Eumseus  there: 


THE  ODYSSEY 


621 


Yheti  Agelaiis  thus:  ‘ Has  none  the  sense 
To  mount  yon  window,  and  alarm  from 
thence 

Hie  neighbour-town  ? the  town  shall  force 
1 the  door,  150 

Vnd  this  bold  archer  soon  shall  shoot  no 
more.’ 

Melanthius  then:  ‘That  outlet  to  the 
gate 

50  near  adjoins  that  one  may  guard  the 
I-  strait. 

3ut  other  methods  of  defence  remain; 
Myself  with  arms  can  furnish  all  the 
train ; 

Stores  from  the  royal  magazine  I bring, 

And  their  own  darts  shall  pierce  the  Prince 
and  King.’ 

He  said : and  mounting  up  the  lofty 
stairs, 

Twelve  shields,  twelve  lances,  and  twelve 
helmets  bears: 

All  arm,  and  sudden  round  the  hall  ap- 
pears 160 

A blaze  of  bucklers,  and  a wood  of  spears. 

The  Hero  stands  oppress’d  with  mighty 
woe, 

On  ev’ry  side  he  sees  the  labour  grow: 

‘ Oh  curs’d  event ! and  oh  unlook’d-for 
aid! 

Melanthius  or  the  women  have  betray'd  — 
‘Oh  my  dear  son  ! ’ — The  father  with  a 
sigh 

Then  ceas’d;  the  filial  virtue  made  reply: 
c ‘ Falsehood  is  folly,  and ’t  is  just  to  own 
The  fault  committed:  this  was  mine  alone; 
My  haste  neglected  yonder  door  to  bar,  170 
And  hence  the  villain  has  supplied  their 
l war. 

Run,  good  Eumseus,  then,  and  (what  be- 
[ fore 

I thoughtless  err’d  in)  well  secure  that 
door: 

►Learn,  if  by  female  fraud  this  deed  were 
done, 

Or  (as  my  thought  misgives)  by  Dolius’ 
son.’ 

While  yet  they  spoke,  in  quest  of  arms 
again 

To  the  high  chamber  stole  the  faithless 
swain, 

Not  unobserv’d.  Eumseus  watchful  eyed, 
And  thus  address’d  Ulysses  near  his  side: 

% ‘ The  miscreant  we  suspected  takes  that 

way,  180 

Him,  if  this  arm  be  powerful,  shall  I slay  ? 


Or  drive  him  hither,  to  receive  the  meed 
From  thy  own  hand,  of  this  detested 
deed  ? ’ 

‘ Not  so  ’ (replied  Ulysses);  ‘leave  him 
there, 

For  us  sufficient  is  another  care: 

Within  the  structure  of  this  palace  wall 
To  keep  enclosed  his  masters  till  they  fall. 
Go  you,  and  seize  the  felon  ; backward 
bind 

His  arms  and  legs,  and  fix  a plank  behind ; 
On  this  his  body  by  strong  cords  ex- "I 
tend,  *9° 

And  on  a column  near  the  roof  suspend : > 
So  studied  tortures  his  vile  days  shall 
end.’  J 

The  ready  swains  obey’d  with  joyful 
haste ; 

Behind  the  felon  unperceiv’d  they  pass’d, 

As  round  the  room  in  quest  of  arms  he 
goes 

(The  half-shut  door  conceals  his  lurking 
foes) 

One  hand  sustain’d  a helm,  and  one  the 
shield 

Which  old  Laertes  wont  in  youth  to  wield, 
Cover’d  with  dust,  with  dryness  chapp’d 
and  worn,  199 

The  brass  corroded,  and  the  leather  torn. 
Thus  laden,  o’er  the  threshold  as  he  stepp’d, 
Fierce  on  the  villain  from  each  side  they 
leap’d, 

Back  by  the  hair  the  trembling  dastard 
drew 

And  down  reluctant  on  the  pavement  threw. 
Active  and  pleas’d  the  zealous  swains  ful- 
fil • 

At  every  point  their  master’s  rigid  will: 
First,  fast  behind,  his  hands  and  feet  they 
bound, 

Then  straiten’d  cords  involv’d  his  body 
round; 

So  drawn  aloft,  athwart  the  column  tied, 
The  howling  felon  swung  from  side  to 
side.  . 

Eumseus  scoffing  then  with  keen  disdain: 
‘ There  pass  thy  pleasing  night,  O gentle 
swain! 

On  that  soft  pillow,  from  that  envied 
height, 

First  may’st  thou  see  the  springing  dawu  of 
light ; 

So  timely  rise  when  morning  streaks  the 
east, 

To  drive  thy  victims  to  the  suitors’  feast.’ 


622 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


This  said,  they  left  him,  tortured  as  he 
lay, 

Secured  the  door,  and  hasty  strode  away: 
Each,  breathing'  death,  resumed  his  dan- 
gerous post  2I9 

Near  great  Ulysses;  four  against  an  host. 
When  lo!  descending  to  her  hero’s  aid, 
Jove’s  daughter  Pallas,  War’s  triumphant 
Maid; 

In  Mentor’s  friendly  form  she  join’d  his 
side: 

Ulysses  saw,  and  thus  with  transport  cried: 

‘ Come,  ever  welcome,  and  thy  succour 
lend; 

O ev’ry  sacred  name  in  one!  my  Friend! 
Early  we  lov’d,  and  long  our  loves  have 
grown; 

Whate’er  thro’  life’s  whole  series  I have 
done, 

Or  good,  or  grateful,  now  to  mind  recall, 
And,  aiding  this  one  hour,  repay  it  all.’  230 

Thus  he  ; but  pleasing  hopes  his  bosom 
warm 

Of  Pallas  latent  in  the  friendly  form. 

The  adverse  host  the  phantom-warrior  ey’d, 
And  first,  loud-threat’ning,  Agelaiis  cried: 

‘ Mentor,  beware,  uor  let  that  tongue  per- 
suade 

Thy  frantic  arm  to  lend  Ulysses  aid; 

Our  force  successful  shall  our  threat  make 
good, 

And  with  the  sire  and  son’s  commix  thy 
blood. 

What  hopest  thou  here?  Thee  first  the 
sword  shall  slay, 

Then  lop  thy  whole  posterity  away;  240 
Far  hence  thy  banish’d  consort  shall  we 
send ; 

With  his  thy  forfeit  lands  and  treasures 
blend ; 

Thus,  and  thus  only,  shalt  thou  join  thy 
friend.’ 

His  barb’rous  insult  ev’n  the  Goddess  fires, 
Who  thus  the  warrior  to  revenge  inspires: 

‘ Art  thou  Ulysses  ? where  then  shall  we 
find 

The  patient  body  and  the  constant  mind  ? 
That  courage,  once  the  Trojans’  daily 
dread, 

Known  nine  long  years,  and  felt  by  heroes 
dead  ? 

And  where  that  conduct,  which  revenged 
the  lust  250 

Of  Priam’s  race,  and  laid  proud  Troy  in 
dust? 


If  this,  when  Helen  was  the  cause,  wer 
done; 

What  for  thy  country  now,  thy  Queen,  tlv 
son  ? 

Rise  then  in  combat,  at  my  side  attend;  ] 
Observe  what  vigour  gratitude  can  lend,  ( 
And  foes  how  weak,  opposed  against  a ( 
friend  ! ’ 

She  spoke;  but  willing  longer  to  survey 
The  sire  and  son’s  great  acts,  withheld  tin 
day; 

By  farther  toils  decreed  the  brave  to  try, 
And  level  pois’d  the  wings  of  victory;  26 
Then  with  a change  of  form  eludes  their "] 
sight, 

Perch’d  like  a swallow  on  a rafter’s  > 
height, 

And  unperceiv’d  enjoys  the  rising  fight.  J 

Damastor’s  son,  bold  Agelaiis,  leads 
The  guilty  war,  Eurynomus  succeeds; 
With  these  Pisander,  great  Polyctor’s  son, 
Sage  Polybus,  and  stern  Amphimedon, 
With  Demoptolemus:  these  six  survive; 
The  best  of  all  the  shafts  had  left  alive. 
Amidst  the  carnage,  desp’rate  as  thej 
stand,  27, 

Thus  Agelaiis  rous’d  the  lagging  band: 

‘ The  hour  is  come,  when  yon  fierce  mar 
no  more 

With  bleeding  Princes  shall  bestrew  the 
floor; 

Lo  ! Mentor  leaves  him  with  an  emptj 
boast; 

The  four  remain,  but  four  against  an  host. 
Let  each  at  once  discharge  the  deadlj 
dart, 

One  sure  of  six  shall  reach  Ulysses’  heart; 
Thus  shall  one  stroke  the  glory  lost  regain: 
The  rest  must  perish,  their  great  leader 
slain.’ 

Then  all  at  once  their  mingled  lances 
threw,  280 

And  thirsty  all  of  one  man’s  blood  they 
flew; 

In  vain  ! Minerva  turn’d  them  with  her 
breath, 

And  scatter’d  short,  or  wide,  the  points  of 
death  ! 

With  deaden’d  sound  one  on  the  threshold 
falls, 

One  strikes  the  gate,  one  rings  against  the 
walls : 

The  storm  pass’d  innocent.  The  erodlike 
man 

Now  loftier  trod,  and  dreadful  thus  began: 


THE  ODYSSEY 


623 


< ’T  is  now  (brave  friends)  our  turn,  at  once 
to  throw 

(So  speed  them  Heav’11)  our  jav’lins  at  the 
foe. 

That  impious  race  to  all  their  past  mis- 
deeds 29° 

| Would  add  our  blood.  Injustice  still  pro- 
ceeds.’ 

He  spoke:  at  once  their  tier}'  lances  flew: 
Great  Demoptolemus  Ulysses  slew; 
lEuryades  receiv’d  the  Prince’s  dart; 

The  goatherd’s  quiver’d  in  Pisander’s 
heart; 

Fierce  Elatus,  by  thine,  Eumsens,  falls; 
Their  fall  in  thunder  echoes  round  the 
walls. 

The  rest  retreat:  the  victors  now  advance, 
Each  from  the  dead  resumes  his  bloody 
lance.  299 

Again  the  foe  discharge  the  steely  shower; 

: Again  made  frustrate  by  the  Virgin-Power. 
Some,  turn’d  by  Pallas,  on  the  threshold 
fall, 

Some  wound  the  gate,  some  ring  against 
the  wall; 

Some  weak,  or  pond’rous  with  the  brazen 
head, 

Drop  harmless,  on  the  pavement  sounding 
dead. 

j Then  bold  Amphimedon  his  jav’lin  cast; 

Thy  hand,  Telemachus,  it  lightly  razed: 
l And  from  Ctesippus’  arm  the  spear  elanc’d 
On  good  Enmseus’  shield  and  shoulder 
glanc’d : 

Not  lessen’d  of  their  force  (so  slight  the 
wound)  310 

Each  sung  along,  and  dropp’d  upon  the 
ground. 

Fate  doom’d  thee  next,  Eurydamas,  to  bear 
Thy  death,  ennobled  by  Ulysses’  spear. 

, By  the  bold  son  Amphimedon  was  slain, 

5 And  Polybus  renown’d,  the  faithful  swain. 
c Pierc’d  thro’  the  breast  the  rude  Ctesippus 
bled, 

E And  thus  Philsetius  gloried  o’er  the  dead: 

‘ There  end  thy  pompous  vaunts,  and  high 
disdain; 

O sharp  in  scandal,  voluble,  and  vain  ! 

How  weak  is  mortal  pride  ! To  Heav  n 
alone  32° 

Th’  event  of  actions  and  our  fates  are 
known: 

. Scoffer,  behold  what  gratitude  we  bear: 
The  victim’s  heel  is  answer’d  with  this 
spear.’ 


Ulysses  brandish’d  high  his  vengeful 
steel, 

And  Damastorides  that  instant  fell; 

Fast  by,  Leocritus  expiring  lay; 

The  Prince’s  jav’lin  tore  its  bloody  way 
Thro’  all  his  bowels:  down  he  tumbles 
prone, 

His  batter’d  front  and  brains  besmear  the 
stone. 

Now  Pallas  shines  confess’d;  aloft  she 
spreads  33a 

The  arm  of  vengeance  o’er  their  guilty 
heads; 

The  dreadful  aegis  blazes  in  their  eye: 
Amazed  they  see,  they  tremble,  and  they 
fly: 

Confused,  distracted,  thro’  the  rooms'! 
they  fling: 

Like  oxen  madden’d  by  the  breeze  s sting,  > 
When  sultry  days,  and  long,  succeed  the 
gentle  spring.  J 

Not  half  so  keen  fierce  vultures  of  the 
chase 

Stoop  from  the  mountains  on  the  feather’d 
race, 

When  the  wide  field  extended  snares  beset; 
With  conscious  dread  they  shun  the  quiv- 
’ring  net:  34« 

No  help,  no  flight;  but,  wounded  ev’ry  way, 
Headlong  they  drop;  the  fowlers  seize  the 
prey. 

On  all  sides  thus  they  double  wound  on 
wound, 

In  prostrate  heaps  the  wretches  beat  the 
ground, 

Unmanly  shrieks  precede  each  dying  groan, 
And  a red  deluge  floats  the  reeking  stone. 

Leiodes  first  before  the  victor  falls: 

The  wretched  augur  thus  for  mercy  calls: 

* Oh  Gracious  ! hear,  nor  let  thy  suppliant 
bleed: 

Still  undishonour’d,  or  by  word  or  deed,  35® 
Thy  house,  for  me,  remains;  by  me  re- 
press’d 

Full  oft  was  check’d  th’  injustice  of  the 
rest: 

Averse  they  heard  me  when  I counsell’d 
well, 

Their  hearts  were  harden’d,  and  they  justly 
fell. 

Oh,  spare  an  augur’s  consecrated  head, 

Nor  add  the  blameless  to  the  guilty  dead/ 

‘ Priest  as  thou  art  ! for  that  detested 
band 

Thy  lying  prophecies  deceiv’d  the  land.' 


624 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


Against  Ulysses  have  thy  vows  been  made; 
For  them  thy  daily  orisons  were  paid:  360 
Yet  more,  even  to  our  bed  thy  pride  as- 
pires: 

One  common  crime  one  common  fate  re- 
quires.’ 

Thus  speaking,  from  the  ground  the 
sword  he  took 

Which  AgelaUs’  dying  hand  forsook: 

Full  thro’  his  neck  the  weighty  falchion 
sped: 

Along  the  pavement  roll’d  the  mutt’ring 
head. 

Phemius  alone  the  hand  of  vengeance 
spared, 

Phemius  the  sweet,  the  Heav’n-instructed 
bard. 

Beside  the  gate  the  rev’rend  minstrel 
stands; 

The  lyre,  now  silent,  trembling  in  his 
hands;  370 

Dubious  to  supplicate  the  Chief,  or  fly 
To  Jove’s  inviolable  altar  nigh, 

Where  oft  Laertes  holy  vows  had  paid, 

And  oft  Ulysses  smoking  victims  laid. 

His  honour’d  harp  with  care  he  first  set 
down, 

Between  the  laver  and  the  silver  throne; 
Then,  prostrate  stretch’d  before  the  dread- 
ful man, 

Persuasive  thus,  with  accent  soft  began: 

‘ O King  ! to  mercy  be  thy  soul  inclin’d, 
And  spare  the  poet’s  ever-gentle  kind.  380 
A deed  like  this  thy  future  fame  would 
wrong, 

For  dear  to  Gods  and  man  is  sacred  song. 
Self-taught  I sing;  by  Heav’11,  and  Heav’n 
alone, 

The  genuine  seeds  of  poesy  are  sown: 

And  (what  the  Gods  bestow)  the  lofty  lay 
To  Gods  alone  and  godlike  worth  we  pay. 
Save  then  the  poet,  and  thyself  reward; 

’T  is  thine  to  merit,  mine  is  to  record. 

That  here  I sung,  was  force,  and  not  de- 
sire: 

This  hand  reluctant  touch’d  the  warbling 
wire;  39o 

And,  let  thy  son  attest,  nor  sordid  pay, 

Nor  servile  flattery,  stain’d  the  moral  lay.’ 

The  moving  words  Telemachus  attends, 
His  sire  approaches,  and  the  bard  de- 
fends. 

‘ O mix  not,  Father,  with  those  impious 
dead 

The  man  divine;  forbear  that  sacred  head; 


Medon,  the  herald,  too,  our  arms  may 
spare, 

Medon,  who  made  my  infancy  his  care; 

If  yet  he  breathes,  permit  thy  son  to 

Tn  giV\  * . , 399 

thus  much  to  gratitude,  and  bid  him 
live.’ 

Beneath  a table,  trembling  with  dismay, 
Couch’d  close  to  earth,  unhappy  Medon 
lay, 

Wrapp’d  in  a new-slain  ox’s  ample  hide; 
fewift  at  the  word  he  cast  his  screen  aside, 
Sprung  to  the  Prince,  embraced  his  knee 
with  tears, 

And  thus  with  grateful  voice  address’d  his 
ears: 

‘ O Prince  ! 0 Friend  ! lo  ! here  thy  Me- 
don stands: 

Ah!  stop  the  hero’s  unresisted  hands, 
Incens’d  too  justly  by  that  impious  brood, 
Whose  guilty  glories  now  are  set  in 
Mood.’  4IO 

To  whom  Ulysses  with  a pleasing  eye: 
‘Be  bold,  on  friendship  and  my  son  rely; 
Live,  an  example  for  the  world  to  read, 
How  much  more  safe  the  good  than  evil 
deed: 

Thou,  with  the  Heav’n  taught  bard,  in 
peace  resort 

From  blood  and  carnage  to  yon  open 
court: 

Me  other  work  requires.’ — With  tim’rous 
awe 

From  the  dire  scene  th’  exempted  two 
withdraw, 

Scarce  sure  of  life,  look  round,  and  trem- 
bling move  4ig 

To  the  bright  altars  of  Protector  Jove. 

Meanwhile  Ulysses  search’d  the  dome,  to 
find 

If  yet  there  live  of  all  th’  offending  kind. 
Not  one  ! complete  the  bloody  tale  he 
found. 

All  steep’d  in  blood,  all  gasping  on  the 
ground. 

So,  when  by  hollow  shores  the  fisher-train "] 
Sweep  with  their  arching  nets  the  hoary 
main,  l 

And  scarce  the  meshy  toils  the  copious 
draught  contain,  J 

All  naked  of  their  element,  and  bare, 

The  fishes  pant,  and  gasp  in  thinner  air; 
Wide  o’er  the  sands  are  spread  the  stiff’n- 
ing  prey,  43„ 

Till  the  warm  sun  exhales  their  soul  away. 


THE  ODYSSEY 


And  now  the  King  commands  his  son  to 
I call 

Id  Euryclea  to  the  deathful  hall: 
he  son  observant  not  a moment  stays; 
he  aged  governess  with  speed  obeys; 
he  sounding  portals  instant  they  display; 
Ike  matron  moves,  the  Prince  directs  the 
way. 

n heaps  of  death  the  stern  Ulysses  stood, 
11  black  with  dust,  and  cover’d  thick  with 
blood.  439 

b the  grim  lion  from  the  slaughter  comes, 
'readful  he  glares,  and  terribly  he  foams, 
$is  breast  with  marks  of  carnage  painted 
o’er, 

Jfis  jaws  all  dropping  with  the  bull’s  black 
gore. 

■ Soon  as  her  eyes  the  welcome  object 
met, 

he  guilty  fall’n,  the  mighty  deed  com- 
plete, 

{ scream  of  joy  her  feeble  voice  essay’d: 

'he  hero  check’d  her,  and  composedly 
said: 

‘Woman,  experienc’d  as  thou  art,  con- 
trol 

odecent  joy,  and  feast  thy  secret  soul. 

’’  insult  the  dead  is  cruel  and  unjust;  450 
‘ ate  and  their  crime  have  sunk  them  to 
the  dust. 

Tor  heeded  these  the  censure  of  mankind, 
'he  good  and  bad  were  equal  in  their 
1 mind. 

ustly  the  price  of  worthlessness  they 
1 paid, 

md  each  now  wails  an  unlamented  shade, 
lut  thou  sincere,  O Euryclea,  say, 

Vhat  maids  dishonour  us,  and  what  obey  ? ’ 
Then  she:  ‘In  these  thy  kingly  walls 
( remain 

My  son)  full  fifty  of  the  handmaid  train, 
taught,  by  my  care,  to  cull  the  fleece  or 
weave,  460 

ind  servitude  with  pleasing  tasks  deceive; 
)f  these,  twice  six  pursue  their  wicked 
way, 

Tor  me,  nor  chaste  Penelope  obey; 
lor  fits  it  that  Telemachus  command 
Young  as  he  is)  his  mother’s  female  band, 
lence  to  the  upper  chambers  let  me  fly, 
Vhere  slumbers  soft  now  close  the  royal 
I eye; 

i ?here  wake  her  with  the  news’ — the  ma- 
| tron  cried. 

Not  so  ’ (Ulysses,  more  sedate,  replied), 


625 


‘ Bring  first  the  crew  who  wrought  these 
guilty  deeds.’  470 

In  haste  the  matron  parts;  the  King  pro- 
ceeds: 

‘ Now  to  dispose  the  dead,  the  care  re- 
mains 

To  you,  my  son,  and  you,  my  faithful 
swains; 

Th’  offending  females  to  that  task  we 
doom, 

To  wash,  to  scent,  and  purify  the  room: 
These  (ev’ry  table  cleans’d,  and  ev’ry 
throne, 

And  all  the  melancholy  labour  done), 

Drive  to  yon  court,  without  the  palace- 
wall. 

There  the  revenging  sword  shall  smite 
them  all;  479 

So  with  the  suitors  let  them  mix  in  dust, 
Stretch’d  in  a long  oblivion  of  their  lust.’ 

He  said:  the  lamentable  train  appear, 
Each  vents  a groan,  and  drops  a tender 
tear: 

Each  heav’d  her  mournful  burden,  and  be- 
neath 

The  porch  deposed  the  ghastly  heap  of 
death. 

The  Chief  severe,  compelling  each  to  move, 
Urged  the  dire  task  imperious  from  above: 
With  thirsty  sponge  they  rub  the  tables' 
o’er 

(The  swains  unite  their  toil) ; the  walls, 
the  floor 

Wash’d  with  th’  effusive  wave,  are 
purged  of  gore.  490 _ 

Once  more  the  palace  set  in  fair  array, 

To  the  base  court  the  females  take  their 
way: 

There  compass’d  close  between  the  dome 
and  wall 

(Their  life’s  last  scene),  they  trembling 
wait  their  fall. 

Then  thus  the  Prince:  ‘ To  these  shall 
we  afford 

A fate  so  pure,  as  by  the  martial  sword  ? 
To  these,  the  nightly  prostitutes  to  shame, 
And  base  revilers  of  our  house  and 
name  ? ’ 

Thus  speaking,  on  the  circling  wall  he 
strung  499 

A ship’s  tough  cable,  from  a column  hung; 
Near  the  high  top  he  strain’d  it  strongly 
round, 

Whence  no  contending  foot  could  reach  the 
ground. 


626 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


Their  heads  above  connected  in  a row, 
Ihey  beat  the  air  with  quiv’ring  feet  be- 
low: 

Thus  on  some  tree  hung  struggling  in  the 
snare, 

The  doves  or  thrushes  flap  their  wings  in 
air. 

Soon  fled  the  soul  impure,  and  left  behind 
The  empty  corse  to  waver  with  the  wind. 

Then  forth  they  led  Melanthius,  and  be- 
gan 

Their  bloody  work;  they  lopp’d  away  the 
man,  5I0 

Morsel  for  dogs  ! then  trimm’d  with  brazen 
shears 

The  wretch,  and  shorten’d  of  his  nose  and 
ears; 

His  hands  and  feet  last  felt  the  cruel 
steel: 

He  roar’d,  and  torments  gave  his  soul  to 
Hell. 

They  wash,  and  to  Ulysses  take  their 
way, 

So  ends  the  bloody  business  of  the  day. 

To  Euryclea  then  address’d  the  King: 
‘Bring  hither  fire,  and  hither  sulphur  bring, 
To  purge  the  palace:  then  the  Queen  at- 
tend, 

And  let  her  with  her  matron-train  de- 
scend ; S2G 

The  matron-train,  with  all  the  virgin- 
band, 

Assemble  here,  to  learn  their  lord’s  com- 
mand.’ 

Then  Euryclea:  ‘Joyful  I obey, 

But  cast  those  mean  dishonest  rags  away; 
Permit  me  first  the  royal  robes  to  bring: 

111  suits  this  garb  the  shoulders  of  a King.’ 

‘Bring  sulphur  straight,  and  fire’  (the 
Monarch  cries). 

She  hears,  and  at  the  word  obedient  flies. 
With  fire  and  sulphur,  cure  of  noxious 
fumes, 

He  purged  the  walls,  and  blood-polluted 
rooms.  S30 

Again  the  matron  springs  with  eager  pace, 
And  spreads  her  lord’s  return  from  place 
to  place. 

They  hear,  rush  forth,  and  instant  round 
him  stand, 

A gazing  throng,  a torch  in  every  hand. 

They  saw,  they  knew  him,  and  with  fond 
embrace 

Each  humbly  kiss’d  his  knee,  or  hand,  or 
face; 


He  knows  them  all;  in  all  such  truth  ap- 
pears, 

Ev’n  he  indulges  the  sweet  joy  of  tears. 

BOOK  XXIV 
argument 

The  souls  of  the  suitors  are  conducted  by  Mer- 
cury to  the  infernal  shades.  Ulysses  in  the 
country  goes  to  the  retirement  of  his  father 
Laertes  ; he  finds  him  busied  in  his  garden 
all  alone  : the  manner  of  his  discovery  to  him 
is  beautifully  described.  They  return  to- 
get.her  to  his  lodge,  and  the  king  is  acknow- 
ledged by  Dolius  and  the  servants.  The 
Ithacensians,  led  by  Eupithes,  the  father  of 
Antinous,  rise  against  Ulysses,  who  g'ives 
them  battle,  in  which  Eupithes  is  killed  by 
Laertes:  and  the  goddess  Pallas  makes  a 
lasting  peace  between  Ulysses  and  his  sub- 
jects, which  concludes  the  Odyssey. 

^ Cyllenius  now  to  Pluto’s  dreary  reign 
Conveys  the  dead,  a lamentable  train  ! 

The  golden  wand,  that  causes  sleep  to 
%’ 

Or  m soft  slumber  seals  the  wakeful  eye, 
That  drives  the  ghosts  to  realms  of  night 
or  day, 

Points  out  the  long  uncomfortable  way. 
Trembling  the  spectres  glide,  and  plaintive  j 
vent 

Thin  hollow  screams,  along  the  deep  de- 
scent. 

As  in  the  cavern  of  some  rifted  den, 

Where  flock  nocturnal  bats,  and  birds  ob~ 
scene;  IO 

Cluster’d  they  hang,  till,  at  some  sudden 
shock, 

They  move,  and  murmurs  run  thro’  all  the 
rock  ! 

So  cow’ring  fled  the  sable  heaps  of  ghosts, 
And  such  a scream  fill’d  all  the  dismal 
coasts. 

And  now  they  reach’d  the  earth’s  remotest 
ends, 

And  now  the  gates  where  ev’ning  Sol  de- 
scends, 

And  Leucas’  rock,  and  Ocean’s  utmost 
streams, 

And  now  pervade  the  dusky  land  of  dreams, 
And  rest  at  last,  where  souls  unbodied  dwell 
In  ever-flow’ring  meads  of  asphodel.  20 
The  empty  forms  of  men  inhabit  there, 
Impassive  semblance,  images  of  air  l 


THE  ODYSSEY 


627 


fot  else  are  all  that  shined  on  earth  be- 
1 fore : 

.jax  and  great  Achilles  are  no  more  ! 
et  still  a master-ghost,  the  rest  he  aw’d, 
he  rest  ador’d  him,  tow’ring  as  he  trod; 
till  at  his  side  is  Nestor’s  son  survey’d, 
nd  loved  Patroclus  still  attends  his  shade. 
New  as  they  were  to  that  infernal  shore, 
he  suitors  stopp’d,  and  gazed  the  hero 
1 o’er.  30 

fhen,  moving  slow,  the  regal  form  they 
view’d 

f great  Atrides  : him  in  pomp  pursued 
.nd  solemn  sadness  thro’  the  gloom  of 
Hell, 

, he  train  of  those  who  by  iEgisthus  fell  : 

‘ O mighty  Chief  ! ’ (Pelides  thus  began) 
Honour’d  by  Jove  above  the  lot  of  man! 
ing  of  a hundred  Kings!  to  whom  re- 
1 sign’d 

he  strongest,  bravest,  greatest  of  man- 
kind, 

0111’st  thou  the  first,  to  view  this  dreary 
state  ? 

nd  was  the  noblest  the  first  mark  of 
Fate,  40 

ondemn’d  to  pay  the  great  arrear  so  soon 
he  lot,  which  all  lament,  and  none  can 
shun  ! 

h ! better  had’st  thou  sunk  in  Trojan 
ground, 

pth  all  thy  full-blown  honours  cover’d 
round; 

hen  grateful  Greece  with  streaming  eyes 
might  raise 

istoric  marbles  to  record  thy  praise  : 
hy  praise  eternal  on  the  faithful  stone 
ad  with  transmissive  glories  graced  thy 
son. 

ut  heavier  fates  were  destin’d  to  attend  : 
Tat  man  is  happy,  till  he  knows  the 
end  ? ’ 50 

‘ 0 son  of  Peleus!  greater  than  mankind!  ’ 
Thus  Agamemnon’s  kingly  shade  rejoin’d) 
Thrice  happy  thou,  to  press  the  martial 
plain 

lidst  heaps  of  heroes  in  thy  quarrel  slain  : 

1 clouds  of  smoke  rais’d  by  the  noble) 
fray, 

reat  and  terrific  ev’n  in  death  you  Jay,  > 
nd  deluges  of  blood  flow’d  round  you 
ev’ry  way.  J 

or  ceas’d  the  strife  till  Jove  himself  op- 
i posed, 

nd  all  in  tempests  the  dire  ev’ning  closed. 


Then  to  the  fleet  we  bore  thy  honour’d 
load,  60 

And  decent  on  the  funeral  bed  bestow’d  : 
Then  unguents  sweet,  and  tepid  streams ' 
we  shed; 

Tears  flow’d  from  ev’ry  eye,  and  o’er  the  I 
dead  [ 

Each  clipp’d  the  curling  honour  of  his 
head. 

Struck  at  the  news,  thy  azure  mother  came; 
The  sea-green  sisters  waited  on  the  dame  : 
A voice  of  loud  lament  thro’  all  the  main 
Was  heard;  and  terror  seiz’d  the  Grecian 
train : 

Back  to  their  ships  the  frighted  host  had 
fled ; e9 

But  Nestor  spoke,  they  listen’d  and  obey’d 
(From  old  experience  Nestor’s  counsel 
springs, 

And  long  vicissitudes  of  human  things). 

‘ “ Forbear  your  flight  : fair  Thetis  from 
the  main 

To  mourn  Achilles  leads  her  azure  train.” 
Around  thee  stand  the  daughters  of  the 
deep, 

Robe  thee  in  heav’nly  vests,  and  round  thee 
weep: 

Round  thee,  the  Muses,  with  alternate 
strain, 

I11  ever-consecrating  verse,  complain. 

Each  warlike  Greek  the  moving  music 
hears, 

And  iron-hearted  heroes  melt  in  tears.  8e 
Till  sev’nteen  nights  and  sev’nteen  days 
return’d, 

All  that  was  mortal  or  immortal  mourn’d, 
To  flumes  we  gave  thee,  the  succeeding 
day, 

And  fatted  sheep  and  sable  oxen  slay; 

With  oils  and  honey  blaze  th’  augmented 
fires, 

And,  like  a God  adorn’d,  thy  earthly  part 
expires. 

Unnumber’d  warriors  round  the  burning 
pile 

Urge  the  fleet  courser’s  or  the  racer’s  toil; 
Thick  clouds  of  dust  o’er  all  the  circle 
rise, 

And  the  mix’d  clamour  thunders  in  the 
skies.  90 

Soon  as  absorb’d  in  all-embracing  flame 
Sunk  what  was  mortal  of  thy  mighty  name, 
We  then  collect  thy  snowy  bones,  and 
place 

With  wines  and  unguents  in  a golden  vase 


6z8 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


(The  vase  to  Thetis  Bacchus  gave  of  old, 
And  Vulcan’s  art  enrich’d  the  sculptured 
gold); 

There  we  thy  relics,  great  Achilles!  blend 
With  dear  Patroclus,  thy  departed  friend: 
In  the  same  urn  a sep’rate  space  contains 
Thy  next  belov’d,  Antilochus’  remains,  ioo 
Now  all  the  sons  of  warlike  Greece  sur- 
round 

Thy  destin’d  tomb,  and  cast  a mighty 
mound: 

High  on  the  shore  the  growing  hill  we  raise, 
That  wide  th’  extended  Hellespont  sur- 
veys : 

Where  all,  from  age  to  age,  who  pass  the 
coast 

May  point  Achilles’  tomb,  and  hail  the 
mighty  ghost. 

Thetis  herself  to  all  our  Peers  proclaims 
Heroic  prizes  and  exequial  games; 

The  Gods  assented;  and  around  thee  lav 
Rich  spoils  and  gifts  that  blazed  against 
the  day.  IIO 

Oft  have  I seen  with  solemn  funeral  games 
Heroes  and  Kings  committed  to  the  flames; 
But  strength  of  youth,  or  valour  of  the 
brave, 

With  nobler  contest  ne’er  renown’d  a grave. 
Such  were  the  games  by  azure  Thetis  giv’n, 
And  such  the  honours,  O Belov’d  of  Heav’n! 
Dear  to  mankind  thy  fame  survives,  nor 
fades 

Its  bloom  eternal  in  the  Stygian  shades. 

But  what  to  me  avail  my  honours  gone,  119 
Successful  toils,  and  battles  bravely  won  ? 
Doom’d  by  stern  Jove  at  home  to  end  my 
life, 

By  curs’d  iEgisthus,  and  a faithless  wife!  ’ 
Thus  they:  while  Hermes  o’er  the  dreary 
plain 

Led  the  sad  numbers  by  Ulysses  slain. 

On  each  majestic  form  they  cast  a view, 

And  tim’rous  pass’d,  and  awfully  with- 
drew. 

But  Agamemnon,  thro’  the  gloomy  shade, 
His  ancient  host  Amphimedon  survey’d  : 

‘ Son  of  Melanthius!  ’ (he  began)  ‘ O say  ! ) 
What  cause  compell’d  so  many,  and  so  I 
gay>  130  ( 

To  tread  the  downward  melancholy  way  ? J 
Say,  could  one  city  yield  a troop  so  fair  ? 
Were  all  these  partners  of  one  native  air  ? 
Or  did  the  rage  of  stormy  Neptune  sweep 
Your  lives  at  once,  and  whelm  beneath  the 
deep  ? I 


Did  nightly  thieves,  or  pirates’  cruel  band 
Drench  with  your  blood  your  pillaged  coui 
try’s  sands  ? 

Or,  well-defending  some  beleaguer’d  wall, 
Say,  for  the  public  did  ye  greatly  fall  ? 
Inform  thy  guest  : for  such  I was  c 
yore  , 

When  our  triumphant  navies  touch’d  you 
shore; 

Forc’d  a long  month  the  wintry  seas  t 
bear, 

To  move  the  great  Ulysses  to  the  war.’ 

‘ O King  of  Men  ! I faithful  shall  re 
late  ’ 

(Replied  Amphimedon)  ‘ our  hapless  fate. 
Ulysses  absent,  our  ambitious  aim 
With  rival  loves  pursued  his  royal  dame  ; 
Her  coy  reserve,  and  prudence  mix’d  wit: 
pride, 

Our  common  suit  nor  granted,  nor  denied  : 
But  close  with  inward  hate  our  deaths  de 
sign’d;  15 

Vers’d  in  all  arts  of  wily  womankind, 

Her  hand,  laborious,  in  delusion  spread 
A spacious  loom,  and  mix’d  the  variou 
thread. 

‘ “ Ye  Peers  ” (she  cried),  “ who  press  to  gaii 
my  heart, 

Where  dead  Ulysses  claims  no  more  : 
part, 

Yet  a short  space  your  rival  suit  suspend, 
Till  this  funereal  web  my  labours  end  : 
Cease,  till  to  good  Laertes  I bequeath 
A task  of  grief,  his  ornaments  of  death: 
Lest,  when  the  Fates  his  royal  ashes  claim 
The  Grecian  matrons  taint  my  spotles: 

fame ; l6 

Should  he,  long  honour’d  \vith  supreim 
command, 

Want  the  last  duties  of  a daughter’s  hand.’’ 

‘The  fiction  pleas’d:  our  gen’rous  trail 
complies, 

Nor  fraud  distrusts  in  virtue’s  fair  dis- 
guise. 

The  work  she  plied,  but,  studious  of  de- 
lay, 

Each  foll’wing  night  revers’d  the  toils  of 
day. 

Unheard,  unseen,  three  years  her  arts  pre- 
vail; 

The  fourth,  her  maid  reveal’d  th’  amazing 
tale, 

And  show’d,  as  unperceiv’d  we  took  our 
stand,  \*jc 

The  backward  labours  of  her  faithless  hand- 


THE  ODYSSEY 


629 


Forc’d,  she  completes  it;  and  before  us' 
lay 

The  mingled  web,  whose  gold  and  silver 

ray 

Display’d  the  radiance  of  the  night  and 
day. 

‘ Just  .as  she  finish’d  her  illustrious  toil 
111  fortune  led  Ulysses  to  our  isle. 

Far  in  a lonely  nook,  beside  the  sea, 

At  an  old  swineherd’s  rural  lodge  he  lay: 
Thither  his  son  from  sandy  Pyle  repairs, 
And  speedy  lands,  and  secretly  confers.  180 
They  plan  otir  future  ruin,  and  resort 
Confed’rate  to  the  city  and  the  court. 

First  came  the  son:  the  father  next  suc- 
ceeds, 

Clad  like  a beggar,  whom  Eumseus  leads; 
Propp’d  on  a staff,  deform’d  with  age  and 
care, 

And  hung  with  rags  that  flutter’d  in  the 
air. 

Who  could  Ulysses  in  that  form  behold  ? 
Scorn’d  by  the  young,  forgotten  by  the  old, 
Ill-used  by  all ! to  ev’ry  wrong  resign’d, 
Patient  he  suffer’d  with  a constant  mind.  190 
But  when,  arising  in  his  wrath  t’  obey 
The  will  of  Jove,  he  gave  the  vengeance 
way: 

The  scatter’d  arms  that  hung  around  the 
dome 

Careful  he  treasured  in  a private  room; 
Then  to  her  suitors  bade  his  Queen  propose 
The  archer’s  strife,  the  source  of  future 
woes, 

And  omen  of  our  death  ! In  vain  we  drew 
The  twanging  string,  and  tried  the  stub- 
born yew: 

To  none  it  yields  but  great  Ulysses’  hands; 
In  vain  we  threat;  Telemachus  commands: 
The  bow  he  snatch’d,  and  in  an  instant 
i bent;  201 

Thro’  ev’ry  ring  the  victor  arrow  went. 
Fierce  on  the  threshold  then  in  arms  he ' 
stood; 

9 Pour’d  forth  the  darts  that  thirsted  for 
our  blood, 

And  frown’d  before  us,  dreadful  as  a 
God; 

First  bleeds  Antinoiis:  thick  the  shafts  re- 
sound; 

And  heaps  on  heaps  the  wretches  strew  the 
ground: 

is  way  and  that  we  turn,  we  fly,  we 
fall; 

Some  God  assisted,,  and  unmann’d  us  all: 


Ignoble  cries  precede  the  dying  groans;  210 
And  batter’d  brains  and  blood  besmear  the 
stones. 

‘ Thus,  great  Atrides  ! thus  Ulysses  drove 
The  shades  thou  seest  from  yon  fair  realms 
above; 

Our  mangled  bodies  now,  deform’d  with 
gore, 

Cold  and  neglected,  spread  the  marble  floor. 
No  friend  to  bathe  our  wounds,  or  tears  to 
shed 

O’er  the  pale  corse  the  honours  of  the 
dead.’ 

* Oh  bless’d  Ulysses  ! ’ (thus  the  King 
express’d 

His  sudden  rapture)  ‘ in  thy  consort 
bless’d  ! 

Not  more  thy  wisdom  than  her  virtue 
shined;  220 

Not  more  thy  patience  than  her  constant 
mind. 

Icarms’  daughter,  glory  of  the  past, 

And  model  to  the  future  age,  shall  last: 
The  Gods,  to  honour  her  fair  fame,  shall 
raise 

(Their  great  reward)  a Poet  in  her  praise. 
Not  such,  O Tyndarus  ! thy  daughter’s 
deed, 

By  whose  dire  hand  her  King  and  Husband 
bled ; 

Her  shall  the  Muse  to  infamy  prolong, 
Example  dread,  and  theme  of  tragic  song  ! 
The  gen’ral  sex  shall  suffer  in  her  shame, 
And  ev’n  the  best  that  bears  a woman’s 
name.’  231 

Thus  in  the  regions  of  eternal  shade 
Conferr’d  the  mournful  phantoms  of  the 
dead; 

While  from  the  town  Ulysses  and  his  band 
Pass’d  to  Laertes’  cultivated  land. 

The  ground  himself  had  purchas’d  with  his 
pain, 

And  labour  made  the  rugged  soil  a plain. 
There  stood  his  mansion  of  the  rural  sort, 
With  useful  buildings  round  the  lowly 
court; 

Where  the  few  servants  that  divide  his 
care,  240 

Took  their  laborious  rest,  and  homely  fare: 
And  one  Sicilian  matron,  old  and  sage, 
With  constant  duty  tends  his  droopiug  age. 

Here  now  arriving,  to  his  rustic  band. 
And  martial  son,  Ulysses  gave  command. 

‘ Enter  the  house,  and  of  the  bristly  swine 
Select  the  largest  to  the  Powers  divine. 


630 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


Alone,  and  unattended,  let  me  try 
If  yet  I share  the  old  man’s  memory: 

If  those  dim  eyes  can  yet  Ulysses  know  250 ") 
(Their  light  and  dearest  object  long 
ag°),  . . > 

Now  changed  with  time,  with  absence, 
and  with  woe.’  J 

Then  to  his  train  he  gives  his  spear  and 
shield; 

The  house  they  enter:  and  he  seeks  the 
field 

Thro’  rows  of  shade,  with  various  fruitage 
crown’d, 

And  labour’d  scenes  of  richest  verdure 
round. 

Nor  aged  Dolius,  nor  his  sons  were  there, 
Nor  servants,  absent  on  another  care; 

To  search  the  woods  for  sets  of  flow’ry 
thorn, 

Their  orchard  bounds  to  strengthen  and 
adorn.  260 

But  all  alone  the  hoary  King  he  found; 
His  habit  coarse,  but  warmly  wrapp’d 
around; 

His  head,  that  bow’d  with  many  a pensive 
care, 

Fenc’d  with  a double  cap  of  goatskin  hair: 
His  buskins  old,  in  former  service  torn, 

But  well  repair’d;  and  gloves  against  the 
thorn. 

In  this  array  the  kingly  gard’ner  stood, 
And  clear’d  a plant,  encumber’d  with  its 
wood. 

Beneath  a neighb’ring  tree,  the  Chief 
divine 

Gazed  o’er  his  sire,  retracing  ev’ry  line,  270 
The  ruins  of  himself  ! now  worn  away 
With  age,  yet  still  majestic  in  decay  J 
Sudden  his  eyes  releas’d  their  wat’ry  store; 
The  much-enduring  man  could  bear  no 
more. 

Doubtful  he  stood,  if  instant  to  embrace 
His  aged  limbs,  to  kiss  his  rev’rend  face, 
With  eager  transport  to  disclose  the  whole, 
And  pour  at  once  the  torrent  of  his  soul.  — 
Not  so:  his  judgment  takes  the  winding 
way 

Of  question  distant,  and  of  soft  essay;  280 
More  gentle  methods  on  weak  age  em- 
ploys; 

And  moves  the  sorrows,  to  enhance  the 

j°ys*. 

Then,  to  his  sire  with  beating  heart  he 
moves 

And  with  a tender  pleasantry  reproves; 


Who,  digging  round  the  plant,  still  hangs 
his  head, 

Nor  aught  remits  the  work,  while  thus  he 
said : 

* Great  is  thy  skill,  O Father  ! great  thy 
toiJ, 

Thy  careful  hand  is  stamp’d  on  all  the 
soil; 

Thy  squadron’d  vineyards  well  thy  art) 
declare, 

The  olive  green,  blue  fig,  and  pendent  > 
pear;  29Q 

And  not  one  empty  spot  escapes  thy  care.  J 
On  ev’ry  plant  and  tree  thy  cares  are 
shown, 

Nothing  neglected,  but  thyself  alone. 
Forgive  me,  Father,  if  this  fault  I blame; 
Age  so  advanc’d  may  some  indulgence 
claim. 

Not  for  thy  sloth,  I deem  thy  lord  unkind: 
Nor  speaks  thy  form  a mean  or  servile 
mind; 

I read  a Monarch  in  that  princely  air, 

The  same  thy  aspect,  if  the  same  thy  care; 
Soft  sleep,  fair  garments,  and  the  joys  of 
wine,  300 

These  are  the  rights  of  age,  and  should  be 
thine. 

Who  then  thy  master,  say  ? and  whose  the 
land 

So  dress’d  and  managed  by  thy  skilful 
hand  ? 

But  chief,  oh  tell  me  ! (what  I question 
most) 

Is  this  the  far-famed  Ithaeensian  coast  ? 
For  so  reported  the  first  man  I view’d 
(Some  surly  islander,  of  manners  rude), 
Nor  farther  conference  vouchsafed  to  stay^ 
Heedless  he  whistled,  and  pursued  his  way. 
But  thou,  whom  years  have  taught  to  un- 
derstand, 310 

Humanely  hear,  and  answer  my  demand: 

A friend  I seek,  a wise  one  and  a brave: 
Say,  lives  he  yet,  or  moulders  in  the  grave  ? 
Time  was  (my  fortunes  then  were  at  the 
best), 

When  at  my  house  I lodg’d  this  foreign 
guest; 

He  said,  from  Ithaca’s  fair  isle  he  came, 
And  old  Laertes  was  his  father’s  name. 

To  him,  whatever  to  a guest  is  owed 
I paid,  and  hospitable  gifts  bestow’d: 

To  him  sev’11  talents  of  pure  ore  I told,  320 
Twelve  cloaks,  twelve  vests,  twelve  tunics 
stiff  with  gold; 


THE  ODYSSEY 


631 


A bowl,  that  rich  with  polish’d  silver 
flames, 

And,  skill’d  in  female  works,  four  lovely 
dames.’ 

At  this  the  father,  with  a father’s  fears 
(His  venerable  eyes  bedimm’d  with  tears): 
‘This  is  the  land;  but  ah!  thy  gifts  are 
lost, 

For  godless  men,  and  rude,  possess  the 
coast : 

Sunk  is  the  glory  of  this  once-famed  shore! 
Thy  ancient r friend,  O Stranger,  is  no 
more!  329 

Full  recompense  thy  bounty  else  had  borue; 
For  ev’ry  good  man  yields  a just  return: 

So  civil  rights  demand;  and  who  begins 
The  track  of  friendship,  not  pursuing,  sins. 
But  tell  me,  stranger,  be  the  truth  con- 
fess’d, 

What  years  have  circled  since  thou  saw’st 
that  guest  ? 

That  hapless  guest,  alas!  for  ever  gone! 
Wretch  that  he  was!  and  that  I am!  my  son! 
If  ever  man  to  misery  was  born, 

’T  was  his  to  suffer  and  ’t.is  mine  to  mourn! 
Far  from  his  friends,  and  from  his  native 
reign,  340 

He  lies  a prey  to  monsters  of  the  main; 

Or  savage  beasts  his  mangled  relics  tear, 
Or  screaming  vultures  scatter  thro’  the 
air: 

Nor  could  his  mother  funeral  unguents 
shed; 

Nor  wail’d  his  father  o’er  th’  untimely 
dead: 

Nor  his  sad  consort,  on  the  mournful  bier, 
Seal’d  his  cold  eyes,  or  dropp’d  a tender 
tear! 

‘ But,  tell  me  who  thou  art  ? and  what  thy 
race  ? 

Thy  town,  thy  parents,  and  thy  native 
place  ? 

Or,  if  a merchant  in  pursuit  of  gain,  350) 
What  port  receiv’d  thy  vessel  from  the 
main  ? I 

Or  com'st  thou  single,  or  attend  thy 
train  ? ’ J 

Then  thus  the  son  : ‘ From  Alybas  I 
came, 

My  palace  there;  Eperitns  my  name. 

Not  vulgar  born;  from  Aphidas,  the  King 
Of  Polypeinon’s  royal  line,  I spring. 

Some  adverse  demon  from  Sicania  bore 
Our  wand’ring  course,  and  drove  us  on  your 
shore ; 


Far  from  the  town,  an  unfrequented  bay 
Reliev’d  our  wearied  vessel  from  the  sea. 
Five  years  have  circled  since  these  eyes 
pursued  361 

Ulysses  parting  thro’  the  sable  flood; 
Prosp’rous  he  sail’d,  with  dexter  auguries, 
And  all  the  wing’d  good  omens  of  the  skies. 
Well  hoped  we  then  to  meet  011  this  fair 
shore, 

Whom  Heav’n,  alas  ! decreed  to  meet  no 
more.’ 

Quick  thro’  the  father’s  heart  these  ac- 
cents ran ; 

Grief  seiz’d  at  once,  and  wrapp’d  up  all  the 
man: 

Deep  from  his  soul  he  sigh’d,  and  sorr’wing 
spread 

A cloud  of  ashes  on  his  hoary  head.  370 
Trembling  with  agonies  of  strong  delight 
Stood  the  great  son,  heart-wounded  with 
the  sight: 

He  ran,  he  seiz’d  him  with  a strict  em= 
brace, 

With  thousand  kisses  wander’d  o’er  his 
face: 

‘ I,  I am  he;  O Father,  rise!  behold 
Thy  son,  with  twenty  winters  now  grown 
old; 

Thy  son,  so  long  desired,  so  long  detain’d, 
Restor’d,  and  breathing  in  his  native  land: 
These  floods  of  sorrow,  O my  Sire,  re-' 
strain! 

The  vengeance  is  complete;  the  suitor  1 
train,  380  [ 

Stretch’d  in  our  palace,  by  these  hands 
lie  slain.’ 

Amazed,  Laertes:  ‘Give  some  certain 
sign  ’ 

(If  such  thou  art)  ‘to  manifest  thee  mine/ 

‘ Lo  here  the  wound  ’ (he  cries)  ‘ receiv’d 
of  yore, 

The  scar  indented  by  the  tusky  boar, 

When,  by  thyself,  and  by  Anticlea  sent, 

To  old  Autolycus’s  realms  I went. 

Yet  by  another  sign  thy  offspring  know; 
The  sev’ral  trees  you  gave  me  long  ago, 
While,  yet  a child,  these  fields  I lov’d  to 
trace,  39a 

And  trod  thy  footsteps  with  unequal  pace  ; 
To  ev’ty  plant  in  order  as  we  came, 
WelLpieas’d,  you  told  its  nature  and  its 
name, 

Whate’er  my  childish  fancy  ask’d,  bestow’d: 
Twelve  pear-trees,  bowing  with  their  pen* 
dent  load, 


632 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


And  ten,  that  red  with  blushing  apples 
glow’d; 

Fall  fifty  purple  figs;  and  many  a row 
Of  various  vines  that  then  began  to  blow, 

A future  vintage  ! when  the  Hours  pro- 
duce 

Their  latent  buds,  and  Sol  exalts  the 
juice.’  400 

Smit  with  the  signs  which  all  his  doubts 
explain, 

His  heart  within  him  melts;  his  knees  sus- 
tain 

Their  feeble  weight  no  more  : his  arms 
alone 

Support  him,  round  the  lov’d  Ulysses 
thrown; 

He  faints,  he  sinks,  with  mighty  joys  op- 
press’d : 

Ulysses  clasps  him  to  his  eager  breast. 

Soon  as  returning  life  regains  its  seat, 

And  his  breath  lengthens,  and  his  pulses 
beat ; 

‘Yes,  I believe  ’ (he  cries)  ‘almighty  Jove! 
Heav’n  rules  us  yet,  and  Gods  there  are 
above.  410 

’T  is  so  — the  suitors  for  their  wrongs  have 
paid  — 

But  what  shall  guard  us,  if  the  town  in- 
vade ? 

If,  while  the  news  thro’  ev’ry  city  flies, 

All  Ithaca  and  Cephalenia  rise  ? ’ 

To  this  Ulysses  : ‘ As  the  Gods  shall 
please 

Be  all  the  rest;  and  set  thy  soul  at  ease. 
Haste  to  the  cottage  by  this  orchard’s 
side, 

And  take  the  banquet  which  our  cares  pro- 
vide: 

There  wait  thy  faithful  band  of  rural 
friends,  419 

And  there  the  young  Telemachus  attends.’ 
Thus  having  said,  they  traced  the  garden 
o’er, 

And  stooping  enter’d  at  the  lowly  door. 
The  swains  and  young  Telemachus  they 
found, 

The  victim  portion’d,  and  the  goblet 
crown’d. 

The  hoary  King  his  old  Sicilian  maid 
Perfumed  and  wash’d,  and  gorgeously  ar- 
ray’d. 

Pallas  attending  gives  his  frame  to  shine 
With  awful  port,  and  majesty  divine; 

His  gazing  son  admires  the  godlike  grace, 
And  air  celestial  dawning  o’er  his  face.  430 


‘ What  God  ’ (he  cried)  ‘ my  father’s  form 
improves  ? 

How  high  he  treads,  and  how  enlarged  he 
moves!  ’ 

‘Oh!  would  to  all  the  deathless  Powers 
on  high, 

Pallas  and  Jove,  and  him  who  gilds  the  sky  ! 
(Replied  the  King,  elated  with  his  praise) 
My  strength  were  still  as  once  in  better 
days: 

When  the  bold  Cephaleus  the  leaguer 
form’d, 

And  proud  Nericus  trembled  as  I storm’d. 
Such  were  I now,  not  absent  from  your 
deed  439 

When  the  last  sun  beheld  the  suitors  bleed, 
This  arm  had  aided  yours,  this  hand  be-' 
strown 

Our  shores  with  death,  and  push’d  the  I 
slaughter  on; 

Nor  had  the  sire  been  sep’rate  from  the 
son.’ 

They  communed  thus  ; while  homeward 
bent  their  way 

The  swains,  fatigued  with  labours  of  the 
day: 

Dolius  the  first,  the  venerable  man; 

And  next  his  sons,  a long  succeeding  train. 
For  due  refection  to  the  bower  they  came, 
Call’d  by  the  careful  old  Sicilian  dame, 
Who  nurs’d  the  children,  and  now  tends 
the  sire;  45® 

They  see  their  lord,  they  gaze,  and  they 
admire. 

On  chairs  and  beds  in  order  seated  round, 
They  share  the  gladsome  board;  the  roofs 
resound. 

While  thus  Ulysses  to  his  ancient  friend  : 

‘ Forbear  your  wonder,  and  the  feast  at- 
tend : 

The  rites  have  waited  long.’  The  Chief 
commands 

Their  loves  in  vain;  old  Dolius  spreads  his 
hands, 

Springs  to  his  master  with  a warm  embrace, 
And  fastens  kisses  on  his  hands  and  face; 
Then  thus  broke  out:  ‘O  long,  O daily 
mourn’d!  460 

Beyond  our  hopes,  and  tc  our  wish  re- 
turn’d! 

Conducted  sure  by  Heav’n!  for  Heav’n  I 
alone 

Could  work  this  wonder:  welcome  to  thy  > 
own! 

And  joys  and  happiness  attend  thy  throne ! J 


THE  ODYSSEY 


633 


Who  knows  thy  bless’d,  thy  wish’d  re- 'l 
turn  ? 0I1  say, 

To  the  chaste  Queen  shall  we  the  news  I 
convey  ? 

Or  hears  she,  and  with  blessings  loads 
the  day  ? ’ J 

« Dismiss  that  care,  for  to  the  royal  bride 
Already  is  it  known,’  the  King  replied, 

And  straight  resumed  his  seat;  while  round 
him  bows  47° 

Each  faithful  youth,  and  breathes  out  ar- 
dent vows: 

Then  all  beneath  their  father  take  their 
place, 

Rank’d  by  their  ages,  and  the  banquet 
grace. 

Now  flying  Fame  the  swift  report  had 
spread 

Thro’  all  the  city,  of  the  suitors  dead. 

In  throngs  they  rise,  and  to  the  palace 
crowd; 

Their  sighs  were  many,  and  the  tumult 
loud. 

Weeping  they  bear  the  mangled  heaps'! 
of  slain, 

Inhume  the  natives  in  their  native  plain;  > 
The  rest  in  ships  are  wafted  o’er  the 
main.  48oJ 

Then  sad  in  council  all  the  seniors  sate, 
Frequent  and  full,  assembled  to  debate: 
Amid  the  circle  first  Eupithes  rose, 

Big  was  his  eye  with  tears,  his  heart  with 
woes: 

The  bold  Antinous  was  his  age’s  pride, 

The  first  who  by  Ulysses’  arrow  died: 

Down  his  wan  cheek  the  trickling  torrent 
ran, 

As,  mixing  words  with  sighs,  he  thus  be- 
gan: 

‘ Great  deeds,  O Friends  ! this  wondrous 
man  has  wrought, 

And  mighty  blessings  to  his  country 

brought ! 49° 

With  ships  he  parted,  and  a numerous  train ; 
Those,  and  their  ships,  he  buried  in  the 
main. 

Now  he  returns,  and  first  essays  his  hand 
In  the  best  blood  of  all  his  native  land. 
Haste  then,  and  ere  to  neiglib’ring  Pyle '! 

he  flies,  I 

Or  sacred  Elis,  to  procure  supplies;  | 

Arise  (or  ye  for  ever  fall),  arise  ! J 

Shame  to  this  age,  and  all  that  shall  suc- 
ceed ! 

If  unrevenged  your  sons  and  brothers  bleed. 


Prove  that  we  live,  by  vengeance  on  his 
head,  5°° 

Or  sink  at  once  forgotten  with  the  dead.’ 

Here  ceas’d  he,  but  indignant  tears  let  fall 
Spoke  when  he  ceas’d:  dumb  sorrow 
touch’d  them  all. 

When  from  the  palace  to  the  wond’ring 
throng 

Sage  Medon  came,  and  Phemius  came 
along 

(Restless  and  early  sleep’s  soft  bands  they 
broke) ; 

And  Medon  first  th’  assembled  Chiefs  be- 
spoke: 

* Hear  me,  ye  Peers  and  Elders  of  the 
land, 

Who  deem  this  act  the  work  of  mortal 
hand ; 5°9 

As  o’er  the  heaps  of  death  Ulysses  strode, 
These  eyes,  these  eyes  beheld  a present 
God, 

Who  now  before  him,  now  beside  him  stood, 
Fought  as  he  fought,  and  mark’d  his  way 
with  blood: 

In  vain  old  Mentor’s  form  the  God  belied ; 
’T  was  Heav’n  that  struck,  and  Heav’n  was 
on  his  side.’ 

A sudden  horror  all  th’  assembly  shook, 
When,  slowly  rising,  Halitherses  spoke 
(Rev’reud  and  wise,  whose  comprehensive 
view 

At  once  the  present  and  the  future  knew) ; 

‘ Me  too,  ye  Fathers,  hear  ! from  you  pro- 
ceed 520 

The  ills  ye  mourn;  your  own  the  guilty 
deed. 

Ye  gave  your  sons,  your  lawless  sons,  the 
rein 

(Oft  warn’d  by  Mentor  and  myself  in 
vain) ; 

An  absent  hero’s  bed  they  sought  to  soil, 

Au  absent  hero’s  wealth  they  made  their 
spoil ; 

Immod’rate  riot,  and  intemp’rate  lust ! 

Th’  offence  was  great,  the  punishment  was 
just. 

Weigh  then  my  counsels  in  an  equal  scale* 
Nor  rush  to  ruin.  Justice  will  prevail.’ 

His  mod’rate  words  some  better  minds 
persuade:  530 

They  part,  and  join  him;  but  the  number 
stay’d. 

They  storm,  they  shout,  with  hasty  frenzy 
fired, 

And  second  all  Eupithes’  rage  inspired. 


634 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


They  case  their  limbs  in  brass;  to  arms 
they  run; 

The  broad  effulgence  blazes  in  the  sun. 
Before  the  city,  and  in  ample  plain, 

They  meet:  Eupithes  heads  the  frantic  train. 
Fierce  for  his  son,  he  breathes  his  threats  in 
air; 

Fate  hears  them  not,  and  Death  attends 
him  there. 

This  pass’d  on  earth,  while  in  the  realms 

above  540 

Minerva  thus  to  cloud-compelling  Jove: 

‘ May  I presume  to  search  thy  secret  soul  ? 
O Power  Supreme,  O Ruler  of  the  Whole  ! 
Say,  hast  thou  doom’d  to  this  divided') 
state 

Or  peaceful  amity,  or  stern  debate  ? [ 

Declare  thy  purpose,  for  thy  will  is  Fate.’J 

‘ Is  not  thy  thought  my  own  ? ’ (the  God 
replies 

Who  rolls  the  thunder  o’er  the  vaulted 
skies) 

* Hath  not  long  since  thy  knowing  soul ' 
decreed 

The  Chief’s  return  should  make  the 
guilty  bleed  ? 55o  f 

’T  is  done,  and  at  thy  will  the  Fates  suc- 
ceed. 

Yet  hear  the  issue;  since  Ulysses’  hand 
Has  tflain  the  suitors,  Heav’n  shall  bless  the 
land. 

None  now  the  kindred  of  th’  unjust  shall 
own ; 

Forgot  the  slaughter’d  brother  and  the  son: 
Each  future  day  increase  of  wealth  shall 
bring, 

And  o’er  the  past  Oblivion  stretch  her  wing. 
Long  shall  Ulysses  in  his  empire  rest, 

His  people  blessing,  by  his  people  bless’d. 
Let  all  be  peace.’  — He  said,  and  gave  the 
nod  s6o 

That  binds  the  Fates;  the  sanction  of  the 
God: 

And,  prompt  to  execute  th’  eternal  will, 
Descended  Pallas  from  th’  Olympian  hill. 

Now  sat  Ulysses  at  the  rural  feast, 

The  rage  of  hunger  and  of  thirst  repress’d: 
To  watch  the  foe  a trusty  spy  he  sent: 

A son  of  Dolius  on  the  message  went, 

Stood  in  the  way,  and  at  a glance  beheld 
The  foe  approach,  embattled  on  the  field. 
With  backward  step  he  hastens  to  the 
bower,  570 

And  tells  the  news.  They  arm  with  all 
their  power. 


Four  friends  alone  Ulysses’  cause  embrace^ 
And  six  were  all  the  sons  of  Dolius’  race: 
Old  Dolius  too  his  rusted  arms  put  on; 
And,  still  more  old,  in  arms  Laertes  shone. 
Trembling  with  warmth,  the  hoary  heroes 
stand, 

And  brazen  panoply  invests  the  band. 

The  opening  gates  at  once  their  war  dis- 
play: 

Iierce  they  rush  forth:  Ulysses  leads  the 
way.  5?5 

That  moment  joins  them  with  celestial  aid, 
In  Mentor’s  form,  the  Jove-descended 
Maid: 

The  suff’ring  Hero  felt  his  patient  breast 
Swell  with  new  joy,  and  thus  his  son  ad- 
dress’d : 

‘Behold,  Telemachus  ! (nor  fear  the 
sight) 

The  brave  embattled,  the  grim  front  of 
fight ! 

The  valiant  with  the  valiant  must  contend: 
Shame  not  the  line  whence  glorious  you 
descend; 

Wide  o’er  the  world  their  martial  fame  was 
spread : 

Regard  thyself,  the  living,  and  the  dead.’ 

‘ Thy  eyes,  great  Father  ! on  this  battle 
cast,  5go 

Shall  learn  from  me  Penelope  was  chaste.’ 

So  spoke  Telemachus:  the  gallant  boy 
Good  old  Laertes  heard  with  panting  joy; 
And  ‘ Bless’d  ! thrice  bless’d  this  happy 
day  ! ’ (he  cries) 

i The  day  that  shows  me,  ere  I close  my 
eyes, 

A son  and  grandson  of  th’  Arcesian  yame 
Strive  for  fair  virtue,  and  contest  for 
fame  ! ’ 

Then  thus  Minerva  in  Laertes’  ear: 

‘ Son  of  Arcesius,  rev’rend  warrior,  hear  1 
Jove  and  Jove’s  Daughter  first  implore  in 
r prayer,  _ 6oo 

Then,  whirling  high,  discharge  tby  lance 
in  air.’ 

She  said,  infusing  courage  with  the  word. 
Jove  and  Jove’s  Daughter  then  the  Chief 
implor’d, 

And,  whirling  high,  dismiss’d  the  lanoe  in 
air. 

Full  at  Eupithes  drove  the  deathful  spear: 
The  brass-cheek’d  helmet  opens  to  the 
wound; 

He  falls,  earth  thunders,  and  his  arms  re- 
sound, 


THE  ODYSSEY 


635 


Before  the  father  and  the  conquering  son 
Heaps  rush  on  heaps;  they  fight,  they  drop, 
they  run.  6°9 

Now  by  the  sword,  and  now  the  jav’lin  fall 
The  rebel  race,  and  death  had  swallow’d  all; 
But  from  on  high  the  blue-eyed  Virgin  cried 
(Her  awful  voice  detain’d  the  headlong  tide) : 
« Forbear,  ye  Nations,  your  mad  hands  for- 
bear 

From  mutual  slaughter;  Peace  descends 
to  spare.’ 

Fear  shook  the  Nations:  at  the  voice  divine 
They  drop  their  jav’lins,  and  their  rage  re- 
sign. 

All  scatter’d  round  their  glitt’ring  weapons 
lie; 

Some  fall  to  earth,  and  some  confusedly 
fly.  6i9 


With  dreadful  shouts  Ulysses  pour’d  along, 

Swift  as  an  eagle,  as  an  eagle  strong. 

But  Jove’s  red  arm  the  burning  thunder 
aims; 

Before  Minerva  shot  the  livid  flames; 

Blazing  they  fell,  and  at  her  feet  expired; 

Then  stopped  the  Goddess,  trembled,  and 
retired. 

* Descended  from  the  Gods  ! Ulysses, 
cease; 

Offend  not  Jove:  obey, and  give  the  peace. 

So  Pallas  spoke:  the  mandate  from  above 

The  King  obey’d.  The  Virgin-seed  of 
Jove, 

In  Mentor’s  form,  confirm’d  the  full  ac- 
cord, * 63° 

And  willing  Nations  knew  their  lawful 
lord. 


POSTSCRIPT  BY  POPE 


I cannot  dismiss  this  work  without  a few 
observations  on  the  true  character  and  style 
of  it.  Whoever  reads  the  Odyssey  with  an  eye 
to  the  Iliad,  expecting  to  find  it  of  the  same 
character,  or  of  the  same  sort  of  spirit,  will 
be  grievousty  deceived,  and  err  against  the 
first  principle  of  criticism,  which  is  to  con- 
sider the  nature  of  the  piece,  and  the  intent 
of  its  author.  The  Odyssey  is  a moral  and 
political  work,  instructive  to  all  degrees  of 
men  and  filled  with  images,  examples,  and 
precepts,  of  civil  and  domestic  life.  Homer 
is  here  a person 

Qui  didicit,  patriae  quid  debeat,  et  quid  amici  s, 

Quo  sit  amore  parens,  quo  frater  amandus,  et  hospes : 
Qui  quid  sit  pulchrum,  quid  turpe,  quid  utile,  quid  non, 
Plenius  et  melius  Chrysippo  et  Crantore  dicit. 

The  Odyssey  is  the  reverse  of  the  Iliad,  in 
moral , subject,  manner,  and  style;  to  which  it 
has  no  sort  of  relation,  but  as  the  story 
happens  to  follow  in  order  of  time,  and  as 
some  of  the  same  persons  are  actors  in  it. 
Yet  from  this  incidental  connexion  many 
have  been  misled  to  regard  it  as  a continua- 
tion or  second  part,  and  thence  to  expect  a 
parity  of  character  inconsistent  with  its 
nature. 

It  is  no  wonder  that  the  common  reader 
should  fall  into  this  mistake,  when  so  great 
a critic  as  Longinus  seems  not  wholly  free 
from  it;  although  what  he  has  said  has  been 
generally  understood  to  import  a severer 
censure  of  the  Odyssey  than  it  really  does, 


if  we  consider  the  occasion  on  which  it  is 
introduced,  and  the  circumstances  to  which 
it  is  confined. 

‘ The  Odyssey,’  says  he,  4 is  an  instance, 
how  natural  it  is  to  a great  genius,  when  it 
begins  to  grow  old  and  decline,  to  delight 
itself  in  Narrations  and  Fables.  For,  that 
Homer  composed  the  Odyssey  after  the 
Iliad,  many  proofs  may  be  given,  etc.  From 
hence  in  my  judgment  it  proceeds,  that  as 
the  Iliad  was  written  while  his  spirit  was 
in  its  greatest  vigour,  the  whole  structure  of 
that  work  is  dramatic  and  full  of  action; 
whereas  the  greater  part  of  the  Odyssey  is 
employed  in  narration,  which  is  the  taste  of 
old  age:  so  that  in  this  latter  piece  we  may 
compare  him  to  the  setting  sun,  which  has 
still  the  same  greatness,  but  not  the  same 
ardour  or  force.  He  speaks  not  in  the 
same  strain:  we  see  no  more  that  Sublime 
of  the  Iliad  which  marches  on  with  a con- 
stant pace,  without  ever  being  stopped,  or 
retarded:  there  appears  no  more  that  hurry 
and  that  strong  tide  of  motions  and  pas- 
sions, pouring  one  after  another:  there  is 
no  more  the  same  fury,  or  the  same  volu- 
bility of  diction,  so  suitable  to  action,  and 
all  along  drawing  in  such  innumerable  im- 
ages of  Nature.  But  Homer,  like  the  ocean, 
is  always  great,  even  when  he  ebbs  and  re- 
tires; even  when  he  is  lowest,  and  loses  him- 
self most  in  narrations  and  incredible  fictions: 
as  instances  of  this,  we  cannot  forget  the 


636 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


descriptions  of  tempests,  the  adventures  of 
Ulysses  with  the  Cyclops,  and  many  others. 
But  though  all  this  he  age,  it  is  the  age  of 
Homer.  — And  it  may  be  said  for  the  credit 
of  these  fictions  that  they  are  beautiful 
dreams,  or,  if  you  will,  the  dreams  of  Jupi- 
ter himself.  I spoke  of  the  Odyssey  only 
to  show,  that  the  greatest  poets,  when  their 
genius  wants  strength  and  warmth  for  the 
pathetic,  for  the  most  part  employ  them- 
selves in  painting  the  manners.  This  Ho- 
mer has  done,  in  characterizing  the  suitors, 
and  describing  their  way  of  life;  which  is 
properly  a branch  of  comedy,  whose  peculiar 
business  it  is  to  represent  the  manners  of 
men/ 

We  must  first  observe,  it  is  the  Sublime 
of  which  Longinus  is  writing:  that,  and  not 
the  nature  of  Homer’s  poem,  is  his  subject. 
After  having  highly  extolled  the  sublimity 
and  fire  of  the  Iliad,  he  justly  observes  the 
Odyssey  to  have  less  of  those  qualities, 
and  to  turn  more  on  the  side  of  moral,  and 
reflections  on  human  life.  Nor  is  it  his 
business  here  to  determine,  whether  the 
elevated  spirit  of  the  one,  or  the  just  moral 
of  the  other,  be  the  greater  excellence  in 
itself. 

Secondly,  that  fire  and  fury  of  which  he 
is  speaking,  cannot  well  be  meant  of  the 
general  spirit  and  inspiration  which  is  to 
run  through  a whole  epic  poem,  but  of  that 
particular  warmth  and  impetuosity  neces- 
sary in  some  parts,  to  image  or  represent 
actions  or  passions,  of  haste,  tumult,  and 
violence.  It  is  on  occasion  of  citing  some 
such  particular  passages  in  Homer,  that 
Longinus  breaks  into  this  reflection;  which 
seems  to  determine  his  meaning  chiefly  to 
that  sense. 

Upon  the  whole,  he  affirms  the  Odyssey 
to  have  less  sublimity  and  fire  than  the 
Iliad,  but  he  does  not  say  it  wants  the  Sub- 
lime or  wants  fire.  He  affirms  it  to  be 
narrative,  but  not  that  the  narration  is  de- 
fective. He  affirms  it  to  abound  in  fictions, 
not  that  those  fictions  are  ill  invented,  or 
ill  executed.  He  affirms  it  to  be  nice  and 
particular  in  painting  the  manners,  but  not 
that  those  manners  are  ill  painted.  If  Ho- 
mer lias  fuliy  in  these  points  accomplished 
his  own  design,  and  done  all  that  the  nature 
of  his  poem  demanded  or  allowed,  it  still 
remains  perfect  in  its  kind,  and  as  much  a 
master-piece  as  the  Iliad. 


The  amount  of  the  passage  is  this;  that 
111  11,8  own  particular  taste,  and  with  re- 
spect  to  the  Sublime,  Longinus  preferred 
the  Iliad:  and  because  the  Odyssey  was 
less  active  and  lofty,  he  judged  it  the  work 
oi  the  old  age  of  Homer. 

If  this  opinion  be  true,  it  will  only  prove, 
that  Homer’s  age  might  determine  him  in 
the  choice  of  his  subject,  not  that  it  affected 
him  m the  execution  of  it:  and  that  which 
would  be  a very  wrong  instance  to  prove  the 
decay  of  his  imagination,  is  a very  good  one 
to  evince  the  strength  of  his  judgment, 
ror  had  he,  as  Madam  Dacier  observes 
composed  the  Odyssey  in  his  youth,  and 
the  Iliad  in  his  age,  both  must  in  reason 
have  been  exactly  the  same  as  they  now 
stand.  To  blame  Homer  for  his  choice  of 
such  a subject,  as  did  not  admit  the  same 
incidents  and  the  same  pomp  of  style  as  his 
former,  is  to  take  offence  at  too  much 
varietj’,  and  to  imagine,  that  when  a man 
lias  written  one  good  thing,  he  must  ever 
after  only  copy  himself. 

The  Battle  of  Constantine,  and  the  School 
of  Athens,  are  both  pieces  of  Raphael- 
shall  we  censure  the  School  of  Athens  as 
faulty,  because  it  has  not  the  fury  and  fire 
of  the  other  ? or  shall  we  say,  that  Raphael 
was  grown  grave  and  old,  because  he  chose 
to  represent  the  manners  of  old  men  and 
philosophers  ? There  is  all  the  silence, 
tranquillity,  and  composure  in  the  one,  and 
all  the  warmth,  hurry,  and  tumult  in  the 
other,  which  the  subject  of  either  required: 
both  of  them  had  been  imperfect,  if  they 
had  not  been  as  they  are.  And  let  the 
painter  or  poet  be  young  or  old,  who  de- 
signs and  performs  in  this  manner,  it  proves 
him  to  have  made  the  piece  at  a time  of 
life  when  he  was  master  not  only  of  his  art, 
but  of  his  discretion. 

Aristotle  makes  no  such  distinction  be- 
tween the  two  poems:  he  constantly  cites 
them  with  equal  praise,  and  draws  the 
rules  and  examples  of  epic  writing  equally 
from  both.  But  it  is  rather  to  the  Odyssey 
that  Horace  gives  the  preference,  in  the 
Epistle  to  Loll ius,  and  in  the  Art  of  Poetry. 

It  is  remarkable  how  opposite  his  opinion 
is  to  that  of  Longinus;  and  that  the  partic- 
ulars he  chooses  to  extol,  are  those  very 
fictions  and  pictures  of  the  manners , which 
the  other  seems  least  to  approve.  Those 
fables  and  manners  are  of  the  very  essence 


POSTSCRIPT  BY  POPE 


637 


of  the  work : but  even  without  that  regard, 
the  fables  themselves  have  both  more  in- 
vention and  more  instruction,  and  the  man- 
ners more  moral  and  example,  than  those 
of  the  Iliad. 

In  some  points  (and  those  the  most  es- 
sential to  the  epic  poem)  the  Odyssey  is 
confessed  to  excel  the  Iliad;  and  principally 
in  the  great  end  of  it,  the  Moral.  The  con- 
duct, turn,  and  disposition  of  the  Fable  is 
also  what  the  critics  allow  to  be  the  better 
model  for  epic  writers  to  follow:  accord- 
ingly we  find  much  more  of  the  cast  of  this 
poem  than  of  the  other  in  the  iEneid,  and 
(what  next  to  that  is  perhaps  the  greatest 
example)  in  the  Telemachus.  In  the  Man- 
ners, it  is  no  way  inferior:  Longinus  is  so 
far  from  finding  any  defect  in  these,  that 
he  rather  taxes  Homer  with  painting  them 
too  minutely.  As  to  the  Narrations , al- 
though they  are  more  numerous  as  the 
occasions  are  more  frequent,  yet  they  carry 
no  more  the  marks  of  old  age,  and  are 
neither  more  prolix  nor  more  circumstantial, 
than  the  conversations  and  dialogues  of  the 
Iliad.  Not  to  mention  the  length  of  those 
of  Phoenix  in  the  ninth  book,  and  of  Nestor 
in  the  eleventh  (which  may  be  thought  in 
compliance  to  their  characters),  those  of 
Glaucus  in  the  sixth,  of  iEneas  in  the 
twentieth,  and  some  others,  must  be  allowed 
to  exceed  any  in  the  whole  Odyssey.  And 
that  the  propriety  of  style,  and  the  num- 
bers, in  the  narrations  of  each  are  equal, 
will  appear  to  any  who  compare  them. 

To  form  a right  judgment,  whether  the 
genius  of  Homer  had  suffered  any  decay, 
we  must  consider,  in  both  his  poems,  such 
parts  as  are  of  a similar  nature,  and  will 
bear  comparison.  And  it  is  certain  we 
shall  find  in  each  the  same  vivacity  and  fe- 
cundity of  invention,  the  same  life  and 
strength  of  imaging  and  colouring,  the 
particular  descriptions  as  highly  painted, 
the  figures  as  bold,  the  metaphors  as  ani- 
mated, and  the  numbers  as  harmonious  and 
as  various. 

The  Odyssey  is  a perpetual  source  of 
poetry:  the  stream  is  not  the  less  full  for 
being  gentle;  though  it  is  true  (when  we 
speak  only  with  regard  to  the  jublime) 
that  a river,  foaming  and  thundering  in 
cataracts  from  rocks  and  precipices,  is  what 
more  strikes,  amazes,  and  fills  the  mind, 
than  the  same  body  of  water,  flowing  after- 


wards through  peaceful  vales  and  agreeable 
scenes  of  pasturage. 

The  Odyssey  (as  I have  before  said) 
ought  to  be  considered  according  to  its  own 
nature  and  design,  not  with  an  eye  to  the 
Iliad.  To  censure  Homer  because  it  is  un- 
like what  it  was  never  meant  to  resemble, 

is,  as  if  a gardener  who  had  purposely  cul- 
tivated two  beautiful  trees  of  contrary  na- 
tures, as  a specimen  of  his  skill  in  the 
several  kinds,  should  be  blamed  for  not 
bringing  them  into  pairs;  when  in  root, 
stem,  leaf,  and  flower,  each  was  so  entirely 
different,  that  one  must  have  been  spoiled 
in  the  endeavour  to  match  the  other. 

Longinus,  who  saw  this  poem  was  “ partly 
of  the  nature  of  comedy,”  ought  not,  for 
that  verv  reason,  to  have  considered  it  with 
a view  to  the  Iliad.  How  little  any  such 
resemblance  was  the  intention  of  Homer, 
may  appear  from  hence,  that  although  the 
character  of  Ulysses  there  was  already 
drawn,  yet  here  he  purposely  turns  to  an- 
other side  of  it,  and  shows  him  not  in  that 
full  light  of  glory,  but  in  the  shade  of  com- 
mon life,  with  a mixture  of  such  qualities  as 
are  requisite  to  all  the  lowest  accidents  of 

it,  struggling  with  misfortunes,  and  on  a 
level  with  the  meanest  of  mankind.  As  for 
the  other  persons,  none  of  them  are  above 
what  we  call  the  higher  comedy:  Calypso, 
though  a Goddess,  is  a character  of  intrigue; 
the  suitors  yet  more  approaching  to  if;  the 
Phseacians  are  of  the  same  cast;  the  Cy- 
clops, Melanthius,  and  Irus,  descend  even 
to  droll  characters;  and  the  scenes  that  ap- 
pear throughout,  are  generally  of  the  comic 
kind;  banquets,  revels,  sports,  loves,  and 
the  pursuit  of  a woman. 

From  the  nature  of  the  poem,  we  shall 
form  an  idea  of  the  Style.  The  diction  is 
to  follow  the  images,  and  to  take  its  colour 
from  the  complexion  of  the  thoughts.  Ac- 
cordingly the  Odyssey  is  not  always  clothed 
in  the  majesty  of  verse  proper  to  tragedy, 
but  sometimes  descends  into  the  plainer 
narrative,  and  sometimes  even  to  that  fa- 
miliar dialogue  essential  to  comedy.  How- 
ever, where  it  cannot  support  a sublimity, 
it  always  preserves  a dignity,  or  at  least  a 
propriety.  There  is  a real  beauty  in  an 
easy,  pure,  perspicuous  description  even  of 
a low  action.  There  are  numerous  instances 
of  this  both  in  Homer  and  Virgil;  and  per- 
haps those  natural  passages  are  not  the 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


6o3 


least  pleasing  of  their  works.  It  is  often 
the  same  in  history,  where  the  representa- 
tions of  common,  or  even  domestic  things, 
in  clear,  plain,  and  natural  words,  are  fre- 
quently found  to  make  the  liveliest  impres- 
sion on  the  reader. 

The  question  is,  how  far  a poet,  in  pur- 
suing the  description  or  image  of  an  action, 
can  attach  himself  to  little  circumstances, 
without  vulgarity  or  trifling?  what  partic- 
ulars are  proper,  and  enliven  the  image; 
or  what  are  impertinent,  and  clog  it  ? In 
this  matter  painting  is  to  be  consulted,  and 
the  whole  regard  had  to  those  circumstances 
which  contribute  to  form  a full,  and  yet  not 
a confused,  idea  of  a thing.  Epithets  are  of 
vast  service  to  this  effect,  and  the  right  use 
of  these  is  often  the  only  expedient  to  render 
the  narration  poetical.  The  great  point  of 
judgment  is  to  distinguish  when  to  speak 
simply,  and  when  figuratively:  but  when- 
ever the  poet  is  obliged  by  the  nature  of  his 
subject  to  descend  to  the  lower  maimer  of 
writing,  an  elevated  style  would  be  affected, 
and  therefore  ridiculous;  and  the  more  he 
was  forced  upon  figures  and  metaphors  to 
avoid  that  lowness,  the  more  the  image 
would  be  broken,  and  consequently  obscure. 
One  may  add,  that  the  use  of  the  grand  style 
on  little  subjects,  is  not  only  ludicrous,  but  a 
sort  of  transgression  against  the  rules  of 
proportion  and  mechanics:  it  is  using  a vast 
force  to  lift  a feather. 

I believe,  now  I am  upon  this  head,  it 
will  be  found  a just  observation,  that  the 
low  actions  of  life  cannot  be  put  into  a 
figurative  style  without  being  ridiculous, 
but  things  natural  can.  Metaphors  raise  the 
latter  into  dignity,  as  we  see  in  the  Geor- 
gies; but  throw  the  former  into  ridicule,  as 
iu  the  Lutrin.  I think  this  may  very  well 
be  accounted  for:  laughter  implies  censure; 
inanimate  and  irrational  beings  are  not  ob- 
jects of  censure:  therefore  these  may  be 
elevated  as  much  as  you  please,  and  no 
ridicule  follows:  but  when  rational  beings 
are  represented  above  their  real  character, 
it  becomes  ridiculous  in  art,  because  it  is 
vicious  in  morality.  The  bees  in  Virgil, 
were  they  rational  beings,  would  be  ridicu- 
lous by  having  their  actions  and  manners 
represented  on  a level  with  creatures  so 
superior  as  men;  since  it  would  imply  folly 
or  pride,  which  are  the  proper  objects  of 
ridicule, 


The  use  of  pompous  expression  for  low 
actions  or  thoughts  is  the  true  Sublime  o 
Don  Quixote.  How  far  unfit  it  is  for  epi< 
poetry,  appears  in  its  being  the  perfectior 
of  the  mock  epic.  It  is  so  far  from  beiii£ 
the  sublime  of  tragedy,  that  it  is  the  caust 
of  all  bombast;  when  poets,  instead  of  be 
ing,  as  they  imagine,  constantly  lofty,  011I} 
preserve  throughout  a painful  equality  oi 
fustian;  that  continued  swell  of  language 
which  runs  indiscriminately  even  througl 
their  lowest  characters,  and  rattles  like 
some  mightiness  of  meaning  in  the  most  in- 
different subjects,  is  of  a piece  with  thai 
perpetual  elevation  of  tone  which  the 
players  have  learned  from  it;  and  which  k 
not  speaking,  but  vociferating. 

There  is  still  more  reason  for  a variatior 
of  Style  in  epic  poetry  than  in  tragic,  tc 
distinguish  between  that  language  of  the 
Gods  proper  to  the  Muse  who  sings,  and  is 
inspired;  and  that  of  men  who  are  intro- 
duced speaking  only  according  to  nature 
Farther,  there  ought  to  be  a difference  oi 
style  observed  in  the  speeches  of  human 
persons,  and  those  of  deities;  and  again,  in 
those  which  may  be  called  set  harangues, 
or  orations,  and  those  which  are  only  con- 
versation or  dialogue.  Homer  has  more  of 
the  latter  than  any  other  poet:  what  Virgil 
does  by  two  or  three  words  of  narration,’ 
Homer  still  performs  by  speeches:  not  only 
replies,  but  even  rejoinders  are  frequent 
in  him,  a practice  almost  unknown  to  Virgil. 
This  renders  his  poems  more  animated,  but 
less  grave  and  majestic;  and  consequently 
necessitates  the  frequent  use  of  a lower 
style.  The  writers  of  tragedy  lie  under  the 
same  necessity,  if  they  would  copy  nature: 
whereas  that  painted  and  poetical  diction 
which  they  perpetually  use,  would  be  im- 
proper even  in  orations  designed  to  move 
with  all  the  arts  of  rhetoric;  this  is  plain 
from  the  practice  of  Demosthenes  and 
Cicero;  and  Virgil  in  those  of  Drances  and 
Turnus  gives  an  eminent  example,  how  fai^ 
removed  the  style  of  them  ought  to  be  from 
such  an  excess  of  figures  and  ornaments: 
which  indeed  fits  only  that  language  of  the 
Gods  we  have  been  speaking  of,  or  that  of 
a muse  under  inspiration. 

To  read  through  a whole  work  in  this 
strain,  is  like  travelling  all  along  on  the 
ridge  of  a hill ; which  is  not  half  so  agree- 
able as  sometimes  gradually  to  rise,  and 


POSTSCRIPT  BY  POPE 


639 


sometimes  gently  to  descend,  as  the  way 
leads,  and  as  the  end  of  the  journey  directs. 
Indeed  the  true  reason  that  so  few  poets 
have  imitated  Homer  in  these  lower  parts, 
j has  been  the  extreme  difficulty  of  preserv- 
ing that  mixture  of  ease  and  dignity  essen- 
tial to  them.  For  it  is  as  hard  for  an  epic 
poem  to  stoop  to  the  narrative  with  success, 
as  for  a Prince  to  descend  to  be  familiar, 
without  diminution  to  his  greatness. 

The  sublime  style  is  more  easily  coun- 
| terfeited  than  the  natural ; something  that 
j passes  for  it,  or  sounds  like  it,  is  common 
' to  all  false  writers:  but  nature,  purity,  per- 
spicuity, and  simplicity,  never  walk  in  the 
clouds;  they  are  obvious  to  all  capacities; 
and  where  they  are  not  evident,  they  do  not 
exist.  The  most  plain  narration  not  only 
admits  of  these,  and  of  harmony  (which  are 
all  the  qualities  of  style)  but  it  requires 
1 every  one  of  them  to  render  it  pleasing. 

. On  the  contrary,  whatever  pretends  to  a 
1 share  of  the  sublime,  may  pass,  notwith- 
standing any  defects  in  the  rest;  nay  some- 
> times  without  any  of  them,  and  gain  th© 
admiration  of  all  ordinary  readers. 

Homer,  in  his  lowest  narrations  or 
speeches,  is  ever  easy,  flowing,  copious, 
clear,  and  harmonious.  He  shows  not  less 
Invention , in  assembling  the  humbler,  than 
1 the  greater,  thoughts  and  images;  nor  less 
Judgment,  in  proportioning  the  style  and  the 
versification  to  these,  than  to  the  other. 
Let  it  be  remembered,  that  the  same  genius 
1 that  soared  the  highest,  and  from  whom  the 
greatest  models  of  the  Sublime  are  derived, 

' was  also  he  who  stooped  the  lowest,  and 
1 gave  to  the  simple  Narrative  its  utmost 
* perfection.  Which  of  these  was  the  harder 
task  to  Homer  himself,  I cannot  pretend  to 
1 determine;  but  to  his  translator  I can  affirm 
(however  unequal  all  his  imitations  must 
be)  that  of  the  latter  has  been  much  more 
1 difficult. 

1 Whoever  expects  here  the  same  pomp  of 
S verse,  and  the  same  ornaments  of  diction, 

1 as  in  the  Iliad,  he  will,  and  he  ought  to  be, 

' disappointed.  Were  the  original  otherwise, 

1 it  had  been  .an  offence  against  Nature;  and 
were  the  translation  so,  it  were  an  offence 
against  Homer,  which  is  the  same  thing. 

1 It  must  be  allowed  that  there  is  a ma- 
1 jesty  and  harmony  in  the  Greek  language 
which  greatly  contribute  to  elevate  and 
support  the  narration.  But  I must  also 


observe  that  this  is  an  advantage  grown 
upon  the  language  since  Homer’s  time;  for 
things  are  removed  from  vulgarity  by  being 
out  of  use:  and  if  the  words  we  could  find 
in  auy  present  language  were  equally  sono- 
rous or  musical  in  themselves,  they  would 
still  appear  less  poetical  and  uncommon 
than  those  of  a dead  one,  from  this  only 
circumstance,  of  being  in  every  man’s 
mouth.  I may  add  to  this  another  disad- 
vantage to  a translator,  from  a different 
cause:  Homer  seems  to  have  taken  upon  him 
the  character  of  an  historian,  antiquary,  di- 
vine, and  professor  of  arts  and  sciences,  as 
well  as  a poet.  In  one  or  other  of  these  char- 
acters he  descends  into  many  particulars, 
which  as  a poet  only  perhaps  he  would  have 
avoided.  All  these  ought  to  be  preserved 
by  a faithful  translator,  who  in  some  mea- 
sure takes  the  place  of  Homer;  and  all  that 
can  be  expected  from  him  is  to  make  them 
as  poetical  as  the  subject  will  bear.  Many 
arts,  therefore,  are  requisite  to  supply  these 
disadvantages,  in  order  to  dignify  and  sol- 
emnize these  plainer  parts,  which  hardly 
admit  of  any  poetical  ornaments. 

Some  use  has  been  made  to  this  end  of 
the  style  of  Milton.  A just  and  moderate 
mixture  of  old  words  may  have  an  effect 
like  the  working  old  abbey  stones  into  a 
building,  which  I have  sometimes  seen  to 
give  a kind  of  venerable  air,  and  yet  not 
destroy  the  neatness,  elegance,  and  equality 
requisite  to  a new  work:  I mean  without 
rendering  it  too  unfamiliar,  or  remote  from 
the  present  purity  of  writing,  or  from 
that  ease  and  smoothness  which  ought  al- 
ways to  accompany  narration  or  dialogue. 
In  reading  a style  judiciously  antiquated, 
one  finds  a pleasure  not  unlike  that  of  trav- 
elling on  an  old  Roman  way:  but  then  the 
road  must  be  as  good,  as  the  way  is  ancient; 
the  style  must  be  such  in  which  we  may 
evenly  proceed,  without  being  put  to  short 
stops  by  sudden  abruptness,  or  puzzled  by 
frequent  turnings  and  transpositions.  No 
man  delights  in  furrows  and  stumbling- 
blocks:  and  let  our  love  to  antiquity  be 
ever  so  great,  a fine  ruin  is  one  thing,  and  a 
heap  of  rubbish  another.  The  imitators  of 
Milton,  like  most  other  imitators,  are  not 
copies  but  caricatures  of  their  original; 
they  are  a hundred  times  more  obsolete  and 
cramp  than  he,  and  equally  so  in  all  places: 
whereas  it  should  have  been  observed  of 


640 


TRANSLATIONS  FROM  HOMER 


Milton,  that  he  is  not  lavish  of  his  exotic 
words  and  phrases  every  where  alike,  but 
employs  them  much  more  where  the  sub- 
ject is  marvellous,  vast,  and  strange,  as  in 
the  scenes  of  Heaven,  Hell,  Chaos,  &c., 
than  where  it  is  turned  to  the  natural  or 
agreeable,  as  in  the  pictures  of  paradise, 
the  loves  of  our  first  parents,  the  entertain- 
ments of  angels,  and  the  like.  In  general, 
this  unusual  style  better  serves  to  awaken 
our  ideas  in  the  descriptions  and  in  the 
imaging  and  picturesque  parts,  than  it 
agrees  with  the  lower  sort  of  narrations, 
the  character  of  which  is  simplicity  and 
purity.  Milton  has  several  of  the  latter, 
where  we  find  not  an  antiquated,  affected, 
or  uncouth  word,  for  some  hundred  lines 
together;  as  in  his  fifth  book,  the  latter  part 
of  the  eighth,  the  former  of  the  tenth  and 
eleventh  books,  and  in  the  narration  of 
Michael  in  the  twelfth.  I wonder  indeed 
that  he,  who  ventured  (contrary  to  the 
practice  of  all  other  Epic  Poets)  to  imitate 
Homer’s  lownesses  in  the  narrative,  should 
not  also  have  copied  his  plainness  and  per- 
spicuity in  the  dramatic  parts:  since  in  his 
speeches  (where  clearness  above  all  is 
necessary)  there  is  frequently  such  trans- 
position and  forced  construction,  that  the 
very  sense  is  not  to  be  discovered  without 
a second  or  third  reading:  and  in  this  cer- 
tainly he  ought  to  be  no  example. 

To  preserve  the  true  character  of  Homer’s 
style  in  the  present  translation,  great  pains 
have  been  taken  to  be  easy  and  natural. 


The  chief  merit  I can  pretend  to,  is,  not  to 
have  been  carried  into  a more  plausible  and 
figurative  manner  of  writing,  which  would 
better  have  pleased  all  readers,  but  the 
judicious  ones.  My  errors  had  been  fewer, 
had  each  of  those  gentlemen  who  joined 
with  me  shown  as  much  of  the  severity  of 
a friend  to  me,  as  I did  to  them,  in  a strict 
animadversion  and  correction.  What  assist- 
ance I received  from  them,  was  made 
known  in  general  to  the  public  in  the  ori- 
ginal proposals  for  this  work,  and  the  par- 
ticulars are  specified  at  the  conclusion  of  it; 
to  which  I must  add  (to  be  punctually  just) 
some  part  of  the  tenth  and  fifteenth  books. 
The  reader  will  now  be  too  good  a judge, 
how  much  the  greater  part  of  it,  and  con- 
sequently of  its  faidts,  is  chargeable  upon 
me  alone.  But  this  I can  with  integrity  af- 
firm, that  I have  bestowed  as  much  time 
and  pains  upon  the  whole,  as  were  consist- 
ent with  the  indispensable  duties  and  cares 
of  life,  and  with  that  wretched  state  of 
health  which  God  has  been  pleased  to  make 
my  portion.  At  the  least,  it  is  a pleasure  to 
me  to  reflect,  that  I have  introduced  into 
our  language  this  other  work  of  the  great- 
est and  most  ancient  of  poets,  with  some 
dignity;  and  I hope,  with  as  little  disad- 
vantage as  the  Ib’ad.  And  if,  after  the  un- 
merited success  of  that  translation,  any  one 
will  wonder  why  I would  enterprise  the 
Odyssey;  I think  it  sufficient  to  say,  that 
Homer  himself  did  the  same,  or  the  world 
would  never  have  seen  it. 


APPENDIX 


A.  A GLOSSARY  OF  NAMES  OF 
POPE’S  CONTEMPORARIES  MEN- 
TIONED IN  THE  POEMS. 


This  Glossary  includes  only  such  names  as 
from  their  importance,  from  Pope’s  frequent 
mention  of  them,  or  for  some  other  obvious  rea- 
son, could  not  profitably  be  treated  in  the  Notes. 


Allen , Ralph.  Friend  and  correspondent  of 
Pope,  and  afterward  patron  of  Fielding. 

Anstis.  Garter  King  at  Arms. 

Arbuthnot,  John  (1(175-1735).  Physician, 
mathematician,  and  classical  scholar.  A Tory 
in  politics.  Member  of  Scriblerus  Club.  Friend 
of  Pope,  Swift,  and  Gay,  whom  he  rivalled  in 
satire.  Swift  said,  4 He  has  more  wit  than  we 
all  have,  and  more  humanity  than  wit.’ 

Argyle , John,  2d  Duke  of  (1678-1743).  States- 
man, soldier,  and  lover  of  letters  ; of  a varied 
career  both  in  war  and  in  politics,  but  an  honest 


man.  ^ . , . . 

Arnall,  William.  Party-writer  and  journal- 
ist, of  whom  Pope  complains  that  he  admitted 
having  4 received,  in  the  space  of  four  years,  no 
less  than  £1997  6s.  8d.  out  of  the  Treasury.’ 

Atterbury , Francis,  Bishop  of  Rochester. 
Friend  of  Pope  and  Swift.  Banished  as  a plot- 
ting Jacobite  in  1722,.  and  thereafter  influential 
at  the  court  of  the  Pretender  till  his  death  in 
1731. 


Barnard , Sir  John.  Convert  from  Quakerism 
to  the  Church  of  England,  member  of  Parlia- 
ment for  London  City,  and  an  authority  upon 
questions  of  finance  ; Lord  Mayor  in  1738. 

Bathurst , Allen  Apsley,  Lord,  a Tory  peer, 
was  one  of  the  most  intimate  of  Pope’s  friends 
and  associates.  4 He  united,’  says  Carruthers, 
‘a  sort  of  French  vivacity]  [‘Bathurst  im- 
petuous, whom  you  and  1 strive  who  shall  love 
the  most,’  is  the  mention  of  him  in  Gay’s  cata- 
logue of  Pope’s  friends]  4 to  English  principles, 
and  mingled  freely  in  society  till  past  ninety, 
living  to  walk  under  the  shade  of  lofty  trees 
which  Pope  and  he  had  planted,  and  to  see  his 
son  Lord  Chancellor  of  England.’  He  died  in 
the  year  1774,  at  the  age  of  ninety-one.  (Ward.) 

Bentley , Richard.  Master  of  Trinity  College, 
Cambridge,  and  one  of  the  great  classical  schol- 
ars of  the  time. 

Berkeley , Dr.,  Bishop  of  Cloyne.  Author  of 
Alciphron,  and  a man  of  great  learning  and 
probity.  . 

Bethel , Hugh.  A Yorkshire  gentleman  with 
whom  Pope  was  intimate,  and  frequently  corre- 
sponded. He  was  a close  friend  of  Pope’s  dear- 


est friends,  the  Blounts  of  Mapledurham.  He 
died  in  1748.  (Ward.) 

Betterton , Thomas.  Pope  copied  a portrait 
by  Kneller  of  this  famous  actor,  which  is  still 
extant.  Betterton  achieved  success  in  all  the 
major  Shakespearean  parts. 

Blackmore , Sir  Richard  (1652-1729).  Author 
of  a philosophical  poem  called  The  Creation  ; and 
immortalized  as  the  Quack  Maurus  of  Dryden’s 
prologue  to  The  Secular  Masque.  4 His  inde- 
fatigable muse,’  says  Pope,  4 produced  no  loss 
than  six  epic  poems:  Prince  and  King  Arthur, 
twenty  books;  Eliza , ten;  Alfred , twelve; 
The  Redeemer , six ; besides  Job,  in  folio,  the 
whole  book  of  Psalms;  The  Creation , seven 
books  ; and  many  more.  ’T  is  in  this  sense  he 
is  styled  afterwards  the  Everlasting  Black- 
mored 

Bladen.  Colonel  Martin  Bladen  was  a man 
of  some  literature  and  translated  Caesar’s  Com- 
mentaries. I never  could  learn  that  he  had 
offended  Pope.  He  was  uncle  to  Wm.  Collins, 
the  poet,  whom  he  left  an  estate.  (Warton.) 

Bland.  Dr.  Bland  was  Provost  of  Eton,  and, 
according  to  Warton,  4 a very  bad  writer.’ 

Blount , Martha.  The  woman  for  whom  Pope 
seems  to  have  cherished  the  feeling  nearest  akin 
to  love.  Indeed,  it  is  supposed  that  if  it  had 
not  been  for  the  older  sister  Teresa,  the  attach- 
ment between  Pope  and  Martha  Blount  might 
have  come  to  marriage. 

Blount , Teresa.  See  previous  note,  and  Bio- 
graphical Sketch. 

Bolingbroke , Henry  St.  John,  Lord  (1078- 
1751).  Tory  and  High  Churchman,  one  of  the 
great  orators  of  the  day,  and  member  of  several 
ministries.  Friend  of  Prior  and  Swift,  and 
later  of  Pope,  much  of  whose  later  work  was 
influenced  by  the  shallow  philosophy  of  Boling- 
broke. 

Booth,  Barton.  Actor,  especially  noted  tor 
his  articulation  ; the  original  Cato  in  Addison’s 
drama. 

Boyle , Henry,  Lord  Carleton.  Nephew  of 
the  famous  Robert  Boyle.  Secretary  of  State 
under  William  III.,  and  President  of  the  Coun- 
cil under  Queen  Anne.  (Pope.) 

Boyle , Richard,  Earl  of  Burlington  (1695- 
1753).  He  took  no  prominent  .part,  in  politics, 
although  his  high  rank  obtained  for  him  a great 
post  at  court  and  the  order  of  the  Garter.  But 
he  obtained  wide  fame  by  his  taste  in  archi- 
tecture, inspired  by  a natural  love  of  art  and 
educated  by  studies  n Italy.  Horace  Walpole 
says  of  him  that  he  ‘had  every  quality  of 
genius  and  artist,  except  envy.’  (Ward.) 
Brydges , James,  Duke  of  Chandos.  Friend 


644 


APPENDIX 


of  Pope  and  master  of  the  Estate  of  Canons, 
which  Pope  was  supposed  to  have  satirized 
(Moral  Assays,  Epistle  IV.  98-126).  Pay- 
master of  the  forces,  under  Godolphin. 

Buckingham , Edmund,  Duke  of.  Only  son  of 
John  Sheffield,  Duke  of  Buckinghamshire,  by 
Katherine  Darnley,  natural  daughter  of  James 
11.  (Koscoe.) 

Buckingham , more  properly  Buckingham- 
shire, John  Sheffield,  Duke  of.  Bee  Sheffield. 

Budgcil , Eustace  (1685-1737).  Kinsman  and 
friend  of  Addison.  Accompanied  Addison  to 
Ireland  as  clerk,  and  became  Under-Secretary 
of  btate.  Wrote  thirty-seven  numbers  of  The 
Spectator.  Was  accused  of  forging  a will  in  his 
own  favor,  fell  into  disgrace  and  debt,  and  com- 
mitted suicide. 

Burlington , Richard  Boyle,  Earl  of.  bee 
Richard  Boyle. 

Campbell,  John,  2d  Duke  of  Argyle.  See 
Aigyle. 

Carey , Henry.  Author  of  Sally  in  Our  Alley  ; 
and  dramatist. 

Carleton , Henry  Boyle,  Lord.  See  Henry 
Boyle. 

Carteret,  John,  Earl  Granville.  Statesman, 
diplomat,  and  classical  scholar.  Political  op- 
ponent of  Walpole. 

Caryll , John.  Member  of  one  of  the  Ro- 
man Catholic  families  living  in  the  neighbor- 
hood of  Windsor  Forest.  The  Rape  of  the  Lock 
was  due  to  his  suggestion,  and  he  remained  a 
life-long  friend  of  the  poet. 

Chandos,  James  Brydges,  First  Duke  of.  See 
Brydges. 

Charteris , Francis.  See  Pope’s  note  on  Moral 
Essays.  Epistle  III.,  line  20. 

Chesterfield , Philip  Dormer  Stanhope,  Earl 
of.  The  most  accomplished  man  of  his  time, 
wit,  diplomatist,  statesman,  arbiter  of  manners  ; 
now  mainly  famous  as  the  writer  of  the  Letters 
to  his  Son. 

Cibber,  Colley  (1671-1757).  Actor,  manager, 
and  playwright ; author  of  The  Careless  Hus- 
band. He  incurred  the  enmity  of  Pope  by 
burlesquing  the  farce,  Three  Hours  after  Mar- 
riage, and  eventually  displaced  Theobald  as 
hero  of  The  Dunciad. 

Cobham , Richard  Temple,  Lord.  Sir  Rich- 
ard Temple,  created  Viscount  Cobham  by 
George  I.  in  1718,  and  made  a Field  Marshal  in 
1742,  was  on  intimate  terms  with  Pope  during 
the  latter  part  of  the  poet’s  life.  Pope  speaks, 
in  his^  last  letter  to  Swift,  of  ‘ generally  ram- 
bling in  the  summer  for  a month  to  Lord  Cob- 
ham’s,  the  Bath,  or  elsewhere.’  (Ward.) 

Congreve,  William  (1669-1728),  of  good  family, 
well  educated.  Studied  law,  gained  fame  by 
his  plays.  One  tragedy,  The  Mourning  Bride, 
and  several  licentious  comedies  are  now  asso- 
ciated with  his  name.  He  was  one  of  those 
who  encouraged  Pope’s  earliest  efforts.  To  him 
Pope  dedicated  the  translation  of  The  Iliad. 

Cornbury , Lord.  Afterwards  Lord  Hyde,  ‘a 
young  Tory  nobleman  of  literary  tastes,’  says 


Ward,  to  whom  Bolingboke  addressed  his  Let- 
ters on  History. 

Cowper,  William,  First  Earl.  Lord  Keeper 
m 1705,  and  one  of  the  Lords  Justices  on  the 
death  of  Queen  Anne. 

Craggs,  James.  A man  of  low  birth,  who 
gained  place  and  power.  A friend  of  Pope’s 
alter  1711.  Secretary  of  War  in  1717,  Secre- 
tary of  btate  in  1720.  His  death  in  1721  prob- 
ably  prevented  his  conviction  of  fraud  in  con- 
nection Avith  the  South  Sea  affair. 

Curll,  Edmund.  A bookseller  with  whom 
lope  had  for  years  a friendly  connection,  but 
who  incurred  Pope’s  resentment  by  publishing 
some  of  his  private  correspondence  in  1727.  The 
possible  fact  of  his  own  complicity  in  the  publi- 
cation did  not  prevent  Pope  from  placing  Curll 
m the  pillory  of  The  Dunciad. 

Dartincuf,  Charles.  A noted  glutton. 

. Demoivre.  A French  mathematician  espe- 
cially famed  for  his  skill  in  trigonometry. 

Dennis  John  (1657-1734).  A forcible  though 
unrefined  critic,  by  no  means  the  dunce  Pope 
m™s  ™ out.  His  attack  on  Addison’s  Cato , 
and  Addison’s  reception  of  Pope’s  unsolicited 
championship  of  the  play,  led  to  the  estrange- 
ment between  Pope  and  Addison,  Dennis  was 
not  slow  to  retort  upon  Pope,  who  never  forgave 
an  injury  to  his  self-esteem. 

Digby , Robert.  A frequent  correspondent  of 
Pope  s during  the  years  1717  and  1724  ; died  in 
1726,  and  was  lamented  by  Pope  in  a letter  to 
his  brother,  Edward  Digby,  and  in  an  epitaph. 

Dodington , Bubb,  afterwards  Lord  Mel- 
eombe,  the  author  of  a well-known  diary,  and 
the  confidential  adviser  of  Frederick,  Prince  of 
Wales.  He  is  a character  in  many  respects 
representative  of  his  age  ; utterly  unconscien- 
tious  and  cheerfully  blind  to  his  unconscien- 
tiousness ; and  a liberal  rather  than  discrimi- 
nating patron  of  literary  men.  He  died  in  1762. 
(Ward.) 

Dorset , Charles  Sackville,  Earl  of  (1637-1706). 
Author  of  the  ballad,  ‘ To  all  you  Ladies  Now 
at  Land,  some  other  songs,  and  a few  satires. 
Belonged  to  the  household  of  Charles  II.  and  of 
William  and  Mary.  He  introduced  Iludibras 
to  notice,  and  was  the  friend  and  patron  of 
Waller  and  Dry  den. 

Duck,  Stephen.  A modest  and  worthy  man, 
who  had  the  honour  (which  many,  who  thought 
themselves  his  betters  in  poetry,  had  not)  of 
being  esteemed  by  Mr.  Pope.  Queen  Caroline 
chose  this  man  for  her  favourite  poet.  (War- 
burton.) 

Dunton,  John.  A broken  bookseller  and  abu- 
sive scribbler  ; he  writ  Neck  err  Nothing , a vio- 
lent satire  on  some  ministers  of  state  ; a libel 
on  the  Duke  of  Devonshire  and  the  Bishop  of 
Peterborough.  (Pope.) 

Durfey  or  D'Urfey , Thomas.  A scribbler 
and  poetaster  who  would  now  be  unknown  if 
Pope  had  not  named  him  so  frequently. 

Farquhar,  George  (1678-1707).  An  Irish  actor 
and  writer  of  comedies,  whose  work  has  a good 


A GLOSSARY  OF  NAMES  OF  POPE’S  CONTEMPORARIES  645 


deal  of  spirit.  His  two  best-known  plays  are 
The  Recruiting  Officer  and  The  Beaux'  Strata- 
gem. 

Fenton , Elijah.  A poet  of  no  mean  talent, 
and  translator  of  four  books  of  Pope’s  Odyssey. 

Fleury , Cardinal.  Prime  minister  of  France 
from  1721)  to  his  death,  in  1743. 

Fortescue,  Hon.  W.  An  intimate  friend  and 
a frequent  associate  and  correspondent  of  the 
poet’s,  and  a schoolfellow  of  Gay’s.  He  after- 
wards became  one  of  the  Barons  of  the  Ex- 
chequer, and  ultimately  Master  of  the  Rolls. 
(Ward.) 

Frowde , Philip.  A dramatic  writer  and  fine 
scholar,  a friend  of  Addison’s.  (Carruthers.) 

Garth , Sir  Samuel.  A physician,  and  author 
of  the  mock-heroic  poem  The  Dispensary.  He 
was  one  of  the  first  to  encourage  the  early  efforts 
of  Pope.  . 

Gay , John  (1638-1732).  A close  friend  of 
Pope  and  Swift,  a clever  poet,  and  author  of 
the  famous  Beggars'  Opera. 

G'ildon , Charles  (1665-1724)  wrote  a number  of 
works,  critical  and  dramatic.  His  plays  were 
unsuccessful,  but  his  Complete  Art  of  Poetry 
(1718)  is  a work  of  considerable  research  and 
care.  (Chambers.) 

Godolphin , Lord.  Lord  Treasurer  under 
Queen  Anne.  He  was  Addison’s  patron,  but 
Macaulay  says  of  him,  k Most  of  the  time  which 
he  could  save  from  public  business  was  spent  in 
racing,  card-playing,  and  cock-fighting.’ 

Gonson , bit-  John.  A hanging  judge  said  to 
have  been  particularly  severe  in  his  punishment 
of  unfortunate  women.  His  portrait  is  sup- 
posed to  have  been  inserted  by  Hogarth  in  Plate 
III.  of  The  Harlot's  Progress. 

Grafton , Charles,  second  Duke  of. 

Granville , George,  afterward  Lord  Lans- 
downe  (1667-1735).  A poetical  imitator  of 
Waller ; Secretary  of  War  under  Queen  Anne, 
and  raised  to  the  peerage  in  1717. 

Grosvenor , Sir  Thomas.  A country  baronet, 
member  of  Parliament.  Remarkable  for  his 
obstinate  independence. 


Hearne,  Thomas.  Antiquary.  He  revenged 
himself,  says  Ward,  for  the  sarcastic  reference 
to  him  in  The  Dunciad  by  ill-natured  reflec- 
tions on  Pope's  education  and  parentage  in  his 
Diary.  . 

Henley , John.  A native  of  Leicestershire, 
had  graduated  at  Cambridge  ; but  set  up  a 
scheme  of  Universology  on  his  own  account,  es- 
tablishing his  ‘ Oratory  ’ in  a wooden  booth  in 
Newport  market  in  1726.  Three  years  later  he 
removed  his  pulpit  to  the  corner  of  Lincoln’s 
Inn  Fields,  and  though  subjected  to  a prosecu- 
tion for  profaning  the  clerical  character,  con- 
tinued his  exhibitions  till  the  middle  of  the 
century.  (Ward). 

Hervey , John  Lord.  Author  of  Memoirs  of 
the  Reign  of  George  II.;  a courtier,  Vice  Cham- 
berlain to  George  II.,  and  later  Lord  Privy 
Seal.  He  married  one  of  Pope’s  court  friends, 
Miss  Lepell  (see  The  Challenge).  The  cause  of 
Pope’s  enmity  is  unknown,  but  after  the  year 
1727  Pope  lost  no  opportunity  to  asperse  the 
character  of  the  peer,  alluding  to  him  as  ‘ Lord 
Fanny,’  ‘ Fannins,’  and  finally  ‘ Sporus.’  (Epis- 
tle to  Arhuthnot , 305-333.) 

Hopkins^  ‘ Vulture.’  See  Pope’s  note  on 
Moral  Essays , III.  85. 

Jacob  Tonson.  See  Tonson. 

Japhet  Crook.  A Londoner  who  amasses  a 
large  fortune  by  sharp  practice.  See  Pope’s 
note  on  Moral  Essays , III.  86. 

Jervas , Charles.  See  head-note  to  the  Epistle 
to  Jervas , p.  82. 

Johnson , Charles.  A second-rate  dramatist. 
(Bowles.) 

Kneller , Sir  Godfrey  (1648-1726).  A German 
by  birth,  state  painter  to  English  royalty  from 
Charles  II.  to  George  I. 

Lansdowne , Lord.  See  George  Granville.  ( 

Lintot , Bernard.  A publisher  pilloried  with 
Curll  in  The  Dunciad ; but  he  himself  had  pub- 
lished some  of  Pope’s  earlier  work,  to  the  ad- 
vantage of  the  poet. 


Hale , Dr.  Stephen.  Not  more  estimable  for 
his  useful  studies  as  a natural  philosopher  than 
for  his  exemplary  life  and  pastoral  charity  as  a 
parish  priest.  (Pope.) 

Halifax , Charles  Montagu,  Earl  of.  A peer 
no  less  distinguished  by  his  love  of  letters  than 
his  abilities  in  Parliament.  He  was  disgraced 
in  1710,  on  the  change  of  Queen  Anne’s  ministry. 
(Pope.) 

Hare , Francis,  Bishop  of  Chichester.  Tutor 
at  Cambridge  of  (Sir)  Robert  Walpole. 

Harley , Robert,  Earl  of  Oxford  and  Earl 
Mortimer.  Speaker  of  the  House  of  Commons 
in  1701,  Secretary  of  State  in  the  Godolphin 
ministry.  Subsequently  created  Earl  of  Oxford 
and  appointed  Lord  Treasurer.  A rival  of 
Bolingbroke.  Impeached  for  Jacobitism  in 
1716  and  imprisoned  in  the  Tower.  Died  in 
1724.  Subject  of  an  epistle  by  Pope,  p.  116,  this 
edition. 


Marchmont , Earl  of.  A friend  of  Pope’s,  af- 
terward one  of  his  executors. 

Mead , Dr.  Physician  to  George  II.,  and  one 
of  the  eminent  scientists  of  his  day. 

Mist , Nathaniel.  Editor  of  a famous  Tory 
journal.  (Pope.) 

Monroe , Dr.  Physician  to  Bedlam  Hospital. 
(Pope.) 

Montagu , Lady  Mary  Wortley.  One  of  the 
most  interesting  women  of  her  day.  A fair 
scholar  and  a clever  versifier.  Pope  became  ac- 
quainted with  her  in  1715,  when  she  was  already 
married  to  a dull  man ; and  was  for  a time 
much  attached  to  her.  They  quarrelled,  and 
Pope  thereafter  lost  no  chance  to  insult  her  in 
prose  and  verse,  commonly  under  the  name  of 
* Sappho.’ 

Moore , James,  afterward  Moore-Smythe.  A 
member  of  Pope’s  own  circle,  and  a friend  of 
Teresa  Blount’s,  but  the  object  of  Pope’s  last* 


646 


APPENDIX 


ing  rancour.  The  inoffensive  author  of  many 
verses  and  a comedy,  The  Rival  Modes,  in  which 
occurred  certain  lines  which  Pope  accused  him 
of  having'  stolen  from  his  lines  to  Martha  .Blount. 
Moore-Smythe  retorted  the  charge. 

Morris , Bezaleel.  Author  of  some  satires  on 
the  translators  of  Homer,  with  many  other 
things  printed  in  newspapers.  (Poped 

Murray,  William,  afterwards  Lord  Mans- 
field. A man  of  wit  and  cultivation,  the  in- 
cumbent of  many  high  offices.  He  earned 
Pope’s  friendship  by  defending  the  Essay  on 
Man  from  the  attacks  of  various  critics. 

Oglethorpe,  James  Edward.  Served  under 
Prince  Eugene,  settled  the  colony  of  Georgia. 
‘Mr.  Croker  suggests,’  says  Ward,  * that  to  his 
supposed  Jacobite  leanings  may  be  attributed 
much  of  the  animosity  displayed  by  the  Whigs 
toward  him,  as  well  as  of  the  friendliness  ex- 
isting between  him  and  Pope  and  Johnson.’ 

Oldfield,  Mrs.  The  most  famous  comedienne 
of  the  age. 

Oldfield,  Mr.  This  eminent  glutton  ran 
through  a fortune  of  fifteen  hundred  pounds  a 
year  in  the  simple  luxury  of  good  eating.  (War- 
burton.) 

Onslow,  Arthur.  Sprung  from  a family  mem- 
bers of  which  had  already  in  two  instances  filled 
the  chair,  was  elected  Speaker  in  1728,  and  occu- 
pied the  post  for  thirty-three  years,  to  the  satis- 
faction of  both  parties  in  the  House.  (Ward.) 

Osborne,  Thomas.  The  bookseller  who  had 
the  honour  of  a thrashing  at  the  hands  of  Dr. 
Johnson  ; a tricky  and  unreliable  man  against 
whom  Pope  had  more  than  one  grievance. 

Oxford,  Robert  Harley,  Earl  of.  See  Harley. 

Ozell,  John.  A translator  of  French  plays, 
whom  Pope  several  times  ridicules. 

Page,  Sir  Francis.  A justice  popularly  known 
as  ‘ the  hanging  judge.’ 

Parnell , Thomas  (1679-1717).  Poet,  and 
member  of  the  Scriblerus  Club.  He  wrote  the 
life  of  Homer  for  Pope’s  Iliad,  and  after  his 
death  Pope  brought  out  an  edition  of  his  poemp.. 

Pelham,  Henry.  Became  First  Lord  of  the 
Treasury  in  1743,  through  Walpole’s  influence  ; 
and  died  in  1754,  the  King  exclaiming  on  his 
death  : ‘ Now  I shall  have  no  more  peace  ! ’ 
(Ward.) 

Peter  (Walter).  See  Walter. 

Philips,  Ambrose.  Poet,  Whig,  and  member 
of  Addison’s  coterie.  Author  of  the  Pastorals 
with  which  Pope’s  were  published,  and  frequent 
subject  thereafter  of  Pope’s  satire. 

Polwarth.  The  Hon.  Hugh  Hume,  son  of 
Alexander,  Earl  of  Marchmont,  grandson  of 
Patrick,  Earl  of  Marchmont,  and  distinguished, 
like  them,  in  the  cause  of  liberty.  (Pope.)  He 
was  made  one  of  Pope’s  executors. 

Pulteney , William,  afterward  Earl  of  Bath. 
Orator  and  pamphleteer,  and  principal  oppo- 
nent to  Sir  Robert  Walpole. 

Queensbury , Duchess  of.  A leader  of  fashion 
and  patron  of  letters  ; friend  of  Gay  and  Swift. 


Ralph,  James.  A hack  writer  of  American 
birth.  Incurred  Pope’s  anger  by  coming  for- 
ward to  defend  Pope’s  victims  in  the  first  edition 
of  The  Dunciad. 

Rich,  John.  Manager  of  the  Theatre  Royal 
in  Covent  Garden. 

Rochester,  Francis  Atterbury,  Bishop  of.  See 
Atterbury. 

Rolli,  Paolo  Antonio.  An  Italian  poet,  and 
writer  of  many  operas  in  that  language,  which, 
partly  by  the  help  of  his  genius,  prevailed  in 
England  near  twenty  years.  He  taught  Italian 
to  some  fine  gentlemen,  who  affected  to  direct 
the  operas.  (Pope.) 

Rowe,  Nicholas  (1673-1718).  Friend  of  Addi- 
son, editor  of  Shakespeare,  and  writer  of  plays 
in  blank  verse,  among  the  best  known  of  which 
are  Jane  Shore  and  The  Fair  Penitent. 

Rundel,  Dr.,  Bishop  of  Derry.  A friend  of 
Pope  and  Swift,  and  frequently  mentioned  in 
their  letters. 

SacJcville,  Charles,  Earl  of  Dorset.  See  Dor- 
set. 

Sandys,  Samuel,  First  Baron.  Opponent  of 
Sir  Robert  Walpole.  A man  of  steady  industry 
rather  than  of  talent. 

Schutz,  Augustus.  Held,  according  to  Carru- 
thers,  court  offices  near  the  person  of  George 
II.,  both  before  and  after  his  accession  to  the 
throne. 

Seeker,  Thomas  (1693-1768).  Bishop  of  Bris- 
tol, later  of  Oxford,  and  finally  Archbishop  of 
Canterbury.  Noted  for  his  piety  and  liberality. 

Sheffield,  John,  Duke  of  Buckinghamshire 
(1649-1722).  Author  of  an  Essay  on  Poetry, 
which  both  Dryden  and  Pope  praised,  but  which 
the  modern  critic  finds  of  little  value. 

Shippen , William.  A free-speaking  Jacobite, 
who  was  sent  to  the  Tower  in  1718. 

Shrewsbury,  Charles  Talbot,  Duke  of.  Had 
been  Secretary  of  State,  Embassador  in  France, 
Lord  Lieutenant  of  Ireland,  Lord  Chamberlain, 
and  Lord  Treasurer.  He  several  times  quitted 
his  employments,  and  was  often  recalled.  He 
died  in  1718  (Pope). 

Smythe,  James  Moore-.  See  Moore. 

Somers,  John  .Lord.  He  had  been  Lord 
Keeper  in  the  reign  of  William  III.,  who  took 
from  him  the  seals  in  1700.  The  author  had 
the  honour  of  knowing  him  in  1706.  A faithful, 
able,  and  incorrupt  minister  ; who,  to  the  quali- 
ties of  a consummate  statesman,  added  those  of 
a man  of  learning  and  politeness.  (Pope.) 

Southern,  Thomas  (1660-1746).  Author  of 
Oroonoko,  a play  founded  on  Mrs.  Behn’s  novel 
of  the  name,  and  very  popular  in  its  day. 

Stanhope,  James  Earl.  A nobleman  of  equal 
courage,  spirit,  and  learning.  General  in  Spain, 
and  Secretary  of  State.  (Pope.) 

Talbot , Charles,  Duke  of  Shrewsbury.  See 
Shrewsbury. 

Temple,  Richard,  Lord  Cobham.  See  Cob- 
ham. 

Theobald,  Lewis.  Usually  called  Tibbald  by 
Pope.  Author  and  translator.  Editor  of  a 


Pages  2 to  29 


NOTES  AND  ILLUSTRATIONS 


647 


respectable  Shakespeare,  and  critic  of  Pope’s 
edition  of  the  dramatist : therefore  made  hero 
of  The  Dunciad. 

Tibbald.  See  Theobald. 

TickelL , Thomas.  A member  of  Addison’s 
coterie,  and  author  of  numerous  papers  in  the 
Spectator  and  Guardian;  notably  the  papers  on 
English  Pastoral  which  provoked  Pope’s  en- 
mity. 

Tonson , Jacob.  A leading  bookseller  in 
Pope’s  day,  and  publisher  of  much  of  his  work. 

Trumbull , or  Trumbal,  Sir  William.  See 
Biographical  Sketch  in  this  edition,  p.  xiii. 


Vanbrugh , John,  Sir  (1666-1726).  Architect 
and  writer  of  comedies.  Designer  of  Castle 
Howard  and  Blenheim,  and  author  of  The 
Provoked  Wife  and  The  Relapse. 

Villiers,  George,  Duke  of  Buckingham.  See 
Buckingham. 


Walpole , Sir  Robert.  For  twenty  years 
Whig  Prime  Minister  of  England,  and  origi- 
nator of  the  present  Cabinet  system  of  gov- 
ernment. 

Walter , Peter.  A London  capitalist  whom 
Pope  frequently  mentions  (under  the  name  of 
Peter)  as  an  example  of  extreme  rapacity. 

Warwick , Lord.  Son  of  the  Countess  of 
Warwick,  whom  Addison  married. 

Wasse , Joseph.  Fellow  of  Queen’s  College, 
Cambridge,  and  coeditor  with  Jebb  of  the  Bib- 
liotheca Literaria. 

Welsted , Leonard.  Journalist . and  Whig 
pamphleteer ; author  of  some  satirical  verses 
on  Pope. 

Wharton,  Philip,  Duke  of.  Son  of  Addison’s 
patron.  A man  of  ability  who  died  an  exile, 
after  a life  of  wild  dissipation. 

Withers , General  Henry.  A distinguished 
soldier.  In  his  old  age  the  friend  of  Pope  and 
Gay. 

Wortley,  Lady  Mary  Wortley  Montagu.  See 
Montagu. 

Wycherley , William  ('1640-1715).  Dramatist 
and  one  of  Pope’s  earliest  friends. 


Yonge,  Sir  William.  A fop  and  small  poet 
several  times  alluded  to  by  Pope  as  1 Sir  Will  ’ 
and  ‘ Sir  Billy.’ 


B.  NOTES  AND  ILLUSTRATIONS. 

Page  2.  To  the  Author  of  a Poem  en- 
titled Successio. 

Lines  19,  20.  , Bavius,  Msevius,  Chserilus, 
Codrus.  Minor  Latin  poets.  See  The  Dun- 
ciad, Book  III.  24  ; and  note. 

Page  2.  The  First  Book  of  Statius’s 
Thebais. 

Line  24.  The  mighty  Ccesar  here  referred  to 
is  Domitian,  to  whom  Juvenal  as  well  as  Sta- 
tius awarded  divine  honors. 


Line  62.  The  prophet.  Amphiaraus. 

Line  65.  The  youth.  Parthenopseus. 

Line  399.  Such  sons.  Eteocles  and  Poly- 
nices. 

Line  470.  Scyron.  Pope  evidently  confounds 
the  island  of  Scyros  in  the  JEgean  with  the  rocks 
between  Megaris  and  Attica  infested  by  the 
robber  Sciron  whom  Theseus  slew.  See  Ovid, 
Metam.  vii.  444.  (Ward.) 

Page  15.  Spenser  : The  Alley. 

Stanza  vi.,  line  5.  Jo — n.  Old  Mr.  John- 
ston, the  retired  Scotch  Secretary  of  State,  who 
lived  at  Twickenham.  (Carruthers.) 

Page  21.  Spring  : OR,  Damon. 

Line  86.  A wondrous  tree , etc.  An  allusion 
to  the  Royal  Oak,  in  which  Charles  II.  had 
been  hid  from  the  pursuit  after  the  battle  of 
Worcester.  (Pope.) 

Line  90.  The  thistle  springs , to  which  the  lily 
yields.  Alludes  to  the  device  of  the  Scots 
monarchs,  the  thistle  worn  by  Queen  Anne  ; 
and  to  the  arms  of  France,  the  fleur  de  lys. 
(Pope.) 

Page  24.  Autumn  ; or,  Hylas  and  4?Egon. 

Line  7.  Thou , whom  the  Nine , etc.  Mr.  Wy- 
cherley, a famous  author  of  comedies  ; of  which 
the  most  celebrated  were  The  Plain-Dealer  and 
The  Country  Wife.  He  was  a writer  of  infinite 
spirit,  satire,  and  wit.  The  only  objection  made 
to  him  was  that  he  had  too  much.  However, 
he  was  followed,  in  the  same  way,  by  Mr.  Con- 
greve, though  with  a little  more  correctness. 
(Pope.) 

Page  26.  Winter  ; or,  Daphne. 

Mrs.  Tempest.  This  lady  was  of  an  an- 
cient family  in  Yorkshire,  and  particularly  ad- 
mired by  the  author’s  friend,  Mr.  Walsh,  who, 
having  celebrated  her  in  a pastoral  elegy, 
desired  his  friend  to  do  the  same,  as  appears 
from  one  of  his  letters,  dated  Sept.  9,  1706: 

1 Your  last  eclogue  being  on  the  same  subject 
fvith  mine  on  Mrs.  Tempest’s  death,  I should 
take  it  very  kindly  in  you  to  give  it.  a little 
turn  as  if  it  were  to  the  memory  of  the  same 
lady.’  Her  death  having  happened  on  the 
night  of  the  great  storm  in  1 703,  gave  a pro- 
priety to  this  eclogue,  which  in  its  general 
turn  alludes  to  it.  The  scene  of  the  pastoral 
lies  in  a grove,  the  time  at  midnight.  (Pope.) 

Lines  49,  50.  The  balmy  zephyrs , etc.  ‘ I 
wish,’  said  Johnson,  ‘that  his  fondness  had  not' 
overlooked  aline  in  which  the  zephyrs  are  made 
to  lament  in  silence.’ 

Lines  89-92.  These  four  last  lines  allude  to 
the  several  subjects  of  the  four  pastorals,  and 
to  the  several  scenes  of  them,  particularized 
before  in  each.  (Pope.) 

Page  28.  Windsor  Forest. 

Line  65.  The  fields  are  ravish'd , etc.  Allud- 
ing to  the  destruction  made  in  the  New  Forest, 
and  the  tyrannies  exercised  there  by  William  I. 
(Pope.) 

Line  80.  Himself  denied  a grave.  The  place 
of  his  interment  at  Caen  in  Normandy  was 
claimed  by  a gentleman  as  his  inheritance,  the 
moment  bis  servants  were  going  to  put  him  in 
his  tomb ; so  that  they  were  obliged  to  com- 


pound  with  the  owner  before  they  could  per- 
form the  king’s  obsequies.  (Wnrburton.) 

Line  81,  His  second  hope,  Richard,  Duke  of 
Bernay,  said  to  have  been  killed  by  a stag  in 
the  New  Forest.  (Ward.) 

Line  207.  The  river  Loddon. 

Lines  211-210.  These  six  lines  were  added 
after  the  first  writing  of  this  poem.  (Pope.) 

Line  355-308,  The  allusions  are  of  course  to 
the  expected  peace,  for  which  the  conferences 
were  opened  in  1711  at  Utrecht ; to  the  previous 
campaigns  in  Spain  and  Germany  ; to  the  war 
between  Peter  the  Great  and  Charles  XII. ; 
and  to  the  early  "difficulties  of  our  Tiast  Indian 
settlements.  (Ward.) 

Line  398.  Unbounded  Thames  shall  flow,  etc. 

* A wish  that  London  may  be  made  a free  port.l 
(Pope.)  ' 

Page  52,  The  Temple  of  Fame. 

Line  1.  In  that  soft  season , etc.  This  poem 
is  introduced  in  the  manner  of  the  Provencal 
poets,  whose  works  were  for  the  most  part 
visions,  or  pieces  of  imagination,  and  constantly 
descriptive.  From  these,  Petrarch  and  Chaucer 
frequently  borrowed  the  idea  of  their  poems. 
See  the  Trionfi  of  the  former,  and  Dream , 
Flower  and  the  Leaf  etc.,  of  the  latter.  The 
author  of  this,  therefore,  chose  the  same  sort  of 
exordium.  (Pope.) 

Line  66.  Four  faces  had  the  dome , etc.  The 
Temple  is  described  to  be  square,  the  four  fronts 
with  open  gates  facing  the  different  quarters  of 
the  world,  as  an  intimation  that  all  nations  of 
the  earth  may  alike  be  received  into  it.  The 
western  front  is  of  Grecian  architecture ; the 
Doric  order  was  peculiarly  sacred  to  Heroes 
and  Worthies.  Those  whose  statues  are  after 
mentioned  were  the  first  names  of  old  Greece 
in  arms  and  arts.  (Pope.) 

Line  81.  There  great  Alcides , etc.  This 
figiire  of  Hercules  is  drawn  with  an  eye  to  the 
position  of  the  famous  statue  of  Farnese. 
(Pope.) 

Line  96.  And  the  great  founder  of  the  Persian 
name . Cyrus  was  the  beginning  of  the  Persian, 
as  Minas  was  of  the  Assyrian  monarchy.  The 
Magi  and  Chaldaeans  (the  chief  of  whom  was 
Zoroaster)  employed  their  studies  upon  magic 
and  astrology,  which  was  in  a manner  almost 
the  learning  of  the  ancient  Asian  people.  We 
have  scarce  any  account  of  a moral  philosopher 
except  Confucius,  the  great  law-giver  of  the 
Chinese,  who  lived  about  two  thousand  years 
ago..  (Pope.) 

Line  111.  The  learning  of  the  old  Egyptian 
priests  consisted  for  the  most  part  in  geometry 
and  astronomy ; they  also  preserved  the  history 
of  their  nation.  Their  greatest  hero  upon  record 
is  Sesostris,  whose  actions  and  conquests  may 
be  seen  at  large  in  Diodorus,  etc.  (Pope.) 

Line  152.  The  youth  that  all  things , etc. 
Alexander  the  Great.  The  tiara  was  the  crown 
peculiar  to  the  Asian  princes.  His  desire  to  be 
thought  the  son  of  Jupiter  Ammon  caused  him 
to  wear  the  horns  of  that  God,  and  to  repre- 
sent the  same  upon  his  coins,  which  was  con- 
tinued by  several  of  his  successors.  (Pope.) 


Line  162.  Timoleon , glorious  in  his  brother's 
blood . Timoleon  had  saved  the  life  of  his  bro- 
ther Tiinophanes  in  the  battle  between  the 
Argives  and  the  Corinthians;  but  afterwards 
killed  him  when  he  affected  the  tyranny,  pre- 
ferring his  duty  to  his  country  to  all  obligations 
of  blood.  (Pope.) 

Line  172.  He  whom  ungrateful  Athens , etc. 
Aristides,  who  for  his  great  integrity  was  dis- 
tinguished by  the  appellation  of  The  Just. 
When  his  countrymen  would  have  banished 
him  by  the  ostracism,  where  it  was  the  custom 
for  every  man  to  sign  the  name  of  the  person 
he  voted  to  exile  in  an  oyster-shell,  a peasant, 
who  could  not  write,  came  to  Aristides  to  do 
it  for  him,  who  readi’y  signed  his  own  name. 
(Pope.) 

Line  206,  Eliza.  El?  ;sa  (Dido). 

Line  507.  While  thus  I stood , etc.  The  hint 
is  taken  from  a passage  in  another  part  of  the 
third  book,  but  here  more  naturally  made  the 
conclusion,  with  the  addition  of  a moral  to  the 
whole.  (Pope.) 

Page  63.  The  Fable  of  Dryope.  Upon 
occasion  of  the  death  of  Hercules,  his  mother 
Alcmena  recounts  her  misfortunes  to  Iole,  who 
answers  with  a relation  of  those  of  her  own 
family,  in  particular  the  transformation  of  her 
sister  Dryope,  which  iB  the  subject  of  the  ensu- 
in  g Fable.  (Pope.) 

Page  67.  An  Essay  on  Criticism.  Part  1. 

Line  15.  Let  such  teach  others , etc.  ‘ Qui 
scribit  artificiose,  ab  aliis  commode  scripta 
facile  intelligere  poterit.’  Cic.  ad  Herenn.  lib. 
iv.  ‘ De  pictore,  sculptore,  fictore,  nisi  arti- 
fex,  judicare  non  potest.’  Pliny . (Pope.) 

Line  20.  Most  have  the  seeds  of  judgment,  etc. 

‘ Omnes  tacitoquodam  sensu,  sine  ulla  arte,  aut 
ratione,  quae  sint  in  artibus  ac  rationibus  recta 
et  prava  dijudicant.’  Cic.  de  Orat.  lib.  iii. 
(Pope.) 

. Line  25.  So  by  false  learning \ etc.  ‘ Plus 
sine  doctrina  prudentia,  quam  sine  prudentia 
valet  doctrina.  Quintilian.  (Pope.) 

Line  98. . Just  precepts , etc.  ‘ Nec  enim 
artibus  editis  factum  est  ut  argumenta  invenire- 
mus,  sed  dicta  sunt  omnia  antequam  praecipe- 
rentur  ; mox  ea  scriptoria  observata  et  collecta 
ediderunt.’  Quintilian . (Pope.) 

Line  180.  Nor  is  it  Homer  nods,  etc..  ‘Mo- 
desto ae  circumspecto  judicio  de  tantis  viris 
pronunciandum  est,  ne  quod  (quod  plerisque  ac- 
cidit)  damnent  quod  non  intelligent.’  Quin - 
tilian.  (Pope.) 

Part  II.  Line  124.  Some  by  old  words , etc. 

‘ Abolita  et  abrogataretinere,  msolentiae  cujus-  i 
dam  est,  et  frivolae  in  parvis  jactantiae.’  Quin- 
tilian. (Pope.) 

Line  128.  Fungoso  in  the  play.  In  Ben  Jon- 
son’s  Every  Man  out  of  his  Humour. 

Lines  147,  148.  While  expletives , etc.  ‘.He 
creeps  along  with  ten  little  words  in  every  line, 
and  helps  out  his  numbers  with  for,  to,  and  unto, 
and  all  the  pretty  expletives  he  can  find,  while 
the  sense  is  left  half  tired  behind  it.’  Dryden, 
Essay  on  Dramatic  Poetry. 

Line  245.  Duck-lane.  A place  where  old  and  ! 


Pages  75  t0  95 


NOTES  AND  ILLUSTRATIONS 


649 


second-hand  books  were  sold  formerly,  near 
Smithfield.  (Pope.) 

Part  III.  Line  27.  And  stares  tremendous , 
etc.  This  picture  was  taken  to  himself  by  John 
Dennis,  a furious  old  critic  by  profession,  who, 
upon  no  other  provocation,  wrote  against  this 
essay  and  its  author,  in  a manner  perfectly  lu- 
natic ; for,  as  to  the  mention  made  of  him  in  v. 
270  (Part  I.),  he  took  it  as  a compliment,  and 
said  it  was  treacherously  meant  to  cause  him 
to  overlook  this  abuse  of  his  person.  (Pope.) 
Dennis’s  unsuccessful  play,  Appius  and  Vir- 
ginia, appeared  in  1709.  Tremendous  was  a 
favorite  word  of  his. 

Line  GO.  Garth  did  not  write , etc.  A com- 
mon slander  at  that  time  in  prejudice  of  that 
deserving  author.  Our  poet  did  him  this  jus- 
tice when  that  slander  most  prevailed,  and  it  is 
now  (perhaps  the  sooner  for  this  very  verse) 
dead  and  forgotten.  (Pope.) 

Line  64.  Paul's  churchyard.  St.  Paul’s 
Churchyard  was  long  the  headquarters  of  the 
booksellers. 

Line  157.  Roscommon.  Wentworth  Dillon, 
Earl  of  Roscommon  (1632-1684).  A compara- 
tively chaste  poet  of  the  Restoration,  and  pro- 
jector of  an  English  Academy  of  letters. 

Page  82.  Epistle  to  Mr.  Jervas. 

Line  40.  This  small  well  polish'd  Gem , the 
work  of  years.  Fresnoy  employed  above  twenty 
years  in  finishing  his  poem.  (Pope.) 

Line  60.  Worsley's  eyes.  Frances,  Lady 
Worsley.  ‘The  name,’  says  Carruthers,  ‘orig- 
inally stood  Wortley,  but  the  compliment  was 
transferred  from  her  [Lady  Mary  Wortley  Mon- 
tagu] after  her  quarrel  with  Pope,  by  the  al- 
teration of  a single  letter.’ 

Page  88.  The  Rape  of  the  Lock.  Canto  I. 

Lines  1-4.  Before  Pope’s  successes  in  verse 
admitted  him  to  the  best  society  in  England,  he 
had  moved  in  a small  circle  of  Roman  Catholic 
families  in  the  immediate  neighborhood  of 
Windsor.  To  one  of  these  families  belonged 
Miss  Arabella  Fermor,  the  Belinda  of  The  Rape 
of  the  Lock  ; to  another.  Lord  Petre,  called  in 
the  poem  simply  the  Baron,  the  hero  — or  vil- 
lain — of  the  story  ; and  to  a third  belonged 
John  Caryll.  Lord  Petre  really  stole  a lock  of 
Miss  Fermor’s  hair,  and  some  unpleasantness 
arose  between  the  families  in  consequence. 
Caryll  suggested  to  Pope  that  a humorous 
treatment  of  the  incident  in  verse  might  help 
matters. 

Line  23.  Birthnight  Beau.  A fine  gentleman 
such  as  might  be  seen  at  the  state  ball  given  on 
the  anniversary  of  the  royal  birthday.  (Hales.) 

Line  44.  Box , at  the  opera.  Ring , a circus, 
or  circular  promenade,  like  that  in  Hyde  Park, 
London. 

Lines  54-56.  Succeeding  vanities , etc. 

‘ Quae  gratia  currum 

Armorumque  fuit  vivis,  quae  cura  nitentes 

Pascere  equos,  eadem  sequitur  tellure  repostos.’ 

^Eneid,  vi.  (Pope.) 

Line  108,  In  the  clear  mirror , etc.  The  lan- 
guage of  the  Platonists.  (Pope.) 


Canto  II.  Line  28.  And  beauty  draws  us  with 
a single  hair.  In  allusion  to  those  lines  of 
Hudibras,  applied  to  the  same  purpose,  — 

4 And  tho’  it  be  a two-foot  trout, 

’T  is  with  a single  hair  pull’d  out.’ 

(Warburton.) 

Line  38.  Twelve  vast  French  romances.  C16- 
lie,  one  of  the  popular  French  romances  of  the 
period,  appeared  in  ten  volumes  of  800  pages 
each.  (Hales.) 

Line  45.  The  Powers  gave  ear , etc.  See 
JEneid,  xi.  794,  795.  (Pope.) 

Line  74.  Fays,  Fairies , Genii,  etc.  This 
line  obviously  echoes  Satan’s  address  to  his 
followers:  — 

4 Thrones,  Dominations,  Princedoms,  Virtues,  Powers  ! ’ 
Paradise  Lost,  v.  G01. 

Line  106.  Or  some  frail  China  jar,  etc.  Pope 
repeats  this  anti-climax  in  Canto  iii.  159,  below. 

Canto  III.  Line  27.  Ombre  and  Piquet  were 
the  fashionable  card  games  of  Queen  Anne’s 
day.  Ombre  was  a game  of  Spanish  origin. 
The  three  principal  trumps  were  called  Mata- 
dores ; these  are,  in  the  order  of.  their  rank, 
Spadillio,  the  ace  of  spades  ; Manillio,  the  deuce 
of  clubs  when  trumps  are  black,  the  seven  when 
they  are  red  ; and  Basto,  the  ace  of  clubs. 

Line  61.  Mighty  Pam.  Pam,  the  knave  of 
clubs,  is  the  highest  card  in  the  game  of  Loo. 

Line  92.  Just  in  the  jaws  of  ruin,  and  Coddle. 
Each  has  won  four  tricks.  If  the  Baron,  who 
is  ‘ defending  the  pool,’  takes  more  tricks  than 
Belinda,  who  is  ‘ defending  the  game,’  he  will 
‘ win  the  Codille.’ 

Line  107.  Altars  of  Japan.  Small  japanned 
tables. 

lane  123.  Changed  to  a bird,  etc.  See  Ovid, 
Metam.  viii.  (Pope.) 

Line  152.  But  airy  substance  soon  unites  again. 
Pope,  in  a note,  refers  us  to  the  following  pasJ 
sage  : — 

‘But  the  ethereal  substance  closed, 
Not  long  divisible  : and  from  the  gash 
A stream  of  nectarous  humor  issuing  flowed 
Sanguine,  such  as  celestial  spirits  may  bleed.’ 

Paradise  Lost,  vi.  330-334. 

Lines  163-170. 

4 Dum  juga  montis  aper,  fluvios  dum  piscis  amabit, 
Semper  honos  nomenque  tuuin,  laudesque  manebunt.1 

Virgil,  Eclogues,  v.  76-77. 

Line  165.  Atalantis.  The  new  Atalantis,  by 
Mrs.  Manley  ; a book  just  then  popular. 

Lines  176,  177.  What  wonder,  then,  etc. 

4 Quid  faeiant  crines,  cum  ferro  talia  cedant.’ 

Catullus,  de  Com.  Berenice.  (Ward.) 

Canto  IV.  Line  1.  But  anxious  cares,  etc. 

* At  regina  gravi  jamdudum  saucia  cura 
Vulnus  alit  venis,  et  caeco  carpitur  igni.’ 

JEneid,  iv.  1.  (Pope.) 

Line  24.  Megrim.  The  ‘ megrims  ’ and  ‘ the 
vapours  ’ were  fashionable  terms  in  Queen 
Anne’s  day  for  what  we  call 4 the  blues.’ 


650 


APPENDIX 


Pages  96  to  140 


Line  51.  Like  Homer"1  s tripod . See  Iliad , 
xviii.  372-381. 

Line  52.  A Goose-pie  talks.  Alludes  to  a 
real  fact ; a lady  of  distinction  imagined  her- 
self in  this  condition.  (Pope.) 

Line  69.  Citron-waters.  Spirits  distilled  from 
citron-rind. 

Line  1 16.  The  sound  of  Bow.  Within  the 
sound  of  Bow-hells  Jay  the  least  fashionable 
quarter,  containing  Grub  Street,  and  other  Bo- 
hemian haunts,  as  well  as  the  dwellings  of 
tradesmen. 

Line  119.  Sir  Plume.  Sir  George  Brown. 
He  was  the  only  one  of  the  party  who  took  the 
thing  seriously.  He  was  angry  that  the  poet 
should  make  him  talk  nothing  but  nonsense. 
(Warburton.)  Thalestris  (line  87)  was  Mrs. 
Morley,  Sir  George’s  sister. 

Canto  V . Line  45.  So  when  hold  Homer,  etc. 
See  Homer,  Iliad , xx.  (Pope.) 

Line  53.  Umbnel , on  a sconce's  height.  Mi- 
nerva, in  like  manner,  during  the  battle  of 
Ulysses  with  the  suitors,  perches  on  a beam  of 
the  roof  to  behold  it.  (Pope.) 

Line  65.  Thus  on  Mceander' s flow'ry  margin , 
etc. 

‘ Sic  ubi  fata  vocant,  udis  abjectus  in  herbis, 

Ad  vada  Maeandri  concinit  albus  color.’ 

Ovid,  Epistle  vii.  2.  (Pope.) 

Line  71.  Now  Jove  suspends  his  golden  scales 
m air.  See  Homer,  Iliad , viii.,  and  Virgil, 
zEneid , xii.  (Pope.) 

Lines  89-96.  The  same,  his  ancient  personage 
to  deck,  etc.  In  imitation  of  the  progress  of 
Agamemnon’s  sceptre  in  Homer,  Iliad,  ii. 
(Pope.) 

Lines  137-138.  A hidden  star,  etc. 

‘ Flammiferumque  trahens  spatioso  limite  crinem 
Stella  micat.’ 

Ovid,  Metam.  xv.  849,  850.  (Pope.) 

Line  37.  Partridge.  John  Partridge  was  a 
ridiculous  star-gazer,  who  in  his  almanacks 
every  year  never  failed  to  predict  the  downfall 
of  the  Pope  and  the  King  of  France,  then  at 
war  with  the  English.  (Pope.)  Partridge  was 
the  butt  of  Swift’s  famous  hoax  in  1707. 

Page  102.  Macer. 

Line  8.  Crowne , John,  a dramatist  and 
adapter  of  plays,  died  1698. 

Page  103.  A Farewell  to  London. 

Stanza  ii.  C— s is  evidently  Graggs  ; and 
H— k,  as  Carruthers  interprets  the  hiatus,  Lord 
Hinchinbrook,  a young  nobleman  of  spirit  and 
fashion.  (Ward.) 

Stanza  viii.,  lines  3 and  4.  Most  likely  Miss 
Younger  and  Mrs.  Bicknell,  sisters,  both  ac- 
tresses. (Carruthers.) 

Page  104.  The  Basset-Table. 

. Line  99.  The  Groom-Porter  was  an  officer 
in  the  King’s  household,  who,  under  a provision 
exempting  royalty  from  the  laws  against  gam- 
bling, was  enabled  to  provide  a resort  for  Lon- 
don gamesters. 

Line  100.  Some  dukes  at  Mary-hone.  The 
reference  is  supposed  to  have  been  to  the  Duke 


of  Buckinghamshire,  who  frequented  a bowl- 
ing-alley m Marylebone  parish. 

Page  106.  Epigram  on  the  Toasts  of  the 
Kit-cat  Club. 

'Ihe  Kit-cat  Club,  named  for  Christopher 
Katt,  a pastry-cook,  numbered  among  its  mem- 
bers  most  of  the  town  wits,  including  Steele 
and  Addison. 

Page  110.  Eloisa  to  Abelard. 

Line  24.  Forgot  myself  to  stone.  ‘ Forget  thy- 
self to  marble.’  Milton,  11  Penseroso.  The  ex- 
pression ‘caverns  shagg’d  with  horrid  thorn,’ 
and  the  epithets  ‘pale-eyed,’  ‘twilight,’  ‘low- 
thouglited  care,’  and  others,  are  first  used  in 
the  smaller  poems  of  Milton,  which  Pope  seems 
to  havejieen  just  reading.  (Warton.)  , 

Line  74.  Curse  on  all  laws,  etc. 

And  own  no  laws  but  those  which  love  ordains.’ 

Dryden,  Cinyras  and  Myrrha.  (Pope.) 


Line  212.  Obedient  slumbers,  etc.  This  line 
Pope  confesses  to  having  borrowed  from  Cra- 
sh aw. 

Line  342.  May  one  kind  grave , etc.  Abelard 
aud  Eloisa  were  interred  in  the  same  grave,  or 
in  monuments  adjoining,  in  the  Monastery  of 
the  Paraclete  ; he  died  in  the  year  1142,  she  in 
1163.  (Pope.) 

Page  120.  Sandys’  Ghost. 

Stanza  x.  Carey.  Probably  John  Carey. 

Stanzaxi.  Jacob.  Jacob  Tonson.  Pembroke. 
The  Earl  of  Pembroke. 

Stanza  xii.  Tom  Burnet.  Son  of  Bishop 
Burnet. 

Stanza xiii.  Justice  Philips.  Ambrose  Philips. 

Page  128.  1740:  A Poem. 

These  verses  are  supposed  to  be  a fragment 
found  by  Lord  Bolingbroke  among  Pope’s  pa- 
pers. There  is  much  doubt  about  many  of 
the  persons  referred  to ; the  readings  here 
suggested  being  merely  a choice  among  many 
suggested  by  Bowles  and  Carruthers. 

Page  137.  An  Essay  on  Man.  Epistle  I. 

Line  1.  St.  John.  Henry  St.  John,  afterwards 
Lord  Bolingbroke,  was  the  most  intimate  friend 
of  Pope’s  later  years.  The  themes  treated  in 
the  Essay  on  Man  had  been  much  discussed 
between  them  ; it  is,  indeed,  the  shallow  phi- 
losophy of  Bolingbroke  which  supplies  the  sub- 
stance of  Pope’s  argument. 

Line  6.  A mighty  maze , etc.  The  last  verse, 
as  it  stood  in  the  original  editions,  wras  — 

‘A  mighty  maze  of  walks  without  a plan;’ 

and  perhaps  this  came  nearer  Pope’s  real  opinion 
than  the  verse  he  substituted  for  it.  (Low  ell.) 

Line  102.  The  solar  walk.  The  sun’s  orbit. 
Pope  cites  in  this  connection  ‘the  ancient 
opinion  that  the  souls  of  the  just  went  thither.’ 

Line  160.  Young  Ammon.  Alexander  the 
Great,  who  was  saluted  by  the  priests  of  the 
Libyan  Jupiter  Ammon  as  the  son  of  their 
god. 

Line  170.  _ And  passions  are  the  elements  of 
life.  See  this  subject  extended  in  Epistle  II. 
from  verse  100  to  122.  (Pope.) 


Pages  140  to  161 


NOTES  AND  ILLUSTRATIONS 


651 


Line  213.  The  headlong  lioness.  ‘ The  man- 
ner of  the  lion’s  hunting,’  reads  Pope’s  note,’  is 
this  : at  their  first  going  out  in  the  night-time, 
they  set  up  a loud  roar,  and  then  listen  to  the 
noise  made  by  the  beasts  in  their  flight,  pur- 
suing them  by  the  ear,  and  not  by  the  nostril.’ 

Line  278.  The  rapt  Seraph.  Alluding  to  the 
name  seraphim,  signifying  burners.  (Warbur- 
ton.) 

Epistle  II.  Line  22.  Correct  old  Time , etc. 
This  alludes  to  Sir  Isaac  Newton’s  Grecian 
Chronology.  (Warburton.) 

Lines  71-71.  Self-love  still  stronger , etc. 
Bowles  quotes  the  following  passage  from 
Bacon  : ‘ The  affections  carry  ever  an  appetite 
to  good,  as  reason  doth.  The  difference  is,  that 
the  affection  holdeth  merely  the  present ; rea- 
son beholdeth  the  future  and  sum  of  time.’  ^ 

Epistle  III.  Line  68.  Favour'd  man.  Sev- 
eral of  the  ancients,  and  many  of  the  orientals 
since,  esteemed  those  who  were  struck  by  light- 
ning as  favoured  persons,  and  the  particular 
favourites  of  Heaven.  (Pope.) 

Line  104.  Demoivre.  A noted  French  mathe- 
matician. and  a friend  of  Sir  Isaac  Newton’s. 

Epistle  IV.  Line  74.  Mountains  piled  on 
mountains.  Alluding  to  the  Titans’  attempt  to 
scale  Olympus.  (Ward.) 

Line  99.  Lucius  Cary,  Lord  Falkland  (1610- 
1643),  a brilliant  young  statesman  and  versifier, 
was  killed  in  the  battle  of  Newburg,  at  the  age 
of  thirty-three. 

Lines  100-101.  Henry,  Vicomte  de  Turenne , 
and  Sir  Philip  Sidney  both  fell  in  battle  before 
their  extraordinary  powers  had  reached  full 
maturity. 

Line  104.  The  Hon.  Robert  Digby,  third  son 
of  Lord  Digby,  was  a personal  friend  and  cor- 
respondent of  Pope’s.  He  died  in  1726.. 

Line  107.  M.  de  Belsance  was  made  bishop  of 
Marseilles  in  1709.  In  the  plague  of  that  city, 
in  the  year  1720,  he  distinguished  himself  by 
his  zeal  and  activity,  being  the  pastor,  the 
physician,  and  the  magistrate  of  his  flock  whilst 
that  horrid  calamity  prevailed.  (Warburton.) 

Line  110.  Pope’s  mother  died  in  1733,  shortly 
before  this  epistle  was  written,  at  the  age  of 
ninety-one. 

Line  123.  Shall  burning  AEtna , etc.  Allud- 
ing to  the  fate  of  those  two  great  naturalists, 
Empedocles  and  Pliny,  who  both  perished  by  too 
near  an  approach  to  HStna  and  Vesuvius,  while 
they  were  exploring  the  cause  of  their  erup- 
tions. (Warburton.) 

Line  126.  Blameless  Bethel.  Hugh  Bethel, 
to  whom  the  Imitations  of  Horace  are  ad- 
dressed. 

Line  220.  Macedonia' s madman , etc.  An 
epigrammatic  expression  will  also  tempt  him 
into  saying  something  without  basis  in  truth ; 
as  where  he  ranks  together  ‘ Macedonia’s  mad- 
man and  the  Swede,’  and  says  that  neither  of 
them  ‘looked  forward  farther  than  his  nose,’  a 
slang  phrase  which  may  apply  well  enough  to 
Charles  XII.,  but  certainly  not  to  the  pupil  of 
Aristotle,  who  showed  himself  capable  of  a 
large  political  forethought,  So,  too  [line  236], 


the  rhyme,  if  correct,  is  sufficient  apology  for 
want  of  propriety  in  phrase,  as  where  he  makes 
Socrates  ‘ bleed.’  (Lowell.) 

Line  278.  Lord  Umbra.  Bubb  Dodington, 
called  Bubo  in  the  Epistle  to  Arbuthnot  (line 
280,),  where  Sir  William  Yonge’s  name  is  again 
coupled  with  his. 

Lines  298-308.  This  passage  evidently  refers 
to  the  Duke  of  Marlborough. 

Page  157.  Mokal  Essays.  Epistle  I. 

Line  57.  Manly.  The  hero  of  Wycherley’s 
Plain-Dealer.  The  name  was  commonly  ap- 
plied to  Wycherley. 

Line  58.  Umbra.  Bubb  Dodington.  See 
note  on  Essay  on  Man , IY.  278. 

Line  61.  A Queen.  Queen  Caroline,  whom 
Swift,  alluded  to  in  the  succeeding  line,  had 
satirized. 

Line  77.  Catius.  Charles  Dartineuf,  accord- 
ing to  Carruthers.  See  Imitations  of  Horace , 
Bk.  II.  Ep.  ii.  87,  note. 

Line  81.  Patricio.  Conjectured  by  Warbur- 
ton to  be  Lord  Godolphin.  See  Glossary.^ 

Line  >:9.  A perjur'd  prince.  Louis  XI.  of 
France  wore  in  his  hat  a leaden  image  of  the 
Virgin  Mary,  which  when  he  swore  by  he  feared 
to  break  his  oath.  (Pope.) 

Line  90.  A godless  Begent  tremble  at  a star. 
Philip,  Duke  of  Orleans,  Regent  of  France  in 
the  minority  of  Louis  XV.,  superstitious  in  ju- 
dicial astrology,  though  an  unbeliever  in  all 
religion.  (Warburton.) 

Line  91.  The  throne , etc.  Philip  Y.  of  Spain, 
who,  after  renouncing  the  throne  for  religion, 
resumed  it  to  gratify  his  queen ; and  Victor 
Amadeus  II.,  king  of  Sardinia,  who  resigned  the 
crown,  and  trying  to  resume  it,  was  imprisoned 
till  his  death.  (Pope.) 

Line  136.  A saint  in  crape.  That  is,  in  the 
garb  of  the  clergy. 

Line  179.  Wharton.  Philip,  Duke  of  Whar- 
ton. See  Glossary. 

Line  187.  Wilmot.  John  Wilmot,  Earl  of 
Rochester,  famous  for  his  wit  and  extravagances 
in  the  time  of  Charles  the  Second.  (Pope.) 

Line  231.  Lanesb'row.  An  ancient  nobleman, 
who  continued  this  practice  long  after  his  legs 
were  disabled  by  the  gout.  (Pope.) 

Line  247.  Were  the  last  words , etc.  This 
story,  like  the  others,  is  founded  on  fact,  though 
the  author  had  the  goodness  not  to  mention  the 
names.  Several  attribute  this  in  particular  to  a 
very  celebrated  actress  who,  in  detestation  of 
the  thought  of  being  buried  in  woollen,  gave 
these  her  last  orders  with  her  dying  breath. 
(Pope.)  Warton  says  that  the  actress  was 
Mi.-..  Oldfield. 

Epistle  II.  Of  this  Epistle,  which  was  pub- 
lished in  1735,  parts  had  been  long  before 
written  and  even  printed.  As  originally  pub- 
lished, it  wanted  the  portraits  of  Philomede, 
Chloe,  and  Atossa.  According  to  Warburton’s 
statement,  Pope  communicated  the  character 
of  Atossa  to  the  Duchess  of  Marlborough  as 
intended  for  the  Duchess  of  Buckingham  ; ac- 
cording to  Walpole  he  repeated  the  experiment 
vice  versa.  Immediately  on  the  death  of  Pope* 


APPENDIX 


Pages  161  to  165 


652 


the  Duchess  of  Marlborough  applied  to  one  of 
his  executors,  Lord  Marchmont,  with  the  view 
of  ascertaining  whether  the  poet  had  left  be- 
hind him  any  satire  on  the  Duke  or  herself. 
Marchmont  consulted  Bolingbroke  ; and  it  was 
found  that  in  the  edition  of  the  Moral  Essays 
prepared  for  the  press  by  Pope  just  before  his 
death,  and  printed  off  ready  for  publication, 
the  character  of  Atossa  was  inserted.  If  Lord 
Marchmont  made  the  statement  attributedjto 
him  by  the  editor  of  his  papers  (Rose),  Pope 
had  received  from  the  Duchess  £1000,  the  ac- 
ceptance of  which  implied  forbearance  towards 
the  house  of  Marlborough.  If  this  be  so,  it  is 
probable  that  the  motive  which  prompted  Pope 
to  the  acceptance  of  this  ‘ favor  ’ was  the  de- 
sire to  settle  Martha  Blount  in  independent  cir- 
cumstances for  life.  (Ward.) 

Lines  7-14.  Arcadia's  Countess  — Pastora 
by  a fountain  — Leda  with  a swan  — Magdalen 
— Cecilia.  Attitudes  in  which  several  ladies 
affected  to  be  drawn,  and  sometimes  one  lady 
in  them  all.  The  poet’s  politeness  and  complai- 
sance to  the  sex  is  observable  in  this  instance, 
amongst  others,  that  whereas  in  the  Characters 
of  Men,  he  has  sometimes  made  use  of  real 
names,  in  the  Characters  of  Women  always 
fictitious.  (Pope.) 

Line  24.  Sappho.  A name  for  Lady  Mary 
Wortley  Montagu,  first  used  by  Pope  in  compli- 
ment, but  later  retained  for  purposes  of  abuse. 

Line  53.  Narcissa.  Warton  says  that  Nar- 
cissa  stands  for  the  Duchess  of  Hamilton.  The 
lines  were  adopted  from  the  earlier  verses,  which 
Pope  had  called  Sylvia,  a Fragment. 

Line  83.  Philomede.  Henrietta,  Duchess  of 
Marlborough  in  her  own  right  (daughter  of 
Sarah),  an  admirer  of  Congreve.  She  married 
the  second  Earl  of  Godolphin. 

Line  107.  Her  Grace.  This  refers,  according 
to  Warton,  to  the  Duchess  of  Montagu,  with 
whom  Lady  Mary  Wortley  Montagu  w as  inti- 
mate. 

Line  115.  Atossa.  Sarah,  Duchess  of  Maid- 
borough.  In  1678  she  was  married  to  Colonel 
Churchill,  and  it  was  largely  by  her  influence 
that  he  was  made  Duke  of  Marlborough. 

Lines  139,  140.  The  bust  and  temple  rise. 
This  alludes  to  a temple  she  erected  with  a bust 
of  Queen  Anne  in  it,  which  mouldered  away 
in  a few  years.  (Wilkes.) 

Line  157,  Chloe.  Lady  Suffolk,  mistress  of 
George  II.,  and  friend  of  Pope,  Swift,  Gay,  and 
Arbuthnot.  See  On  a Certain  Lady , etc.,  page 
118. . 

Line  198,  Mah'met.  Servant  to  the  late  king 
(George  I.),  said  to  be  the  son  of  a Turkish 
Bassa,  whom  he  took  at  the  siege  of  Buda,  and 
constantly  kept  about  his  person.  (Pope.) 

Hale.  Dr,  Stephen  _ Hale,  not  more  esti- 
mable for  his  useful  discoveries  as  a natural 
philosopher  than  for  his  exemplary  life  and 
pastoral  charity  as  a parish  priest.  (Pope.) 

Line  251.  The  Ping,  See  note  on  The  Pape 
qf  the  Lock,  Canto  I,  line  44. 

Lines  253-256.  Originally  the  last  four  lines 
of  the  short  poem  called  Erinna, 


Epistle  III.  This  Epistle  was  written  after 
a violent  outcry  against  our  author,  on  a sup- 
position that  he  had  ridiculed  a worthy  no- 
bleman merely  for  his  wrong  taste.  He  jus- 
tified^ himself  upon  that  article  in  a letter  to 
the  Earl  of  Burlington  ; at  the  end  of  w hich 
are  these  words:  ‘ I have  learnt  that  there  are 
some  who  would  rather  be  wicked  than  ridic- 
ulous : and  therefore  it  may  be  safer  to  attack 
vices  than  follies.  I will  therefore  leave  my 
betters  in  the  quiet  possession  of  their  idols, 
their  groves,  and  their  high  places  ; and  change 
my  subject  from  their  pride  to  their  meanness, 
from  their  vanities  to  their  miseries  ; and  as  the 
only  certain  way  to  avoid  misconstructions,  to 
lessen  offence,  and  not  to  multiply  ill-natured 
applications,  I may  probabfy,  in  my  next,  make 
use  of  real  names  instead  of  fictitious  ones.’ 
(Pope.) 

Line  20.  John  Ward,  of  Hackney,  Esq.  ; 
Member  of  Parliament,  being  prosecuted  by  the 
Duchess  of  Buckingham,  and  convicted  of 
forgery,  was  first  expelled  the  House,  and  then 
stood  in  the  pillory  on  the  17th  of  March,  1727. 
He  was  suspected  of  joining  in  a conveyance 
with  Sir  John  Blunt,  to  secrete  fifty  thousand 
pounds  of  that  Director’s  estate,  forfeited  to 
the  South-Sea  Company  by  Act  of  Parliament. 
The  company  recovered  the  fifty  thousand 
pounds  against  Ward  ; but  he  set  up  prior  con- 
veyances of  his  real  estate  to  his  brother  and 
son,  and  conceal’d  all  his  personal,  which  was 
computed  to  be  one  hundred  and  fifty  thousand 
pounds.  These  conveyances  being  also  set  aside 
by  a bill  in  Chancery,  Ward  was  imprisoned, 
and  hazarded  the  forfeiture  of  his  life,  by  not 
giving  in  his  effects  till  the  last  day,  which  was 
that  of  his  examination.  During  his  confine- 
ment, his  amusement  was  to  give  poison  to  dogs 
and  cats,  and  to  see  them  expire  by  slower  or 
quicker  torments.  To  sum  up  the  worth  of  this 
gentleman,  at  the  several  seras  of  his  life,  At 
his  standing  in  the  Pillory  he  was  worth  above 
two  hundred,  thousand  pounds;  at  his  commit- 
ment to  Prison,  he  was  worth  one  hundred  and 
fifty  thousand  ; but  has  been  since  so  far  dimin- 
ished in  his  reputation,  as  to  be  thought  a worse 
man  hy  fifty  or  sixty  thousand.  (Pope.)  From 
Pope’s  intimate  acquaintance  with  Mr.  Ward’s 
career,  it  might  almost  be  suspected  that  he  is 
the  same  who  is  enumerated  among  Pope’s 
friends  in  Gay’s  poem  (Ward.) 

Mr.  Waters,  the  third  of  these  worthies,  was 
a man  no  way  resembling  the  former  in  his 
military,  but  extremely  so  in  his  civil  capacity ; 
his  great  fortune  having  been  rais’d  by  the  like 
diligent  attendance  on  the  necessities  of  others. 
But  this  gentleman’s  history  must  be  deferred 
till  his  death,  when  his  worth  may  be  known 
more  certainly.  (Pope.) 

Fr.  Chartres,  a man  infamous  for  all  manner 
of  vices.  When  he  was  an  ensign  in  the  army, 
he  was  drumm’d  out  of  the  regiment  for  a 
cheat ; he  was  next  banish’d  Brussels,  and 
drumm’d  out  of  Ghent  on  the  same  account. 
After  a hundred  tricks  at  the  gaming  tables,  he 
took  to  lending  of  money  at  exorbitant  interest 


Pages  165,  166 


NOTES  AND  ILLUSTRATIONS 


653 


and  on  great  penalties,  accumulating  premium, 
interest,  and  capital  into  a new  capital,  and 
seizing  to  a minute  when  the  payments  became 
due  ; in  a word,  by  a constant  attention  to  the 
vices,  wants,  and  follies  of  mankind,  he  acquired 
an  immense  fortune.  His  house  was  a perpetual 
bawdy-house.  He  was  twice  condemn’d  for 
rapes,  and  pardoned  : but  the  last  time  not 
without  imprisonment  in  Newgate,  and  large 
confiscations.  He  died  in  Scotland  in  1731, 
aged  62.  The  populace  at  his  funeral  rais’d  a 
great  riot,  almost  tore  the  body  out  of  the  coffin, 
and  cast  dead  dogs,  &c.,  into  the  grave  along 
with  it.  The  following  Epitaph  contains  his 
character  very  justly  drawn  by  Dr.  Arbuthnot : 

HERE  continueth  to  rot 
The  Body  of  FRANCIS  CHARTRES, 
Who  with  an  inflexible  constancy, 
and  Inimitable  Uniformity  of  Life, 
Persisted, 

In  spite  of  Age  and  Infirmities, 

In  the  Practice  of  Every  Human  Vice  ; 

Excepting  Prodigality  and  Hypocrisy  : 
His  insatiable  Avarice  exempted  him  from  the 
first, 

His  matchless  Impudence  from  the  second. 

Nor  was  he  more  singular 
in  the  undeviating  Pravity  of  his  Manners 
Than  successful 
in  Accumulating  Wealth. 

For,  without  Trade  or  Profession, 
Without  Trust  of  Public  Money, 

And  without  Bribe-worthy  Service, 

He  acquired,  or  more  properly  created, 

A Ministerial  Estate. 

He  was  the  only  Person  of  his  Time, 

Who  could  cheat  without  the  Mask  of  Hon- 
esty, 

Retain  his  Primeval  Meanness 
When  possess’d  of  Ten  Thousand  a Year, 
And  having  daily  deserved  the  Gibbet  for  what 
he  did , 

Was  at  last  condemn’d  to  it  for  what  he  could 
not  do. 

Oh  Indignant  Reader ! 

Think  not  his  Life  useless  to  Mankind  ! 
Providence  conniv’d  at  his  execrable  Designs, 
To  give  to  After-ages 
A conspicuous  Proof  and  Example, 

Of  how  small  Estimation  is  Exorbitant 
Wealth  in  the  Sight  of  GOD, 

By  his  bestowing  it  on  the  most  unworthy  of 
all  Mortals. 

This  Gentleman  was  worth  seven  thousand  pounds 
a year  estate  in  Land,  and  about  one  hundred 
thousand  in  Money.  (Pope.) 

And  the  Devil.  Alluding  to  the  vulgar  opinion, 
that  all  mines  of  metal  and  subterraneous 
treasures  are  in  the  guard  of  the  Devil : which 
seems  to  have  t&ken  its  rise  from  the  pagan 
fable  of  Plutus  the  God  of  Riches.  (War- 
iburton.) 

Line  35.  Beneath  the  patriot's  cloak.  This 
is  a true  story,  which  happened  in  the  reign  of 
William  III.,  to  an  unsupected  old  patriot,  who 
coming  out  at  the  back-door  from  having  been 


closeted  by  the  King,  where  he  had  received  a 
large  bag  of  guineas,  the  bursting  of  the  bag 
discovered  his  business  there.  (Pope.) 

Line  42.  Fetch,  or  carry  kings.  In  our 
author’s  time,  many  Princes  had  been  sent 
about  the  world,  and  great  changes  of  kings 
projected  in  Europe.  The  partition-treaty  had 
disposed  of  Spain ; France  had  set  up  a king 
for  England,  who  was  sent  to  Scotland  and 
back  again  ; the  Duke  of  Anjou  was  sent  to 
Spain  and  Don  Carles  to  Italy.  (Pope.) 

Line  44.  Or  ship  off  senates.  Alluding  to 
several  ministers,  counsellors,  and  patriots  ban- 
ished in  our  times  to  Siberia,  and  to  that  more 
glorious  fate  of  the  Parliament  of  Paris,  ban- 
ished to  Pontoise  in  the  year  1720  (Pope.) 

Line  62.  Worldly  crying  coals.  Some  misers 
of  great  wealth,  proprietors  of  the  coal-mines, 
had  entered  at  this  time  into  an  association  to 
keep  up  coals  to  an  extravagant  price,  whereby 
the  poor  were  reduced  almost  to  starve,  till  one 
of  them,  taking  the  advantage  of  underselling 
the  rest,  defeated  the  design.  One  of  these 
misers  was  worth  ten  thousand , another  seven 
thousand  a year.  (Pope.) 

Line  65.  Colepepper.  Sir  William  Colepepper, 
Bart.,  a person  of  an  ancient  family  and  ample 
fortune,  without  one  other  quality  of  a gentle- 
man, who,  after  ruining  himself  at  the  gaming- 
table, past  the  rest  of  his  days  in  sitting  there  to 
see  the  ruin  of  others ; preferring  to  subsist 
upon  borrowing  and  begging,  rather  than  to 
enter  into  any  reputable  method  of  life,  and  re- 
fusing a post  in  the  army  which  was  offered 
him.  (Pope.) 

Line  67.  White's.  The  most  fashionable 
of  London  gambling  resorts. 

Line  82.  Turner.  A very  wealthy  miser. 

Line  84.  Wharton.  Philip,  Duke  of 
Wharton. 

Line  85.  Hopkins.  A citizen  whose  rapacity 
obtained  him  the  name  of  Vulture  Hopkins. 
He  lived  worthless,  but  died  worth  three  hun- 
dred thousand  pounds,  which  he  would  give  to 
no  person  living,  but  left  it  so  as  not  to  be  in- 
herited till  after  the  second  generation.  His 
counsel  representing  to  him  how  many  years  it 
must  be,  before  this  could  take  effect,  and  that 
his  money  could  only  lie  at  interest  all  that 
time,  he  expressed  great  joy  thereat,  and  said, 

‘ They  would  then  be  as  long  in  spending,  as  he 
had  been  in  getting  it.’  But  the  Chancery 
afterwards  set  aside  the  will,  and  give  it  to  the 
heir  at  law.  (Pope.) 

Line  86.  Japhet , nose  and  ears?  Japhet 
Crook,  alias  Sir  Peter  Stranger,  was  punished 
with  the  loss  of  those  parts,  for  having  forged 
a conveyance  of  an  Estate  to  himself,  upon 
which  he  took  up  several  thousand  pounds. 
He  was  at  the  same  time  sued  in  Chancery  for 
having  fraudulently  obtained  a Will,  by  which 
he  possessed  another  considerable  Estate,  in 
wrong  of  the  brother  of  the  deceased.  By  these 
means  he  w as  worth  a great  sum,  which  (in  re- 
ward for  the  small  loss  of  his  ears)  he  enjoyed 
in  prison  till  his  death,  and  quietly  left  to  his 
executor.  (Pope.) 


APPENDIX 


654 


Line  90.  -Die,  and  endow  a College , or  a Cat. 
A famous  Duchess  of  Richmond  in  her  last  will 
left  considerable  legacies  and  annuities  to  her 
Cats.  (Pope. ) [Warton  more  than  vindicates  the 
memory  of  this  famous  beauty  of  Charles  II.’s 
court  from  Pope’s  taunt  by  stating  that  she  left 
annuities  to  certain  poor  ladies  of  her  acquaint- 
ance, with  the  burden  of  maintaining  some  of 
her  cats  ; this  proviso  being  intended  To  dis- 
guise the  charitable  character  of  the  bequests. 
(Ward.) 

Line  99.  Bond  damns  the  poor,  fyc.  This 
epistle  was  written  in  the  year  1730,  when  a 
corporation  was  established  to  lend  money  to 
the  poor  upon  pledges,  by  the  name  of  the 
Charitable  Corporation ; but  the  whole  was 
turned  only  to  an  iniquitous  method  of  enriching 
particular  people,  to  the  ruin  of  such  numbers, 
that  it  became  a parliamentary  concern  to  en- 
deavour the  relief  of  those  unhappy  sufferers, 
and  three  of  the  managers,  who  were  members 
of  the  house,  were  expell’d.  By  the  report  of 
the  committee,  appointed  to  enquire  into  that 
iniquitous  affair,  it  appears,  that  when  it  was 
objected  to  the  intended  remosalof  the  office, 
that  the  Poor,  for  whose  use  it  was  erected, 
would  be  hurt  by  it,  Bond,  one  of  the  Directors, 
replied,  Damn  the  poor.  That  ‘God  hates  the 
poor,’  and,  ‘ That  every  man  in  want  is  knave 
or  fool,”  &c.  were  the  genuine  apothegms  of 
some  of  the  persons  here  mentioned.  (Pope.) 
Dennis  Bond,  a member  of  Parliament,  died  in 
1747.  (Carruthers.) 

Line  100.  Sir  Gilbert  Heathcote,  director  of 
the  Bank  of  England,  and  one  of  the  richest 
men  of  his  day.  (Ward.) 

Line  117.  South-Sea  Year.  1720.  . Pope 
was  involved  in  the  speculation,  hut  is  sup- 
posed to  have  escaped  without  loss. 

Line  118.  To  live  on  venison.  In  the  ex- 
travagance and  luxury  of  the  South-Sea  year, 
the  px*ice  of  a haunch  of  venison  was  from 
three  to  five  pounds. 

Line  121.  Sappho.  This  is  a particularly 
gratuitous  insult, _ as  Lady  Mary  Wortley 
Montagu  invested  in  South-Sea  stock  by  Pope’s 
advice  and  lost  her  money. 

Line  123.  Wise  Peter.  Peter  Walter,  a person 
not  only  eminent  in  the  wisdom  of  his  profes- 
sion, as  a dextrous  attorney,  but  allowed  to  be 
a good,  if  not  a safe  conveyance ; extremely 
respected  by  the  Nobility  of  this  land,  tho’  free 
from  all  manner  of  luxury  and  ostentation  : his 
Wealth  was  never  seen,  and  his  bounty  never 
heard  of,  except  to  his  own  son;  for  whom  he 
procured  an  employment  of  considerable  profit, 
of  which  he  gave  him  as  much  as  was  necessary. 
Therefore  the  taxing  this  gentleman  with  any 
Ambition,  is  certainly  a great  wrong  to  him. 
(Pope.) 

Line  126.  Borne'1  s great  Didius,  A Roman 
Lawyer,  so  rich  as  to  purchase  the  Empire  when 
it  was  set  to  sale  upon  the  death  of  Pertinax. 
(Pope.)  Didius  Julianus  A.  D.  193,  The  vendors 
were  the  Praetorian  Guards.  (Ward,) 

Line  127.  The  Crown  of  Poland,  fyc.  The 
two  persons  here  mentioned  were  of  Quality, 


Pages  166  to  168 


each  of  whom  in  the  Mississippi  despis’d  to 
realize  above  three  hundred  thousand  pounds; 
the  Gentleman  with  a view  to  the  purchase  of 
the  Crown  of  Poland,  the  Lady  on  a vision  of 
the  like  royal  nature.  They  since  retired  into 
Spain,  where  they  are  still  in  search  of  gold  in 
the  mines  of  the  Asturies.  (Pope.) 

Line  128.  A Mr.  Gage,  of  the  ancient  Suf- 
folk Catholic  family  of  that  name  ; and  Lady 
Mary  Herbert,  daughter  of  the  Marquess  of 
Powis  and  of  a natural  daughter  of  James  II.  : 
whence  the  phrase  ‘ hered itary  realm.’  (Bowles.) 

Line  133.  Much  injur'd  Blunt.  Sir  John 
Blunt,  originally  a scrivener,  was  one  of  the  first 
projectors  of  the  South-Sea  Company,  and  after- 
wards one  of  the  directors  and  chief  managers 
of  the  famous  scheme  in  1720.  He  was  also 
one  of  those  who  suffer’d  most  severely  by  the 
bill  of  pains  and  penalties  on  the  said  direc- 
tors. (Pope.) 

Line  177.  Old  Cotta.  Supposed  to  be  the 
Duke  of  Newcastle,  who  died  in  1711 ; and  his 
son,  the  well-known  peer  of  that  name,  who 
afterwards  became  prime  minister.  (Car- 
ruthers.) 

Line  243.  Oxford's  better  part.  Edward 
Harley,  Earl  of  Oxford.  The  son  of  Robert, 
created  Earl  of  Oxford  and  Earl  Mortimer  by 
Queen  Anne.  This  Nobleman  died  regretted 
by  all  men  of  letters,  great  numbers  of  whom 
had  experienced  his  benefits.  He  left  behind 
him  one  of  the  most  noble  Libraries  in  Europe. 
(Pope.) 

Line  250.  The  Man  of  Boss.  The  persoi. 
here  celebrated,  who  with  a small  Estate  actu- 
ally performed  all  these  good  works,  and  whose 
true  name  was  almost  lost  (partly  by  the  title 
of  the  Man  of  Boss  given  him  by  way  of  emi- 
nence, and  partly  by  being  buried  without  so 
much  as  an  inscription)  was  called  Mr.  John 
Kyrle.  He  died  in  the  year  1724,  aged  90,  and 
lies  interred  in  the  chancel  of  the  church  of 
Ross  in  Herefordshire.  (Pope.) 

We  must  understand  what  is  here  said,  of | 
actually  performing , to  mean  by  the  contribu- 
tions which  the  Man  of  Boss,  by  his  assiduity 
and  interest,  collected  in  his  neighbourhood.! 
(Warburton.) 

Line  296.  Eternal  buckle,  etc.  The  poet 
ridicules  the  wretched  taste  of  carving  large 
periwigs  on  bustos,  of  which  there  are  several 
vile  examples  at  Westminster  and  elsewhere. 
(Pope.) 

Line  305.  Great  V illiers  lies.  This  Lord,  yet, 
more  famous  for  his  vices  than  his  misfortunes, 
after  having  been  possess’d  of  about  £50,000  a 
year,  and  passed  thro’  many  of  the  highest  posts 
in  the  kingdom,  died  in  the  Year  1687,  in  are- 
mote  inn  in  Yorkshire,  reduced  to  the  utmost 
misery.  (Pope.) 

George  Yilliers,  Duke  of  Buckingham,  the  son 
of  the  first  Duke  (the  favourite  and  minister  of 
James  I.  and  Charles  I.),  was  born  in  1637.  He 
lost  his  estates  as  a royalist,  but  recovered  them 
by  his  marriage  with  the  daughter  of  Lord 
Fairfax.  He  is  the  Zimri  of  the  Absalom  and 
Acliitophel  of  Dryden,  whom  he  had  ridiculed 


Pages  169  to  176 


NOTES  AND  ILLUSTRATIONS 


65s 


as  Bayes  in  the  burlesque  play  of  The  Rehearsal. 
Thus  we  have  portraits  of  this  typical  hero  of 
the  Restoration  period  by  Dry  den  and  Pope,  as 
well  as  by  Burnet  and  Butler,  Count  Grammont 
and  Horace  Walpole.  The  tenant’s  house  at 
which  he  died  (in  1687)  was  at  Kirby  Moor  Side, 
bear  Helmsly  in  Yorkshire.  (Ward.) 

Line  307.  Cliveden.  A delightful  palace,  on 
the  banks  of  the  Thames,  built  by  the  D.  of 
Buckingham.  (Pope.) 

Line  308.  Shrewsbury.  The  Countess  of 
Shrewsbury,  a woman  abandoned  to  gallantries. 
The  Earl  her  husband  was  kill’d  by  the  Duke 
of  Buckingham  in  a duel ; and  it  has  been  said, 
that  during  the  combat  she  held  the  Duke’s 
•horses  in  the  habit  of  a page.  (Pope.) 

Line  315.  Sir  John  Cutler,  a wealthy  citizen 
of  the  Restoration  period,  accused  of  rapacity 
on  account  of  a large  claim  made  by  his  excu- 
tors  against  the  College  of  Physicians,  which  he 
had  aided  by  a loan.  (Carruthers.) 

Line  339.  Where  London's  column , etc.  The 
'monument  on  Fish  Street  Hill,  built  in  memory 
of  the  fire  of  London  of  1666,  with  an  inscription 
importing  that  city  to  have  been  burnt  by  the 
papists.  (Pope.) 

Epistle  IV . Line  7.  Topham.  A gentleman 
famous  for  a judicious  collection  of  drawings. 
((Pope.) 

Line  8 .Pembroke.  Henry,  Earl  of  Pembroke, 
a patron  of  the  arts,  and  owner  of  many  valua- 
ble paintings. 

. Line  10.  Mead  — Sloane.  Two  eminent  phy- 
sicians ; the  one  had  an  excellent  library,  the 
'other  the  finest  collection  in  Europe  of  natural 
curiosities  ; both  men  of  great  learning  and 
humanity.  (Pope.)  Dr.  Mead  was  physician 
1 to  George  II.  ‘ He  was,  however,’  says  Ward, 
‘the  reverse  of  a bookworm  ; for  Johnson  says 
of  him  that  “ he  lived  more  in  the  broad  sunshine 
of  life  than  almost  any  man.”  ’ Sir  John  or  Hans 
'Sloane  was  a skilled  botanist  and  physician. 
His  natural  history  collection  is  now  preserved 
‘in  the  British  Museum. 

1 Line  18.  Ripley.  This  man  was  a carpenter, 
'employed  by  a first  Minister,  who  raised  him  to 
in  Architect,  without  any  genius  in  the  art; 
and  after  some  wretched  proofs  of  his  insuffi- 
ciency in  public  buildings,  made  him  Comptrol- 
ler of  the  Board  of  Works.  (Pope.) 

1 Line  20,  Bubo.  Bubb  Dodington.  See 
Epistle  to  Arbuthnot , line  280. 

Line  23.  You  shoiv  us  Rome , etc.  The  Earl 
of  Burlington  was  then  publishing  the  designs 
pi  Inigo  Jones,  and  the  Antiquities  of  Rome  by 
“Palladio.  (Pope.) 

1 Line  46.  Le  Notre,  Andr<3  Le  N3tre  (1613- 
91700),  landscape-gardener  of  Louis  XIY. 

3 Line  70.  Stowe.  The  seat  and  gardens  of  the 
Lord  Viscount  Cobham  in  Buckinghamshire. 
Pope.) 

‘ Line  78,  In  a hermitage  set  Dr.  Clarice.  Dr. 
*L.  Clai’ke’s  busto  placed  by  the  Queen  in  the 
Hermitage,  while  the  doctor  duly  frequented 
die  court.  (Pope.)  Dr.  Clarke  was  one  of 
Queen  Caroline’s  chaplains. 

Line  150,  Never  mentions  Hell,  etc,  This  is  a 


fact ; a reverend  Dean  preaching  at  court 
threatened  the  sinner  with  punishment  in  1 a 
place  which  he  thought  it  not  decent  to  name  in 
so  polite  an  assembly.’  (Pope.) 

Line  169.  Yet  hence  the  poor , etc.  The  Moral 
of  the  whole,  where  Providence  is  justified  in 
giving  wealth  to  those  who  squander  it  in  this 
manner.  A bad  taste  employs  more  hands,  and 
diffuses  expense  more  than  a good  one.  (Pope.) 

Line  173.  Another  age , etc.  Had  the  poet 
lived  but  three  years  longer,  he  had  seen  this 
prophecy  fulfilled.  (Warburton.) 

Lines  195-202.  Till  Kings  . . . Bid  Harbours 
open , etc.  The  poet  after  having  touched  upon 
the  proper  objects  of  Magnificence  and  Expense, 
in  the  private  works  of  great  men,  comes  to 
those  great  and  public  works  which  become  a 
prince.  This  Poem  was  published  in  the  year 
1732,  when  some  of  the  new-built  Churches,  by 
the  act  of  Queen  Anne,  were  ready  to  fall,  being 
founded  in  boggy  land  (which  is  satirically 
alluded  to  in  our  author’s  imitation  of  Horace, 
Lib.  ii.  Sat.  2 : — 

‘ Shall  half  the  new-built  Churches  round  thee  fall ; ’ 

others  were  vilely  executed,  thro’  fraudulent 
cabals  between  undertakers,  officers,  &c.  Ba- 
genham-breach  had  done  very  great  mischiefs  ; 
many  of  the  Highways  throughout  England 
were  hardly  passable  ; and  most  of  those  which 
were  repaired  by  Turnpikes  were  made  jobs  for 
private  lucre,  and  infamously  executed,  even  to 
the  entrances  of  London  itself  : The  proposal  of 
building  a Bridge  at  Westminster  had  been 
petition’d  against  and  rejected  ; but  in  two  years 
after  the  publication  of  this  poem,  an  Act  for 
building  a Bridge  pass’d  thro’  both  houses. 
After  many  debates  in  the  committee,  the  exe- 
cution was  left  to  the  carpenter  above-men- 
tioned, who  would  have  made  it  a wooden  one ; 
to  which  our  author  alludes  in  these  lines, 

‘ Who  builds  a Bridge  that  never  drove  a pile  ? 

Should  Ripley  venture,  all  the  world  would  smile.’ 

See  the  notes  on  that  place.  (Pope.) 

Page  176.  Epistle  to  Dr.  Arbuthnot. 
For  John  Arbuthnot  see  Glossary. 

Advertisement.  Lines  6,  7.  Of  these  papers 
the  former  was  said  to  be  a joint  production  of 
Lady  Mary  Wort.ley  Montagu  and  Lord  Hervey; 
the  latter  was  written  by  Hervey  alone.  See 
Carruthers’  Life  of  Pope , ch.  viii. 

Line  1.  John  Searl,  Pope’s  body-servant  for 
many  years. 

lane  8.  An  artificial  grotto,  constructed  under 
a road,  was  one  of  Pope’s  fanciful  improvements 
of  his  little  estate  at  Twickenham.  Twitenham 
or  Twit’nam  (line  21)  are  forms  of  the  name 
affected  by  Pope. 

Line  13,  The  Mint , a place  to  which  insolvent 
debtors  retired,  to  enjoy  an  illegal  protection, 
which  they  were  there  suffered  to  afford  one 
another,  from  the  persecution  of  their  creditors. 
(Warburton.) 

Line  23,  Arthur.  Arthur  Moore,  a prominent 
politician,  father  of  the  James  Moore-Smythe 
whom  Pope  so  often  ridiculed. 


6S6 


APPENDIX 


Line  40.  1 Keep  your  piece  nine  years.' 

‘Novemque  prematur  in  annum.’ 

Horace,  De  Arte  Poetica , 388. 

Line  43.  Term.  The  London  ‘ season.’ 

Line  51.  Pitholeon,  the  name  taken  from  a 
foolish  poet  of  Rhodes,  who  pretended  much  to 
Greek.  (Pope.) 

Line  53.  Edmund  Curll  was  a piratical  book- 
seller who  did  Pope  several  ill  turns,  as  in  pub- 
lishing1 some  of  his  private  letters  (see  113  be- 
low), and  printing  in  his  name  various  sorts  of 
rubbish  (see  351  below,  and  Pope’s  note). 

Line  54.  The  London  Journal  favored  the 
Whigs.  Pope  was  very  little  of  a politician, 
but  his  leaning  was  toward  the  Tories. 

Line  60.  In  the  early  editions  the  line  read  — 
‘ Cibber  and  I are  luckily  no  friends.’ 

Pope’s  one  attempt  at  dramatic  writing,  Three 
Hours  after  Marriage , written  in  connection 
with  Gay  and  Arbuthnot,  was  a flat  failure. 
The  legitimate  fun  made  of  it  by  Colley  Cibber 
was  the  source  of  a feud  between  them,  which 
ended  only  in  Cibber’s  being  made  the  main 
figure  in  The  Dunciad. 

Line  62.  Bernard  Lintot,  after  1712,  published 
much  of  Pope’s  work. 

Line  72.  Some  say  his  Queen.  The  story  is 
told  by  some  of  his  Barber,  but  by  Chaucer  of 
his  Queen.  See  Wife  of  Bath's  Tale.  (Pope.) 

Line  88.  Alluding  to  Horace,  Ode  iii.  3 : — 

‘ Si  fractus  illabatur  orbis 
Impavidum  ferient  ruinae.’  (Pope.) 

In  translating  this  ode  Addison  had  used  the 
phrase  1 the  mighty  crack  ’ (86  above),  and  Pope 
had  ridiculed  him  for  it. 

Line  100.  Philips.  Ambrose  Philips,  of 
whom  Bishop  Bolter  became  patron. 

Line  101.  Sappho.  Lady  Mary  Wortley 
Montagu. 

Line  118.  You  have  an  eye.  It  is  remarkable 
that,  amongst  these  complaints  on  his  infirmities 
and  deformities,  he  mentions  his  eye,  which  was 
fine  and  piercing.  (Warburton.) 

Line  128.  I lisped  in  numbers. 

‘ Sponte  sua  carmen  numeros  veniebat  ad  aptos, 

Et,  quod  tentabam  dicere,  versus  erat.’ 

Ovid,  Tristia,  4,  x.  25,  26. 

Line  135.  Granville.  George  Granville,  after- 
wards Lord  Lansdown,  known  for  his  poems, 
most  of  which  he  composed  very  young. 
(Pope.) 

Granville,  Mr.  Walsh,  and  Dr.  Garth  are 
mentioned  in  Pope’s  first  note  to  the  Pastorals 
as  among  those  who  encouraged  him  in  his 

eaLinet  if  ^Talbot,  Somers , Sheffield.  These 
are  the  persons  to  whose  account  the  author 
charges  the  publication  of  his  first  pieces,  per- 
sons with  whom  he  was  conversant  (and  he  adds 
beloved)  at  sixteen  or  seventeen  years  of  age, 
an  early  period  for  such  acquaintance.  The 
catalogue  might  have  been  made  yet  more  illus- 
trious had  he  not  confined  it  to  that  time  when 


he  writ  the  Pastorals  and  Windsor  Forest , on 
which  he  passes  a sort  of  censure  in  the  lines 
following  [147-150] . (Pope.) 

Line  146.  Burnets,  etc.  Authors  of  secret 
and  scandalous  history.  (Pope.) 

Line  149.  Fanny.  Lord  Hervey,  the  Sporus 
of  lines  305-333  below. 

Line  151.  Gildon.  Charles  Gildon,  a critic 
who  had  abused  Pope. 

Line  153.  Dennis.  John  Dennis,  a free-lance 
in  letters,  and  one  of  the  favorite  butts  of  Pope’s 
satire.  It  was  he  who  indirectly  caused  the 
difference  between  Pope  and  Addison.  See 
Glossary. 

Line  164.  Slashing  Bentleys , etc.  Bentley’s 
edition  of  Paradise  Lost , which  appeared  in 
1732,  was  at  once  the  last  and  the  least  worthy 
effort  of  his  critical  prowess  ; as  to  Theobald’s 
Shakspere,  it  was  an  honest  and  not  wholly  un- 
successful piece  of  work,  and  a better  edition 
than  Pope’s  own.  Bentley’s  Milton  is  better 
characterized  in  Imitations  of  Horace,  i.  Ep.  of 
ii.  Bk.  vv.  103-4.  (Ward.) 

Line  179.  The  bard  whom  pilfer'd  pastorals\ 
renown.  Ambrose  Philips.  Charles  Gildon 
ranked  him  with  Theocritus  and  Virgil. 

Line  190.  Tate.  Nahum  Tate  was  then  poetj 
laureate,  ‘ the  author  of  the  worst  alterations  of  i 
Shakespeare,’  says  Professor  Craik,  ‘the 
worst  version  of  the  Psalms  of  David,  and  the) 
worst  continuation  of  a great  poem  [Dryden’s 
Absalom  and  Achitophel]  ex tant.’ 

Lines  193-214.  The  famous  passage  on  Addi- 
son had  been  published  twelve  years  before  the 
Epistle  to  Arbuthnot  was  written.  Addison’s 
name  appeared  in  the  earlier  version. 

Line  218.  On  wings  of  winds , etc.  Pope 
credits  this  line  to  Hopkins’s  paraphrase  of 
Psalm  civ. 

Line  232.  Bufo  probably  stands  for  Lord 
Halifax. 

Line  236.  And  a true  Pindar  stood  without  a\ 
head.  Ridicules  the  affectation  of  Antiquaries, i 
who  frequently  exhibit  the  headless  trunks  and 
terms  of  statues,  for  Plato,  Homer,  Pindar, 
etc.  (Pope.) 

Line  248.  He  help’d  to  bury , etc.  Mr.  Dryden, 
after  having  lived  in  exigencies,  had  a magnifi- 
cent funeral  bestowed  upon  him  by  the  contri- 
bution of  several  persons  of  quality.  (Pope.) 

Line  256.  Gay.  John  Gay  (1688-1732),  author 
of  the  famous  Beggar's  Opera , and  one  of  Pope’s 
best  friends.  In  his  last  years  he  was  taken 
excellent  care  of  by  the  Duke  of  Queensbury 
(260,  below),  and  died  by  no  means  a pauper. 

Line  280.  Sir  Will  or  Bubo.  See  Essay  on 
Man , IV.  278  and  note. 

Line  299.  The  Dean  and  Silver  Bell.  Pope 
had  been  accused  of  ridiculing,  in  the  Essay 
on  Taste , the  furniture  and  appointments  of 
Canons,  the  seat  of  the  Duke  of  Chandos, 
where  Pope  had  been  received.  Pope’s  denial 
of  the  charge  was  accepted  by  the  Duke. 

Line  305.  Sporus  is  John  Lord  Hervey,  a 
well-known  court  favorite.  He  seems  to  have 
been  at  least  harmless.  Pope,  for  some  un- 
known reason,  conceived  one  of  his  violent 


Pages  1S1  to  1 88 


NOTES  AND  ILLUSTRATIONS 


657 


intipathies  for  him  ; and  the  following  lines, 
pardly  less  celebrated  than  those  on  Addison, 
ire  the  result. 

Line  350.  The  tale  revived , etc.  As  that  he 
■carved  subscriptions  to  Shakespear,  that  he 
;et  his  name  to  Mr.  Broome’s  verses,  etc.,  which, 
.hough  publicly  disproved,  were  nevertheless 
Repeated  in  the  libels.  (Pope.) 

Line  351.  TP  imputed  trash.  This  imputed 
.rash,  such  as  profane  psalms,  court  poems,  and 
other  scandalous  things,  printed  in  his  name  by 
jpurll  and  others.  (Pope.) 

Line  3(55.  Knight  of  the  post  corrupt.  The  so- 
aalled  Knights  of  the  Post  stood  about  the  sher- 
iff’s pillars  near  the  courts,  in  readiness  to  swear 
anything  for  pay.  (Ward.) 

Line  371.  Friend  to  his  distress.  In  1733  Pope 
yrote  a prologue  to  a play  given  for  the  benefit 
>f  Dennis,  who  was  then  old,  blind,  and  not  far 
from  death. 

j Line  374.  Ten  years.  It  was  so  long  after 
nany  libels  before  the  author  of  the  Dunciad 
Published  that  poem,  till  when  he  never  writ 
1 word  in  answer  to  the  many  scurrilities  and 
alsehoods  concerning  him.  (Pope.) 

; Line  375.  Welsted’s  lie.  This  man  had  the 
mpudence  to  tell  in  print  that  Mr.  P.  had  occa- 
ioned  a lady’s  death,  and  to  name  a person  he 
iiever  heard  of.  (Pope.) 

Line  379.  Budgell  was  charged  with  forging 
1 will,  with  profit  to  himself. 

Lines  382-387.  Pope  has  a long  note  on  this 
.passage,  in  which  he  goes  much  into  detail  to 
f)rove  the  respectability  of  his  parents. 

Line  391.  Bestia.  L.  Calpurnius  Bestia,  who 
lere  seems  to  signify  the  Duke  of  Marlborough, 
vas  a Roman  proconsul,  bribed  by  Jugurtha 
nto  a dishonorable  peace.  (Ward.) 

1 Line  393.  Discord  in  a noble  wife.  Dryden 
lad  married  Lady  Howard,  and  Addison  the 
Oountess  of  WTarwick. 

Line  397.  He  was  a non-juror,  and  would  not 
' ake  the  oath  of  allegiance  or  supremacy,  or  the 
oath  against  the  Pope.  (Bowles.) 

> Line  417.  Dr.  Arbuthnot  had  been  the  favor- 
ite physician  of  Queen  Anne. 

Page  182.  Satires,  Epistles  and  Odes  of 
IpR^CE  Imitated.  First  Satire , Second  Book. 
Jpuie  6.  Lord  Fanny.  Lord  Hervey. 
r Lins  23.  Sir  Richard.  Sir  Richard  Black- 
nore. 

• Lines  30,  31.  Carolina.  Queen  Caroline.  Ame- 
lia. Princess  Amelia,  second  daughter  of  George 


[ Line  34.  Their  Laureate.  Colley  Cibber. 

Line  40.  Peter.  Peter  Walter. 

Line  46.  Scarsda/e  his  bottle , Darty  his  ham- 
ne.  Lord  Scarsdale  and  Charles  Dartineuf, 
famous  epicures. 

Line  49.  Fox.  Probably  Henry  Fox,  First 
(jord  Holland.  Hockley-hole.  There  was  a 
jjfoted  bear-garden  at  Hockley-in-the-Hole.  See 
1 he  Spectaor , No  436. 

Line  52.  Shippen.  William  Shippen,  an  out- 
ipoken  politician  and  a Jacobite,  who  was  sent 
0 the  Tower  in  1718.  According  to  Coxe,  he 
iiised  to  say  of  himself  and  Sir  Robert  Walpole, 

»• 


‘ Robin  and  I are  two  honest  men  ; though  he 
is  for  King  George  and  I for  King  James.’ 
(Ward.) 

Line  81.  Slander  or  poison  dread.  Alluding 
to  a notorious  rumor  that  a Miss  Mackenzie  had 
been  poisoned  by  the  Countess  of  Deloraine. 

Line  82.  Page.  Judge  Page.  See  Epilogue 
to  Satires , II.  56. 

Line  100.  Lee.  Nathaniel  Lee  (1657-1692),  a 
tragic  poet,  author  of  The  Rival  Queens. 

Line  129.  He  whose  lightning,  etc.  Charles 
Mordaunt,  Earl  of  Peterborough,  who  in  the 
year  1705  took  Barcelona,  and  in  the  winter  fol- 
lowing, with  only  280  horse  and  900  foot,  enter- 
prised  and  accomplished  the  conquest  of  Valen- 
cia. (Pope.) 

Line  153.  Sir  Robert.  Walpole. 

Page  184.  Second  Satire , Second  Book. 

Mr.  Bethel.  Hugh  Bethel. 

Line  25.  Oldfield.  This  eminent  glutton  ran 
through  a fortune  of  fifteen  hundred  pounds  a 
year  in  the  simple  luxury  of  good  eating.  (War- 
burton.) 

Line  42.  Bedford-head.  A famous  eating- 
house  in  Covent  Garden. 

Line  49.  Avidien.  Edward  Wortley  Monta- 
gu, the  husband  of  Lady  Mary.  (Carruthers.) 

Line  175.  Shades  that  to  Bacon , etc.  Gor- 
hambury,  near  St.  Albans,  the  seat  of  Lord 
Bacon,  was  at  the  time  of  his  disgrace  conveyed 
by  him  to  his  quondam  secretary,  Sir  J.  Mean- 
tys,  whose  heir  sold  it  to  Sir  Harbottle  Grim- 
ston,  whose  grandson  left  it  to  his  nephew 
(Wm.  Lucklyn,  who  took  the  name  of  Grim- 
ston),  whose  second  son  was  in  1719  created  Vis- 
count Grimston.  This  is  the  ‘ booby  lord  ’ to 
whom  Pope  refers.  (Ward.) 

Line  177.  Proud  Buckingham’s,  etc.  Villiers, 
Duke  of  Buckingham.  (Pope.)  The  estate  of 
Helmsley  was  pui’chased  by  Sir  Charles  Dun- 
combe,  Lord  Mayor  in  1709,  who  changed  its 
nameto  Duncombe  Park.  (Carruthers.) 
A/rdfee  187.  First  Epistle,  First  Book. 

* Line  6.  Modest  Cibber , etc.  Colley  Cibber 
retired  from  the  stage  after  a histrionic  career 
of  more  than  forty  years  in  1733;  but  returned 
in  1734  and  did  not  make  his  ‘ positively  last 
appearance  ’ till  1745.  (Ward.) 

Line  16.  You  limp , like  Blackmore  on  a Lord 
Mayor’s  horse.  The  fame  of  this  heavy  Poet, 
however  problematical  elsewhere,  was  univer- 
sally received  in  the  City  of  London.  His  ver- 
sification is  here  exactly  described : stiff  and 
not  strong ; stately  and  yet  dull,  like  the  sober 
and  slow-paced  Animal  generally  employed  to 
mount  the  Lord  Mayor : and  therefore  here  hu- 
morously opnosed  to  Pegasus.  (Pope.) 

Line  51.  Cheselden.  In  answer  to  Swift’s  in- 
quiry who  ‘ this  Cheselden  ’ was,  Pope  informed 
him  that  C.  was  ‘ the  most  noted  and  most  de- 
serving man  in  the  whole  profession  of  chirur- 
gery,  and  had  saved  the  lives  of  thousands  ’ by 
his  skill.  There  is  an  amusing  letter  from  Pope 
to  Cheselden  in  Roscoe’s  Life  ad  ann.  1737 ; 
speaking  of  the  cataract  to  which  v.  52  appears 
to  allude.  (Ward.) 

Line  85.  Sir  John  Barnard. 


APPENDIX 


6S8 


Line  89.  Bug  and  D*l , etc.  The  meaning  of 
this  line  lias  not  been  determined. 

Line  112.  Augustus  Schutz.  See  Glossary. 

Line  173.  Hale . Dr.  Hale  of  Lincoln’s  Inn 
Fields,  a physician  employed  in  cases  of  insanity. 
(Carruthers.) 

Line  177.  Guide , Philosopher , and  Friend . Lord 
Bolingbroke.  See  Essay  on  Man , IV.  390. 

Page  189.  Sixth  Epistle , First  Book . 

The  poem  is  dedicated  to  William  Murray, 
afterwards  Lord  Mansfield.  See  Glossary. 

Line  1.  Not  to  admire,  etc. 

‘ Nil  admirari  prope  res  una,  Numici, 

Solaque,  quae  possit  facere  etservare  beatum.’ 

Horace . 

The  translation  is,  as  Pope  admits,  that  of  Rich- 
ard Creech,  translator  of  Homer  and  Lucretius. 

Line  45.  Craggs's . James  Craggs’s  father 
had  beeii  in  a low  situation ; but  by  industry 
and  ability,  got  to  be  Postmaster-General  and 
agent  to  the  Duke  of  Marlborough.  For  James 
Craggs’s  own  career,  see  Glossary. 

Line  53.  Hyde.  Lord  Clarendon,  great- 
grandfather of  the  Lord  Cornbury  mentioned 
m line  01  below. 

Line  04.  Tindal.  See  Pope’s  note  on  The 
Dunciad , II.  399. 

Line  82.  Anstis , whom  Pope  often  mentions, 
was  Garter  King  of  Arms.  (Bowles.) 

Line  87.  Or  if  three  lad ies  like  a luckless  play. 
The  common  reader,  I am  sensible,  will  be  al- 
ways more  solicitous  about  the  names  of  these 
three  Ladies , the  unlucky  Play , and  every  other 
trifling  circumstance  that  attended  this  piece  of 
gallantry,  than  for  the  explanation  of  our  Au- 
thor’s sense,  or  the  illustration  of  his  poetry  ; 
even  where  he  is  most  moral  and  sublime.  But 
had  it  been  in  Mr.  Pope’s  purpose  to  indulge  so 
impertinent  a curiosity,  he  had  sought  elsewhere 
for  a commentator  on  his  writings.  (Warbur- 
ton.)  Notwithstanding  this  remark  of  Dr.  War- 
burton,  I have  taken  some  pains,  though  indeed 
in  vain,  to  ascertain  who  these  ladies  were,  and 
what  the  play  they  patronized.  It  was  once  said 
to  be  Young’s  Busiris.  (Warton.) 

Line  121.  Kinnoul's  lewd  cargo,  etc.  Lords 
Kinnoul  and  Tyrawley,  two  ambassadors  noted 
for  wild  immorality.  (Carruthers.) 

Line  126.  Wilmot.  John  Wilmot,  Earl  of 
Rochester.  See  Glossary. 

Page  191.  First  Epistle,  Second  Book. 

Line  38.  Beastly  Skelton.  Skelton,  Poet  Lau- 
reate to  Henry  VIII. , a volume  of  whose  verses 
has  been  lately  reprinted,  consisting  almost 
wholly  of  ribaldry,  obscenity,  and  scurrilous 
language.  (Pope.)  This  judgment  of  Skelton 
is  of  course  unfair. 

Line  40.  Christ's  Kirk  o’  the  Green.  A ballad 
by  Jame3  I.  of  Scotland. 

Line  42,  The  Devil . The  Devil  Tavern, 
where  Ben  Jonson  held  his  Poetical  Club.  (Pope.) 

Line  66,  Look  in  Stowe.  Stowe’s  Annals  of 
England  appear  to  have  been  first  published  in 
1580.  (Ward.) 

Line  91.  Gammer  Gurton.  Gammer  Gurton’s 
Needle,  according  to  Pope  1 a piece  of  very  low 


Pages  t88  to  197 


humour,  one  of  the  first  printed  plays  in  Eng- 
lish, and  therefore  much  valued  by  some  anti- 
quaries.’ The  earliest  extant  edition  bears  the 
date  1575,  but  it  was  probably  first  printed  at 
least  thirteen  years  before  this. 

Line  92.  2 he  Careless  Husband.  By  Colley 

Cibber. 

Line  109.  Sp>rat , Carew,  Sedley.  Thomas 
Sprat,  Bishop  of  Rochester,  Thomas  Carew, 
and  Sir  Charles  Sedley  ; all  poets  of  the  Resto- 
ration. 

Line  142.  A verse  of  the  Lord  Lansdown, 

(Pope.) 

Lines  143-146.  In  horsemanship  — writ  ro- 
mance. The  Duke  of  Newcastle’s  book  of 
Horsemanship  ; the  romance  of  Parthenissa,  by 
the  Earl  of  Orrery  ; and  most  of  the  French 
romances  translated  by  persons  of  quality. 
(Pope.) 

Line  153.  On  each  enervate  siring , etc.  The 
Siege  of  Bhodes  by  Sir  William  Davenant,  the 
first  opera  sung  in  England.  (Pope.) 

Line  182.  Ward.  A famous  Empiric,  whose 
Pill  and  Drop  had  several  surprising  effects, 
and  were  one  of  the  principal  subjects  of  writ- 
ing and  conversation  at  this  time.  (Pope.) 

Line  197.  Peter.  Peter  Walter. 

Line  224.  The  rights  a Court  attacked,  a poel 
saved.  A reference  to  Swift’s  services  as  a 
pamphleteer,  particularly  as  author  of  the 
Drapief  s Letters. 

Line  289.  Van.  John  Vanbrugh.  See 
Glossary. 

Line  290.  Astrcea.  Mrs.  Aphra  Behn. 

Line  293.  Poor  Pinky.  William  Pinketh- 
man,  a low  comedian. 

Line  313.  From  heads  to  ears , and  now  from 
ears  to  eyes.  From  plays  to  operas,  and  fron 
operas  to  pantomimes.  (Warburton.) 

Line  319.  Old  Edward's  armour , etc.  A 
spectacle  presenting  the  Coronation  of  Henry 
VIII.  and  Anne  Boleyn  was  produced  in  1727  tc 
celebrate  the  coronation  of  George  II.  and  had 
a run  of  forty  nights.  ‘The  playhouses,’  says 
Pope,  ‘ vied  with  each  other  to  represent  a! 
the  pomp  of  a coronation.  In  this  noble  con- 
tention, the  armour  of  one  of  the  Kings  of  Eng- 
land was  borrowed  from  the  Tower,  to  dress 
the  Champion.’ 

Line  331.  Quin  — Oldfield.  James  Quin  anc 
Mrs.  Oldfield,  the  most  popular  comedians  oi 
their  age. 

Line  355.  Merlin's  Cave.  A building  in  the 
Royal  Gardens  of  Richmond,  where  is  a smal 
but  choice  collection  of  books.  (Pope.) 

Line  372.  Dubb'd  historians.  ‘ The  office  oi 
Historiographer  Royal,’  says  Ward,  ‘ was  fre 
quently  united  to  that  of  Poet  Laureate.’ 

Line  382.  Great  Nassau.  William  II. 

Line  387.  Quarles.  Francis  Quarles,  authol 
of  the  Emblems. 

Line  413.  This  line,  according  to  Carruthers 
is  quoted  from  an  anonymous  poem  printed  it 
Tonson’s  Miscellany  in  1709. 

Line  417.  Eusden , Philips,  Settle.  Lau- 
rence Eusden,  Ambrose  Philips,  and  Elkanal 
Settle. 


Pages  197  to  209 


NOTES  AND  ILLUSTRATIONS 


659 


Page  197.  Second  Epistle , Second  Book. 

Line  1 . Colonel.  Colonel  Cotterell  of  Rous- 
ham,  near  Oxford.  (Warton.) 

Line  4.  This  lad , sir , is  of  Blois.  < A town 
in  Beauce,  where  the  French  tongue  is  spoken 
in  great  purity.  (YVar burton.)  It  will  be  re- 
I called  that  it  was  to  Blois  that  Addison  went  to 
[learn  French. 

Line  24.  Sir  Godfrey.  Sir  Godfrey  Kneller. 
1 (Warburton.) 

Line  57.  Maudlin's  learned  grove.  Magdalen 
f?  College,  Oxford  University. 

Line  70.  Ten  Monroes.  Dr.  Monroe,  physi- 
cian to  Bedlam  Hospital.  (Pope.) 

Line  87.  Oldfield  — Dartineuf.  Two  noted 
.gluttons.  See  Book  II.  Satire  i.  46. 

Line  113.  Tooting— Earl's-court.  Two  vil- 
lages within  a few  miles  of  London.  (Pope.) 

Linas  132-135.  Murray — Cowper  — Talbot. 

S William  Murray,  afterward  Lord  Mansfield; 
William,  first  Earl  Cowper  ; Charles  Talbot, 
Duke  of  Shrewsbury. 

i Line  139.  Merlin's  Cave.  See  note  on  Book 
l II.  Epistle  1,  355. 

Line  140.  Stephen.  Stephen  Duck. 

Line  218.  Golden  angels.  A golden  coin 
- given  as  a fee  by  those  who  came  to  be  touched 
i by  the  royal  hand  for  the  Evil.  (Warton.) 

Line  220.  When  servile  Chaplains  cry , etc. 
The  whole  of  this  passage  alludes  to  a dedica- 
tion of  Mr.,  afterwards  Bishop,  Kennet  to  the 
1!  Duke  of  Devonshire,  to  whom  he  was  chaplain. 
| (Burnet.) 

Line  240.  Ueathcote.  Sir  Gilbert  Heathcote. 

Line  273.  Townshend  — Grosvenor.  Lord 
Townshend,  Sir  Thomas  Grosvenor.  Lord 
. Townshend  is  said  to  have  introduced  the  tur- 
nip into  England  from  Germany. 

Line  274.  Buhh.  Bubb  Dodington. 

Line  277.  Oglethorpe.  James  Edward  Ogle- 
: thorpe. 

Page  202.  Satires  of  Donne  Versified. 
i Satire  II.  Line  6.  Sappho.  Lady  Mary 
; Wortley  Montagu. 

1 Line  36.  Sutton.  Sir  Robert  Sutton,  ex- 
1 pelled  from  the  House  of  Commons  on  account 
1 of  his  share  in  the  frauds  of  the  company  called 
■ the  Charitable  Corporation.  (Carruthers.) 

Line  80.  Paul  Benfield,  a parliamentary 
financier,  is  suggested  by  Carruthers  as  the 
1 person  here  meant. 

Page  204.  Satire  IV. 

Line  30.  Sloane — Woodward.  Sir  Plans 
! Sloane,  a natural  historian  ; and  John  Wood- 
ward, founder  of  a chair  of  Geology  in  Cam- 
bridge  University. 

Line  73.  Hoadley.  Bishop  Hoadley,(  here 
1 sarcastically  referred  to  on  account  of  his  loy- 
alty to  the  House  of  Hanover.  (Ward.) 
i Line  95.  Aretine.  The  Florentine  poet  who 
composed  certain  ill-favored  sonnets  to  illua- 
1 trate  some  designs  of  Giulio  Romano. 

Line  135.  Hoi  insheds,  or  Halls , or  Stowes. 
Tudor  chroniclers. 

1 Line  177.  Umbra.  Bubb  Dodington. 

Line  178.  Fannius.  Lord  Hervey,  whom 
Pope  elsewhere  calls  * Lord  Fanny.’ 


Line  206.  Court  in  Wax.  A famous  show 
of  the  Court  of  France,  in  wax-work.  (Pope.) 

Line  213.  At  Fig's , at  White's.  White’s 
was  a noted  gaming-house ; Fig’s,  a prize- 
fighter’s Academy,  where  the  young  nobility 
received  instruction  in  those  days.  It  was 
also  customary  for  the  nobility  and  gentry  to 
visit  the  condemned  criminals  in  Newgate. 
(Pope). 

Line  274.  Hung  with  deadly  sins.  The  room 
hung  with  old  tapestry,  representing  the  seven 
deadly  sins.  (Pope.) 

Page  208.  Epilogue  to  the  Satires.  Dia- 
logue I. 

Lines  1-2.  These  two  lines  are  from  Horace  ; 
and  the  only  two  lines  that  are  so  in  the  whole 
poem  ; being  meant  to  be  a handle  to  that 
which  follows  in  the  character  of  an  imperti- 
nent Censurer,  'Tis  all  from  Horace,  etc. 
(Pope.) 

Line  13.  Sir  Billy.  Sir  William  Yonge. 

Line  14.  Huggins.  Formerly  jailer  of  the 
Fleet  prison ; enriched  himself  by  many  exac- 
tions, for  which  he  was  tried  and  expelled. 
(Pope.) 

Line  24.  Patriots.  This  appellation  was 
generally  given  to  those  in  opposition  to  the 
court.  Though  some  of  them  (which  our  au- 
thor hints  at)  had  views  too  mean  and  interested 
to  deserve  that  name.  (Pope.) 

Line  26.  The  great  man.  A phrase  by  com- 
mon use  appropriated  to  the  First  Minister. 
(Pope.) 

Line  39.  A Joke  on  Jekyl.  Sir  Joseph  Jekyl, 
Master  of  the  Rolls,  a true  Whig  in  his  princi- 
ples, and  a man  of  the  utmost  probity.  He 
sometimes  voted  against  the  Court,  which  drew 
upon  him  the  laugh  here  described  of  One  who 
bestowed  it  equally  upon  Religion  and  Honesty. 
He  died  a few  months  after  the  publication  of 
this  poem.  (Pojie.) 

Line  51.  Sejanus,  Wolsey.  The  one  the 
wicked  minister  of  Tiberius ; the  other,  of 
Henry  VIII.  The  writers  against  the  Court 
usually  bestowed  these  and  other  odious  names 
on  the  Minister,  without  distinction,  and  in  the 
most  injurious  manner.  See  Dial.  II.  v,  137. 
(Pope.) 

Fleury.  Cardinal : and  Minister  to  Louis  XV. 
It  was  a Patriot-fashion,  at  that  time,  to  cry  up 
his  wisdom  and  honesty.  (Pope.) 

Line  66.  Henley  — Osborne.  See  them  in 
their  places  in  The  Dunciad.  (Pope.) 

Line  68.  Sir  William  Yonge,  not,  as  Bowles 
conjectures  to  be  possible,  Dr.  Edward  Young, 
author  of  The  N ight  Thoughts , although  to  the 
latter  Dodington  (Bubo)  was  a constant  friend. 
(Ward.) 

Line  69.  The  gracious  Dew.  Alludes  to  some 
court  sermons,  and  florid  panegyrical  speeches  ; 
particularly  one  very  full  of  puerilities  and  flat- 
teries ; which  afterwards  got  into  an  address  in 
the  same  pretty  style  ; and  was  lastly  served 
up  in  an  Epitaph,  between  Latin  and  English, 
published  by  its  author.  (Pope.)  An  ‘ Epi* 
taph  ’ on  Queen  Caroline  was  written  by  Lord 
Hervey,  and  an  address  moved  in  the  House  oj 


66o 


APPENDIX 


Pages  209  to  213 


Commons  (the  Senate)  on  the  occasion  by  H. 
Fox.  (Carruthers.) 

Line  75.  Middleton  and  Bland.  Dr.  Conyers 
Middleton,  author  of  a Life  of  Cicero.  Dr. 
Bland,  of  Eton,  according  to  Burnet  a very  bad 
writer. 

Line  78.  The  ‘ Nation's  Sensed  Warburton 
says  this  was  a cant  phrase  of  the  time. 

Line  80.  Carolina.  Queen  Caroline,  died  in 
1737. 

Line  92.  Selkirk  — Delaware.  Pope’s  note 
would  seem  to  apply  to  the  names  here  sug- 
gested : ‘ A title  [was]  given  that  lord  by  King 
James  II.  He  was  of  the  Bedchamber  to  King 
William  ; lie  was  so  to  George  I.  ; he  was  so  to 
George  II.  This  lord  was  very  skilful  in  all  the 
forms  of  the  House,  in  which  he  discharged 
himself  with  great  gravity.’ 

Line  120.  Japhet.  Japhet  Crook. 

Line  121.  Peter.  Peter  Walter. 

Line  123.  If  Blount.  Author  of  an  impious 
and  foolish  book  called  The  Oracles  of  Reason , 
who  being  in  love  with  a near  kinswoman  of  his, 
and  rejected,  gave  himself  a stab  in  the  arm,  as 
pretending  to  kill  himself,  of  the  consequence 
of  which  he  really  died.  (Pope.) 

Line  124.  Passeran  ! Author  of  another 
book  of  the  same  stamp,  called  A Philosophical 
Discourse  on  Death , being  a defence  of  suicide. 
He  was  a nobleman  of  Piedmont,  banished  from 
his  country  for  his  impieties,  and  lived  in  the 
utmost  misery,  yet  feared  to  practise  his  own 
precepts;  and  at  last  died  a penitent.  (Warbur- 
ton.) 

Line  125.  But  shall  a Printer , etc.  A fact 
that  happened  in  London  a few  years  past. 
The.  unhappy  man  left  behind  him  a paper 
justifying  his  action  by  the  reasonings  of  some 
of  these  authors.  (Pope.) 

Line  129.  This  calls  the  Church  to  deprecate  our 
Sin.  Alluding  to  the  forms  of  prayer,  composed 
in  the  times  of  public  calamity  ; where  the  fault 
is  generally  laid  upon  the  People.  (Warburton.) 

Page  210.  Dialogue  II. 

Line  11.  Ev'n  Guthry.  The  Ordinary  of 
Newgate,  who  publishes  the  memoirs  of  the 
Malefactors,  and  is  often  prevailed  upon  to  be 
so  tender  of  their  reputation,  as  to  set  down  no 
more  than  the  initials  of  their  name.  (Pope.) 

Line  39.  Wretched  Wild.  Jonathan  Wild, 
a famous  thief,  and  thief-impeaeher,  who  was 
at  last  caught  in  his  own  train,  and  hanged. 
(Pope.) 

Line  57.  Ev'n  Peter  trembles  only  for  his  ears. 
Peter  [Walter]  had,  the  year  before  this,  nar- 
rowly escaped  the  Pillory  for  forgery : and  got 
off  with  a severe  rebuke  only  from  the  bench. 
(Pope.) 

Line  66.  Scarb'row.  Earl  of,  and  Knight  of 
the  Garter,  whose  personal  attachment  to  the 
king  appeared  from  his  steady  adherence  to  the 
royal  interest,  after  his  resignation  of  his  great 
employment  of  Master  of  the  Horse  ; and  whose 
known  honour  and  virtue  made  him  esteemed 
by  all  parties.  (Pope.)  He  committed  suicide 
in  a fit  of  melancholy  in  1740  ; and  was  mourned 
by  Lord  Chesterfield  as  ‘ the  best  man  he  ever 


knew,  and  the  dearest  friend  he  ever  had.’ 
(Ward.) 

Line  67.  Esher's  peaceful  Grove.  The  house 
and  gardens  of  Esher  in  Surrey,  belonging  to 
the  Honourable  Mr.  Pelham,  Brother  of  the 
Duke  of  Newcastle.  The  author  could  not  have 
given  a more  amiable  idea  of  his  Character  than 
in  comparing  him  to  Mr.  Craggs.  (Pope.) 

Line88.  Wyndham.  Sir  William  Wyndham. 

Line  99.  The  Man  of  Ross.  See  Moral  Essays , 
Epistle  III.  lines  240-290.  My  Lord  Mayor. 
Sir  John  Barnard. 

Line  132.  St.John.  Lord  Bolingbroke. 

Line  133.  Sir  Robirts.  Sir  Robert  Walpole. 

Line  158.  Shtrlock,  Dr.  William,  Dean  of  St. 
Paul’s,  and  ihe  bete  noire  of  the  non-jurors  in 
the  reign  of  William  HI.  (Ward.) 

Line  160.  The  bard.  Bubb  Dodington,  who 
wrote  a poem  to  Sir  Robert  Walpole  from  which 
the  following  line  is  quoted. 

Line  164.  The  Priest , etc.  Pope  disclaims 
any  allusion  to  a particular  priest,  but  the  pas- 
sage is  understood  to  refer  to  Dr.  Alured  Clarke, 
who  wrote  a fulsome  panegyric  to  Queen  Caro- 
line. 

Line  166.  The  florid  youth.  Lord  Hervey. 
Alluding  to  his  painting  himself.  (Bowles.) 

Lines  185-186.  Japhet — Chartres.  Seethe 
epistle  to  Lord  Bathurst.  (Pope.) 

Line  222.  Cobwebs.  Weak  and  light  sophis- 
try against  virtue  and  honour.  Thin  colours 
over  vice,  as  unable  to  hide  the  light  of  truth, 
as  cobwebs  to  shade  the  sun.  (Pope.) 

Line  228.  When  black  Ambition , etc.  The 
course  of  Cromwell  in  the  civil  war  of  England  ; 
(line  229),  of  Louis  XIV.  in  his  conquest  of 
the  Low  Countries.  (Pope.) 

Line  231.  Nor  Boileau  turn  the  feather  to  a 
star.  See  his  Ode  on  Namur ; where  (to  use  his 
own  words)  ‘ il  a fait  un  Astre  de  la  Plume 
blanche  que  le  Roy  porte  ordinairement  h son 
chapeau,  et  qui  est  en  effet  une  esp^ce  de  Co- 
m^te,  fatale  k nosennemis.’  (Pope.) 

Line  236.  Anstis.  The  chief  Herald  at  Arms. 
It  is  the  custom,  at  the  funeral  of  great  peers, 
to  cast  into  the  grave  the  broken  staves  and  en- 
signs of  honour.  (Pope.) 

Line  238.  Stair.  John  Dalrymple,  Earl  of 
Stair,  Knight  of  the  Thistle ; served  in  all  the 
wars  under  the  Duke  of  Marlborough  ; and 
afterwards  as  Ambassador  in  France.  (Pope.) 
Bennet,  who  supplies  the  blanks  in  v.  239  by 
the  names  of  Kent  and  Grafton,  has  ‘ some 
notion  that  Lord  Mordington  kept  a gaming- 
house.’ (Ward.) 

Lines  240,  241.  Hough  — Digby.  Dr.  John 
Hough,  Bishop  of  Worcester,  and  the  Lord 
Digby.  The  one  an  assertor  of  the  Church  of 
England  in  opposition  to  the  false  measures  of 
King  James  II.  The  other  as  firmly  attached 
to  the  cause  of  that  King.  Both  acting  out  of 
principle,  and  equally  men  of  honour  and  virtue. 
(Pope.) 

Line  255.  Ver.  255  in  the  MS. 


‘ Quit,  quit  these  themes,  and  write  Essays  on  Man.’ 
This  was  the  last  poem  of  the  kind  printed  by 


Pages  214  to  227 


NOTES  AND  ILLUSTRATIONS 


661 


our  author,  with  a resolution  to  publish  no  more  ; 
but  to  enter  thus,  in  the  most  plain  and  sol- 
emn manner  he  could,  a sort  of  protest  against 
that  insuperable  corruption  and  depravity  of 
manners,  which  he  had  been  so  unhappy  as  to 
live  to  see.  Could  he  have  hoped  to  have 
amended  any,  he  had  continued  those  attacks  ; 
but  bad  men  were  grown  so  shameless  and  so 
powerful,  that  Ridicule  was  become  as  unsafe 
as  it  was  ineffectual.  The  Poem  raised  him,  as 
he  knew  it  would,  some  enemies ; but  he  had 
reason  to  be  satisfied  with  the  approbation  of 
good  men,  and  the  testimony  of  his  own  con- 
science. (Pope.) 

Page  214.  Book  Second,  Sixth  Satire. 
Imitated  after  Swift. 

Line  84.  October  next  it _ will  be  four.  Swift  is 
recalling  the  length  of  his  service  of  the  Tory 
Party. 

Line  85.  Harley.  Earl  of  Oxford. 

Line  125.  At  this  point  Pope’s  part  in  the 
imitation  begins. 

Page  216.  The  Seventh  Epistle  of  the 
First  Book  of  Horace. 

Line  67.  Child.  Sir  Francis  Child,  the  banker. 
(Bowles.) 

Page  217.  The  First  Ode  of  the  Fourth 
Book  of  Horace. 

Line  8.  Number  five.  The  number  of  Mur- 
ray’s lodgings  in  King’s  Bench  Walk. 

Page  225.  The  Dunciad.  Book  I. 

Line  1.  The  Mighty  Mother,  etc.,  in  the  first 
Edd.  it  was  thus  : — 

‘ Books  and  the  Man  I sing,  the  first  who  brings 

The  Smithfield  Muses  to  the  ear  of  Kings,’  etc. 

(Pope.) 

Line  2.  The  Smithfield  Muses.  Smithfield  is 
the  place  where  Bartholomew  Fair  was  kept, 
whose  shows,  machines,  and  dramatical  enter- 
tainments, formerly  agreeable  only  to  the  taste  of 
the  Rabble,  were,  by  the  Hero  of  this  poem  and 
others  of  equal  genius,  brought  to  the  Theatres 
of  Covent-garden,  Lincolns-inn-fields,  and  the 
Haymarket,  to  be  the  reigning  pleasures  of  the 
Court  and  Town.  This  happened  in  the  reigns 
of  King  George  I.  and  II.  See  Book  III.  (Pope.) 

Line  30.  Monroe.  Physician  to  Bedlam  Hos- 
pital. 

Line  31.  His  famed  father.  Caius  Cassius 
Cibber,  father  of  Colley  Cibber  ; a sculptor  in  a 
small  way.  ‘ The  two  statues  of  the  lunatics 
over  the  gate  of  Bedlam  Hospital  were  done  by 
him,’  says  Pope,  ‘and  (as  the  son  justly  says 
of  them)  are  no  ill  monuments  of  his  fame  as  an 
artist.’ 

Line  40.  Lintot's  rubric  post.  Lintot,  accord- 
ing to  Pope,  ‘ usually  adorned  his  shop  with 
; titles  in  red  letters.’ 

Line  41.  Hence  hymning  Tyburn' s elegiac  lines. 
It  is  an  ancient  English  custom  for  the  Malefac- 
tors to  sing  a Psalm  at  their  execution  at  Ty- 
burn ; and  no  less  customary  to  print  Elegies 
on  their  deaths,  at  the  same  time,  or  before. 
(Pope.) 

Line  42.  Magazines.  The  common  name  of 


those  upstart  collections  in  prose  and  verse,  in 
which,  at  some  times,  — 

‘ New  born  nonsense  first  is  taught  to  cry ; ’ 

at  others,  dead-born  Scandal  has  its  monthly 
funeral,  where  Dulness  assumes  all  the  various 
shapes  of  Folly  to  draw  in  and  cajole  the  Rab- 
ble. The  eruption  of  every  miserable  Scrib- 
bler ; the  scum  of  every  dirty  News-paper ; or 
Fragments  of  Fragments,  picked  up  from  every 
Dunghill,  under  the  title  of  Papers , Essays , Re- 
flections, Confutations,  Queries , Verses , Songs, 
Epigrams,  Riddles , etc.,  equally  the  disgrace  of 
human  Wit,  Morality,  Decency,  and  Common 
Sense.  (Pope  and  Warburton.) 

Line  44.  New-year  Odes.  Made  by  the  Poet 
Laureate  for  the  time  being,  to  be  sung  at  Court 
on  every  New-year’s  day,  the  words  of  which 
are  happily  drowned  in  the  voices  and  instru- 
ments. (Pope.) 

Line  57.  Jacob.  Jacob  Tonson. 

Line  63.  Clenches.  Puns.  Pope  has  a long 
note  citing  a punning  passage  from  Dennis 
aimed  at  himself. 

Line  86.  In  the  former  Editions,  — 

* ’T  was  on  the  day  when  Thorold,  rich  and  grave.’ 

Sir  George  Thorold,  Lord  Mayor  of  London 
in  the  year  1720.  The  Procession  of  a Lord 
Mayor  is  made  partly  by  land,  and  partly  by 
water.  — Cimon,  the  famous  Athenian  General, 
obtained  a victory  by  sea,  and  another  by  land, 
on  the  same  day,  over  the  Persians  and  Barba- 
rians. (Pope.) 

Line  98.  Heywood.  John  Heywood,  whose 
interludes  were  printed  in  the  time  of  Henry 
VIII.  (Pope.) 

Line  103.  Prynne,  William,  sentenced  in 
1633  to  a fine,  the  pillory,  and  imprisonment  for 
his  Histriomastix.  Defoe  was  similarly  pun- 
ished for  his  Shortest  Way  with  the  Dissenters. 

Line  103.  Daniel.  Daniel  Defoe. 

Line  104.  Eusden.  Laurence  Eusden,  Poet 
Laureate  before  Cibber. 

Line  108.  Bayes's.  The  name  of  Theobald 
(Tibbald)  stood  here  originally.  This  of  course 
stands  for  Cibber. 

Line  126.  Sooterkins.  False  births.  (Ward.) 

Line  134.  Hapless  Shakespear , etc.  It  is  not 
to  be  doubted  but  Bays  was  a subscriber  to  Tib- 
bald’s  Shakespear.  He  was  frequently  liberal 
this  way ; and,  as  he  tells  us,  ‘ subscribed  to 
Mr.  Pope’s  Homer,  out  of  pure  Generosity  and 
Civility  ; but  when  Mr.  Pope  did  so  to  his  Non- 
juror, he  concluded  it  could  be  nothing  but  a 
joke.’  Letter  to  Mr.  P.,  p.  24. 

This  Tibbald,  or  Theobald,  published  an  edi- 
tion of  Shakespear,  of  which  he  was  so  proud 
himself  as  to  say,  in  one  of  Mist’s  Journals, 
June  8, ‘That  to  expose  any  Errors  in  it  was 
impracticable.’  And  in  another,  April  27, 
‘ That  whatever  care  might  for  the  future  be 
taken  by  any  other  Editor,  he  would  still  give 
above  five  hundred  emendations,  that  shall  es- 
cape them  all.’  (Pope.) 

Line  141.  Ogilby.  Originally  dancing  master, 


662 


APPENDIX 


Pages  227  to  232 


then  poet  and  printer.  Author  of  a great  many 
hooks  which  Pope  ridicules  in  a note. 

Line  142.  Newcastle.  The  Duchess  of  New- 
castle, one  of  the  most  copious  of  seventeenth- 
century  writers. 

Line  146.  Worthy  Settle,  Banks,  and  Broome. 
The  Poet  has  mentioned  these  three  authors  in 
particular,  as  they  are  parallel  to  our  Hero  in 
three  capacities : 1.  Settle  was  his  brother  Lau- 
reate ; only  indeed  upon  half-pay,  for  the  City 
instead  of  the  Court  ; but  equally  famous  for 
unintelligible  flights  in  his  poems  on  public 
occasions,  such  as  Shows,  Birth-days,  etc.  2. 
Banks  was  his  Rival  in  Tragedy  (tho’  more  suc- 
cessful) in  one  of  his  Tragedies,  .the  Earl  of 
Essex,  which  is  yet  alive:  Anna  Boleyn , the 
Queen  of  Scots,  and  Cyrus  the  Great  are  dead 
and  gone.  These  he  drest  in  a sort  of  Beggar's 
Velvet,  or  a happy  Mixture  of  the  thick  Fustian 
and  thin  Prosaic  ; exactly  imitated  in  Perolla 
and  Is  id  ora,  Ccesar  in  Egypt , and  the  Heroic 
Daughter.  3.  Broome  was  a serving-man  of 
Ben  Jonson,  who  once  picked  up  a Comedy  from 
his  Betters,  or  from  some  cast  scenes  of  his 
Master,  not  entirely  contemptible.  (Pope.) 

Line  153.  De  Lyra.  Or  Harpsfield,  a very 
voluminous  commentator,  whose  works,  in  five 
vast  folios,  were  printed  in  1472.  (Pope.) 

Line  154.  Philemon.  Philemon  Holland, 
Doctor  in  Physic.  4 He  translated  so  many 
books  that  a man  would  think  he  had  done 
nothing  else.’  Winstanley . (Pope.) 

Lines  180, 181.  As,  forced  from  wind-guns,  etc. 
Adapted  from  lines  17,  18  of  the  early  verses, 
To  the  Author  of  Successio. 

Line  207.  Ridpath — Mist.  George  Ridpath, 
author  of  a Whig  paper,  called  the  Flying-post ; 
Nathaniel  Mist,  of  a famous  Tory  Journal. 
(Pope.) 

Line  214.  Gazetteers . A band  of  ministerial 
writers,  hired  at  the  price  mentioned  in  the  note 
on  Book  II.  ver.  316,  who,  on  the  very  day  their 
patron  quitted  his  post,  laid  down  their  paper, 
and  declared  they  would  never  more  meddle  in 
Politics.  (Pope.) 

Line  215.  Ralph.  James  Ralph.  See  III. 
163  below. 

Line  221.  Hockley-hole.  See  Imitations  of 
Horace,  Book  III.  Sat.  i.  49,  and  note. 

Line  232.  Ward.  Edward  Ward. 

Lines  249-255.  The  works  referred  to  here  are 
Colley  Cibber’s. 

Line  257.  _ Thult.  A fragmentary  poem  by 
Ambrose  Philips, 

Line  289.  A heideggre.  A strange  bird  from 
Switzerland,  and  not  (as  some  have  supposed) 
the  name  of  an  eminent  person.  (Pope.)  The 
allusion  is  of  course  to  the  4 eminent  person,’ 
the  German  Heidegger,  who  managed  English 
opera. 

Line  296.  Withers.  4 George  Withers  was  a 
great  pretender  to  poetical  zeal  against  the  vices 
of  the  times,  and  abused  the  greatest  personages 
in  power,  which  brought  upon  him  frequent  cor- 
rection. The  Marshalsea  and  Newgate  were  no 
strangers  to  him.’  Winstanley.  (Pope.) 

Gildon.  Charles  Gildon,  a writer  of  criti- 


cisms and  libels  of  the  last  age,  bred  at 
!5t.  Omer’s  with  the  Jesuits  ; but  renouncing 
popery,  he  published  Blount’s  books  against 
the  divinity  of  Christ,  the  Oracles  of  Reason, 
etc.  He  signalized  himself  as  a critic,  having 
written  some  very  bad  Plays  ; abused  Mr.  P. 
very  scandalously  in  an  anonymous  pamphlet 
of  the  Life  of  Mr.  Wycherley,  printed  by  Curll ; 
in  another  called  the  New  Rehearsal,  printed  in 
1714 ; in  a third,  entitled  the  Complete  Art  of 
English  Poetry,  in  two  volumes ; and  others. 
(Pope.)  See  note  to  Epistle  to  Arbuthnot,  line 
151.. 

Line  297.  Howard.  Hon.  Edward  Howard, 
author  of  the  British  Princes,  and  a great  num- 
ber of  wonderful  pieces,  celebrated  by  the  late 
Earls  of  Dorset  and  Rochester,  Duke  of  Buck- 
ingham, Mr.  Waller,  etc.  (Pope.) 

Line  300.  Under  Archer' s Wing.  Undercover 
of  a special  license  given  to  a member  of  the 
king’s  household,  a gambling  establishment  was 
conducted  in  the  royal  palace. 

Line  323.  Needham.  Mother  Needham,  a 
notorious  procuress. 

Line  325.  The  Devil.  The  Devil  Tavern  in 
Fleet  Street,  where  these  Odes  are  usually  re- 
hearsed before  they  are  performed  at  court. 

Page  230.  Book  II. 

Line  2.  Henley's  gilt  tub.  The  pulpit  of  a 
Dissenter  is  usually  called  a Tub  ; but  that  of 
Mr.  Orator  Henley  was  covered  with  velvet,  and 
adorned  with  gold.  He  had  also  a fair  altar, 
and  over  it  this  extraordinary  inscription,  The 
Primitive  Eucharist.  See  the  history  of  this 
person,  Book  III.  ver.  199.  (Pope.) 

Or  Fleckno's  Irish  throne.  Richard  Fleckno 
was  an  Irish  priest,  but  had  laid  aside  (as  him- 
self expressed  it)  the  mechanic  part  of  priest- 
hood. He  printed  some  plays,  poems,  letters, 
and  travels.  I doubt  not  our  Author  took  oc- 
casion  to  mention  him  in  respect  to  the  poem  of 
Mr.  Dryden,  to  which  this  bears  some  resem- 
blance, though  of  a character  more  different 
from  it  than  that  of  the  ^Eneid  from  the  Iliad, 
or  the  Lutrin  of  Boileau  from  the  Dlfait  de 
Bouts  Rimees  of  Sarazin.  (Pope.) 

Line  3.  Or  that  whereon  her  Curlls,  etc.  An 
allusion  to  an  experience  of  Edmund  Curll’s  in 
the  pillory. 

Line  15.  Querno.  Camillo  Querno,  a would-be 
poet  of  Apulia,  introduced  as  a buffoon  to  Leo 
X.  and  given  in  return  for  his  verses  a mock 
coronation. 

Line  68.  Jacob.  Jacob  Lintot. 

Line  70.  Corinna.  Supposed  to  refer  to  Mrs. 
Elizabeth  Thomas,  whom  Pope  accuses  of  hav- 
ing sold  some  private  correspondence  of  his  to 
Curll. 

Line  82.  The  Bible,  Curll’s  sign  ; the  cross- 
keys, Lintot’s.  (Pope.) 

Line  93.  Cloacina.  The  Roman  Goddess  of 
the  sewers.  (Pope.) 

Line  125.  Mears , Warner , Wilkins.  Book- 
sellers, and  printers  of  much  anonymous  stuff. 
(Pope.) 

Line  126.  Breval.  Bond , Bezaleel  [Bezaleoi 
Morris],  Three  small  authors  of  the  day. 


’ages  232  to  237 


NOTES  AND  ILLUSTRATIONS 


663 


Line  138.  Cook  shall  be  Prior . The  man 
iere  specified  writ  a thing  called  The  Battle  of 
3oets,  in  which  Philips  and  Welsted  were  the 
Heroes,  and  Swift  and  Pope  utterly  routed.  He 
ilso  published  some  malevolent  things  in  the 
British,  London,  and  Daily  Journals ; and  at 
the  same  time  wrote  letters  to  Mr.  Pope,  pro- 
testing his  innocence.  His  chief  work  was  a 
;ranslation  of  Hesiod,  to  which  Theobald  writ 
votes  and  half  notes,  which  he  carefully  owned. 
•'Pope.) 

Concanen.  See  note  to  line  299  below. 

. Lines  149,  150.  Tutchin  — Ridpath,  Roper. 
London  editors  of  The  Observator , The  Flying 
Post , and  The  Post-boy , whom  Pope,  in  long 
votes,  accuses  of  scandalous  practices. 

Line  157.  Eliza.  Eliza  Hagwood,  authoress 
}f  those  most  scandalous  books  called  The  Court 
yf  Carimania,  and  The  New  Utopia.  (Pope.) 

Line  1(30.  Kirkall.  The  name  of  an  Engraver. 
Some  of  this  lady’s  works  were  printed  . . . 
with  her  picture  thus  dressed  up  before  them. 
(Pope.) 

Line  205.  Bentley  his  mouth , etc.  Not  spoken 
Df  the  famous  Dr.  Richard  Bentley,  but  of  one 
Tho.  Bentley,  a small  critic,  who  aped  his  uncle 
in  a little  Horace.  (Pope.) 

Line  220.  Thunder  rumbling  from  the  mustard 
bowl.  The  old  way  of  making  Thunder  and 
Mustard  were  the  same  ; but  since,  it  is  more 
advantageously  performed  by  troughs  of  wood 
with  stops  in  them.  (Pope.) 

Line  270.  (As  morning  prayer  and  flagellation 
end.)  It  is  between  eleven  and  twelve  in  the 
morning,  after  church  service,  that  the  crimi- 
nals are  whipt  in  Bridewell.  — This  is  to  mark 
punctually  the  time  of  the  day : Homer  does  it 
by  the  circumstance  of  the  Judges  rising  from 
court,  or  of  the  Labourer’s  dinner ; our  author 
by  one  very  proper  both  to  the  Persons  and  the 
Scene  of  his  poem,  which  we  may  remember 
commenced  in  the  evening  of  the  Lord-mayor’s 
day : The  first  book  passed  in  that  night ; the 
next  morning  the  games  begin  in  the  Strand, 
thence  along  Fleet-street  (places  inhabited  by 
Booksellers)  ; then  they  proceed  by  Bridewell 
toward  Fleet-ditch,  and  lastly  thro’  Ludgate 
to  the  City  and  the  Temple  of  the  Goddess. 
(Pope.) 

Line  291.  Smedley.  Jonathan,  editor  of  the 
Whitehall  Journal , and  author  of  an  attack  on 
Pope  and  Swift  called  Gulliveriana  and  Alex- 
I andriana. 

Line  299.  Concanen.  Matthew  Concanen,  an 
Irishman,  bred  to  the  law.  He  was  author  of 
•several  dull  and  dead  scurrilities  in  the  British 
and  London  Journals,  and  in  a paper  called  the 
Speculatist.  In  a pamphlet,  called  a Supple- 
ment to  the  Profund,  he  dealt  very  unfairly 
with  our  Poet,  not  only  frequently  imputing  to 
him  Mr.  Broome’s  verses  (for  which  lie  might 
indeed  seem  in  some  degree  accountable,  having 
icorrected  what  that  gentleman  did)  but  those 
of  the  duke  of  Buckingham  and  others.  To 
this  rare  piece  somebody  humorously  caused 
him  to  take  for  his  motto,  De  profundis  clamayi. 
He  was  since  a hired  scribbler  in  the  Daily 


Courant,  where  he  poured  forth  much  Billings- 
gate against  the  lord  Bolingbroke,  and  others  ; 
after  which  this  man  was  surprisingly  promoted 
to  administer  Justice  and  Law  in  Jamaica. 

^Lrae  400.  ‘ Christ's  no  kingdom  here.'  This 

alludes  to  a series  of  sermons  preached  by  Bishop 
Hoadley  before  George  I. 

Line  411.  Centlivre.  Mrs.  Susanna  Centlivre, 
wife  to  Mr.  Centlivre,  Yeoman  of  the  Mouth  to 
his  Majesty.  She  writ  many  Plays,  and  a Song 
(says  Mr.  Jacob)  before  she  was  seven  years  old. 
She  also  writ  a Ballad  against  Mr.  Pope’s  Ho- 
mer before  he  began  it.  (Pope.) 

Line  412.  Motteux.  Peter  Anthony  Motteux, 
the  excellent  translator  of  Don  Quixote,  and 
author  of  a number  of  forgotten  dramatic  pieces. 
Dryden  addressed  a complimentary  Epistle  to 
him.  He  died  in  1718.  (Carruthers.) 

Line  413.  Boyer  the  State , and  Law  the  Stage 
gave  o'er.  A.  Boyer,  a voluminous  compiler 
of  Annals,  Political  Collections,  &c.  William 
Law,  A.  M.  wrote  with  great  zeal  against  the 
Stage ; Mr.  Dennis  answered  with  as  great. 
Their  books  were  printed  in  1726.  (Pope.) 

Line  414.  Morgan.  A man  of  some  learning, 
and  uncommon  acuteness,  with  a strong  dispo- 
sition to  Satire,  which  very  often  degenerated 
into  scurrility.  His  most  celebrated  work  is  the 
Moral  Philosopher , first  published  in  the  year 
1737.  (Bowles.) 

Mandeville.  Bernard  de  Mandeville  was  born 
in  Holland,  in  1670,  and  after  residing  in  Eng- 
land during  the  latter  half  of  his  life,  died  in 
1733.  (Ward.) 

Line  415.  Norton,  from  Daniel , etc.  Norton 
De  Foe. 

Page  236.  Book  III. 

Line  19.  Taylor.  John  Taylor,  a Thames 
waterman  and  poet  under  Charles  I.  and  James 

I. 

Line  21.  Benlowes.  A country  gentleman, 
famous  for  his  own  bad  poetry,  and  for  patron- 
izing bad  poets,  as  may  be  seen  from  many  Dedi- 
cations of  Quarles  and  others  to  him.  _ Some  of 
these  anagram’d  his  name,  Benlowes  into  Bene- 
volus : to  verify  which  he  spent  his  whole  estate 
upon  them.  (Pope.) 

Line  22.  Shadwell  nods , the  poppy , etc. 
Shadwell  [hero  of  MaeFlecknoe]  took  opium 
for  many  years,  and  died  of  too  large  a dose,  in 
the  year  1692.  (Pope.) 

Line  24.  Mr.  Dennis  warmly  contends,  that 
Bavius  was  no  inconsiderable  author  ; nay,  that 
‘ He  and  Msevius  had  (even  in  Augustus’s  days) 
a very  formidable  party  at  Rome,  who  thought 
them  much  superior  to  Virgil  and  Horace  : for 
(saith  he)  I cannot  believe  they  would  have  fixed 
that  eternal  brand  upon  them,  if  they  had  not 
been  coxcombs  in  more  than  ordinary  credit.’ 
Rem . on  Pr.  Arthur,  part  II.  c.  1 . An  argument 
which,  if  this  poem  should  last,  will  conduce  to 
the  honour  of  the  gentlemen  of  The  Dunciad. 
(Pope.) 

Line  28.  Browne  and  Mears.  Booksellers, 
and  printers  for  anybody.  (Pope.) 

Line  34.  Ward  in  pillory.  John  Ward  of 


664 


APPENDIX 


Hackney,  Esq.,  member  of  Parliament,  being- 
convicted  of  forgery,  was  first  expelled  the 
House,  and  then  sentenced  to  the  pillory  on  the 
17th  of  February,  1727.  (Pope.) 

Line  90.  The  soil  that  arts  and  infant  letters 
bore.  Phoenicia,  Syria,  etc.,  where  letters  are 
said  to  have  been  invented.  In  these  countries 
Mahomet  began  his  conquests.  (Pope.) 

Line  104.  Bacon,  linger  Bacon. 

Line  150.  Jacob,  the scour ye  of  grammar . Giles 
Jacob,  author  of  a Lives  of  the  Poets , in  which 
sufficiently  obscure  book  he  had  abused  Gay. 

Lines  152, 153.  Popple , Horneck , and  Roome. 
London  journalists  and  pamphleteers  who  had 
offended  Pope. 

Line  154.  Goode.  An  ill-natured  critic,  who 
writ  a satire  on  our  author,  called  The  Mock 
AEsop , and  many  anonymous  libels  in  newspa- 
pers for  hire.  (Pope.) 

Line  165.  Ralph.  James  Ralph. 

Line  168.  Morris.  Bezaleel  Morris.  See 
Book  II.  126. 

199.  Henley  stands , etc.  J.  Henley  the  Ora- 
tor ; he  preached  on  the  Sundays  upon  Theolo- 
gical matters,  and  on  the  Wednesdays  upon  all 
other  sciences.  Each  auditor  paid  one  shilling. 
He  declaimed  some  years  against  the  greatest 
persons,  and  occasionally  did  our  Author  that 
honour.  After  having  stood  some  Prosecutions, 
he  turned  his  rhetoric  to  buffoonery  upon  all 
publick  and  private  occurrences.  This  man  had 
an  hundred  pounds  a year  given  him  for  the  se- 
cret service  of  a weekly  paper  of  unintelligible 
nonsense,  called  the  Hyp-Doctor.  (Pope.) 

Line  204.  Sherlock , Hare , and  Gibson.  Bish- 
ops of  Salisbury,  Chichester,  and  London ; 
whose  sermons  and  pastoral  letters  did  honour 
to  their  country  as  well  as  stations.  (Pope.) 

Line  212.  Woolston.  Thomas.  An  impious 
madman,  who  wrote  in  a most  insolent  style 
against  the  miracles  of  the  Gospel.  (Pope.) 

Line  232.  When  Goodman  prophesied.  One 
Goodman  had  prophesied  that  Cibber  would  be 
a good  actor,  and  Cibber  had  boasted  of  it. 

Line  233.  A sable  sorcerer.  Dr.  Faustus. 

Line  248.  One  vast  egg.  Pope  says  that  in  one 
of  the  absurd  farces  of  the  period,  Harlequin 
is  hatched  upon  the  stage  out  of  a large  egg. 

Line  282.  Annual  trophies , on  the  Lord 
Mayor’s  day  ; monthly  wars , in  the  artillery 
ground.  (Pope.) 

Line  305.  Polypheme.  A translation  of  the 
Italian  opera  Polifemo. 

Lines  308,  309.  Faustus  — Pluto.  Names  of 
miserable  farces  which  it  was  the  custom  to 
act  at  the  end  of  the  best  tragedies,  to  spoil  the 
digestion  of  the  audience.  (Pope.) 

Line  310.  The  Mourning  Bride.  By  Con- 
greve. 

Line  312.  Insure,  it  but  from  fire.  In  Tib- 
bald’s  farce  of  Proserpine,  a corn-field  was  set 
on  fire  : whereupon  the  other  play-house  had  a 
barn  burnt  down  for  the  recreation  of  the 
spectators.  They  also  rivalled  each  other  in 
sharing  the  burnings  of  hell-fire,  in  Dr.  Faustus. 
(Pope.) 

Line  313.  Another  AEschylus  appears.  It  is 


Pages  238  to  243 


reported  of  iEschylus  that  when  his  Tragedy 
of  the  Furies  was  acted,  the  audience  were  so 
terrified  that  the  children  fell  into  fits.  (Pope.) 

Line  315.  Like  Semele's.  See  Ovid,  Met. 
iii.  (Pope.) 

Line  325.  On  poets'1  tombs  see  Benson's 
titles  writ!  W— m Benson  (Surveyor  of  the 
Buildings  to  his  Majesty  King  George  I.)  gave 
in  a report  to  the  Lords,  that  their  House  and 
the  Painted-chamber  adjoining  were  in  imme- 
diate danger  of  falling.  Whereupon  the  Lords 
met  in  a committee  to  appoint  some  other  place 
to  sit,  in,  while  the  House  should  be  taken  down. 
But  it  being  proposed  to  cause  some  other 
builders  first  to  inspect  it,  they  found  it  in  very  < 
good  condition.  In  favour  of  this  man,  the 
famous  Sir  Christopher  Wren,  who  had  been 
Architect  to  the  Crown  for  above  fifty  years, 
who  built  most  of  the  churches  in  London,  laid 
the  first  stone  of  St.  Paul’s,  and  lived  to  finish 
it,  had  been  displaced  from  his  employment  at 
the  age  of  near  ninety  years.  (Pope.) 

Line  328.  While  Jones'  and  Boyle's  united  \ 
labours  fall.  At  the  time  when  this  poem  was 
written,  the  banqueting-house  at  Whitehall, 
the  church  and  piazza  of  Covent-garden,  and 
the  palace  and  chapel  of  Somerset-house,  the 
works  of  the  famous  Inigo  Jones,  had  been  for 
many  years  so  neglected,  as  to  be  in  danger  of 
ruin.  The  portico  of  Covent-garden  church 
had  been  just  then  restored  and  beautified  at  the 
expense  of  the  earl  of  Burlington  and  [Richard 
Boyle]  ; who,  at  the  same  time,  by  his  publica- 
tion of  the  designs  of  that  great  Master  and 
Palladio,  as  well  as  by  many  noble  buildings  of 
his  own,  revived  the  true  taste  of  Architecture 
in  this  kingdom.  (Pope.) 

Page  242.  Book  IV.  This  Book  may  pro- 
perly be  distinguished  from  the  former,  by  the 
name  of  the  Greater  Dunciad,  not  so  indeed 
in  size,  but  in  subject ; and  so  far  contrary  to 
the  distinction  anciently  made  of  the  Greater 
and  Lesser.  Iliad..  But  much  are  they  mistaken 
who  imagine  this  work  in  any  wise  inferior  to 
the  former,  or  of  any  other  hand  than  of  our 
Poet ; of  which  I am  much  more  certain  than 
that  the  Iliad  itself  was  the  work  of  Solomon , 
or  the  Batrachomuomachia  of  Homer , as  Barnes 
hath  affirmed.  1 Bentley.’  (Pope.) 

Line  15.  A new  world.  In  allusion  to  the 
Epicurean  opinion,  that  from  the  Dissolution 
of  the  natural  World  into  Night  and  Chaos  a 
new.  one  should  arise  ; this  the  Poet  alluding 
to,  in  the  Production  of  a new  moral  World, 
makes  it  partake  of  its  original  Principles. 
(Pope  and  Warburton.) 

Line  21.  Beneath  her  footstool , etc.  We  are 
next  presented  with  the  pictures  of  those  whom 
the  Goddess  leads  in  captivity.  Science  is  only 
depressed  and  confined  so  as  to  be  rendered  use- 
less ; but  Wit  or  Genius , as  a more  dangerous 
and  active  enemy,  punished,  or  driven  away: 
Dulness  being  often  reconciled  in  some  degree 
with  learning,  but  never  upon  any  terms  with 
wit.  And  accordingly  it  will  be  seen  that  she 
admits  something  like  each  Science,  as  Casuis- 
try, Sophistry,  etc.,  but  nothing  like  Wit,  Opera 


Pages  243  to  248 


NOTES  AND  ILLUSTRATIONS 


665 


alone  supplying  its  place.  (Pope  andWarbur- 

Line  30.  Gives  her  Page  the  word.  There  was 
a Judge  of  this  name,  always  ready  to  hang  any 
Man  that  came  before  him,  of  which  he  was 
Suffered  to  give  a hundred  miserable  examples 
[during  a long  life,  even  to  his  dotage.  (Pope 
fond  Warburton.) 

Line  31.  Mad  Mathesis.  Alluding  to  the 
.strange  Conclusions  some  Mathematicians  have 
deduced  from  their  principles,  concerning  the 
Ireal  Quantity  of  Matter , the  Reality  of  Space , 
.etc.  (Pope  and  Warburton.) 

Line  36.  Watch'd  both  by  envy's  and  by  fiat- 
fry's  eye.  One  of  the  misfortunes  falling  on 
Authors  from  the  act  for  subjecting  plays  to  the 
■power  of  a Licenser , being  the  false  representa- 
tions to  which  they  were  exposed,  from  such  as 
either  gratify’d  their  envy  to  merit,  or  made 
their  court  to  greatness,  by  perverting  general 
reflections  against  Vice  into  libels  on  particular 
Persons.  (Pope  and  Warburton.) 

Line  45.  A harlot  form.  Italian  Opera. 

Line  110.  Benson.  See  Book  III.  325  ante , 
and  note.  Benson  published  several  editions  of 
Arthur  Johnston’s  version  of  the  Psalms. 

Line  113.  The  decent  knight.  Sir  Thomas 
Hanmer,  who  in  1744  published  an  edition  of 
Shakespeare.  _. 

Line  131.  An  alderman  shall  sit.  Alluding  to 
the  monument  erected  for  Butler  by  Alderman 
Barber. 

Line  144.  Winton.  Winchester. 

Line  151.  The  Samian  letter . The  letter  Y, 
used  by  Pythagoras  as  an  emblem  of  the  differ- 
ent words  of  Virtue  and  Vice  : ‘ Et  tibi  quae 
Samios  diduxit  litera  ramos.’  Persius.  (Pope 
and  Warburton.) 

Line  106.  Yonder  house  or  hall.  Westmin- 
< ster  Hall  and  the  House  of  Commons.  (Pope.) 

Line  174.  That  masterpiece  of  man.  Viz.,  an 
epigram.  The  famous  Dr.  South  declared  a per- 
fect epigram  to  be  as  difficult  a performance 
as  an  Epic  poem.  And  the  critics  say,  ‘ An 
Epic  poem  is  the  greatest  work  human  nature 
is  capable  of.’  (Pope  and  Warburton.) 

! Line  194.  Tho'  Christ  Church , etc.  Warbur- 
ton gives  a note  for  which  Pope  is  doubtless  re- 
sponsible, accounting  for  the  bracketing  of  this 
line  on  the  score  of  its  probable  spuriousness, 
and  signing  the  name  ‘ Bentley.’ 

Line  196.  Still  expelling  Locke.  In  the  year 
f 1703  there  was  a meeting  of  the  heads  of  the 
University  of  Oxford  to  censure  Mr.  Locke’s 
Essay  on  Human  Understanding , and  to  forbid 
the  reading  it.  See  his  Letters  in  the  last  Edit. 
(Pope.)  But  he  was  never  expelled,  only  de- 
prived of  his  studentship  at  Christ-Church  ; and 
this  on  the  ground  of  political  suspicions,  before 
■ he  had  written  his  great  Essay.  (Ward.) 

Line  19^.  Crousaz  — Burgersdyck.  According 
to  Dugald  Stewart,  Pope  was  in  error  in  placing 
Crousaz,  whose  philosophy  was  founded  upon 
the  method  of  Locke,  with  Burgersdyck,  an 
Aristotelian. 

Line  199.  The  streams.  The  river  Cam,  run- 
ning by  the  walls  of  these  Colleges,  which  are 


particularly  famous  for  their  skill  in  Disputa- 
tion. (Pope  and  Warburton.) 

Line  202.  Sleeps  in  port.  Viz.  ‘ now  retired 
into  harbour,  after  the  tempests  that  had  long 
agitated  his  society.’  So  Scriblerus.  But 
the  learned  Scipio  Maffei  understands  it  of  a 
certain  wine  called  Port , from  Oporto , a city  of 
Portugal,  of  which  this  Professor  invited  him 
to  drink  abundantly.  Scip.  Maff.  Be  Compo- 
tationibus  Academicis.  (Pope  and  Warburton.) 

Line  206.  Walker.  John  Walker,  Vice-Mas- 
ter of  Trinity  College,  Cambridge,  while  Bent- 
ley was  Master.  (Carruthers.) 

'Line  212.  This  refers  to  Bentley’s  editions 
of  Horace  and  Paradise  Lost. 

Line  218.  Stands  our  Bigamma.  Alludes  to 
the  boasted  restoration  of  the  yEolic  Digamma, 
in  his  [Bentley’s]  long  projected  edition  of  Ho- 

mLine  220.  Me  or  te.  Whether  at  the  end  of 
the  first  Ode  of  Horace,  the  reading  would  be, 
Me  doctarum  hederae , or  Te  doctarum  hederae. 

Line  223.  Friend  — Alsop.  Dr.  Robert 
Friend,  master  of  Westminster  School ; Dr. 
Anthony  Alsop,  a happy  imitator  of  the  Hora- 
tian  style.  (Pope  and  Warburton.) 

Line  237.  Kuster , Burman,  Wasse.  Three 
contemporary  German  scholars  and  editors  of 
merit. 

Lines  245-246.  Barrow  — Atterbury.  Isaac 
Barrow,  Master  of  Trinity  ; Francis  Atterbury, 
Dean  of  Christ  Church,  both  great  geniuses 
and  eloquent  preachers.  (Pope  and  Warburton.) 

Line  326.  Jansen , Fleetwood , Cibber.  Three 
very  eminent  persons,  all  Managers  of  Plays’, 
who,  tho’  not  Governors  by  profession,  had, 
each  in  his  way,  concerned  themselves  in  the 
education  of  youth  : and  regulated  their  wits, 
their  morals,  or  their  finances,  at  that  period  of 
their  age  which  is  the  most  important,  their 
entrance  into  the  polite  world.  Of  the  last  of 
these,  and  his  Talents  for  this  end,  see  Book  I. 
ver.  199,  &c.  (Pope  and  Warburton.)  Fleet- 
wood  was  patentee  of  Drury-Lane  Theatre  from 
1734  to  1745  ; it  was  the  attempted  secession  of 
his  actors  in  1743  which  gave  rise  to  the  famous 
quarrel  of  Macklin  with  Garrick.  (Ward.) 

Line  371.  Mummius.  This  name  is  not  merely 
an  allusion  to  the  Mummies  he  was  so  fond  of, 
but  probably  referred  to  the  Roman  General  of 
that  name,  who  burned  Corinth,  and  committed 
the  curious  Statues  to  the  captain  of  a ship, 
assuring  him,  1 that  if  any  were  lost  or  broken, 
he  should  procure  others  to  be  made  in  their 
stead  : ’ by  which  it  should  seem  (whatever  may 
be  pretended)  that  Mummius  was  no  Virtuoso. 
(Pope  and  Warburton.) 

Line  394.  Bouglas.  A Physician  of  great 
Learning  and  no  less  Taste  ; above  all  curious  in 
what  related  to  Horace , of  whom  he  collected 
every  edition,  translation,  and  comment,  to  the 
number  of  several  hundred  volumes.  (Pope  and 
Warburton.) 

Line  492.  Silenus.  By  Silenus,  says  Wart.on, 
Pope  means  1 Thomas  Gordon,  the  translator  of 
Tacitus,  who  published  the  Independent  W^hig, 
1 and  obtained  a place  under  government.’ 


APPENDIX 


666 


Line  511.  K[ent ] and  B **.  K*  probably 
stands  for  the  Duke  of  Kent ; but  the  next  name 
is  doubtful  from  the  wide  choice  possible. 

Line  512.  Wharton..  Philip,  Duke  of  Whar- 
ton. 

Line  545.  Considerable  doubt  attaches  to  the 
names  here  hinted  at ; though  four  of  them  may 
be  Carteret,  Hervey,  Pulteney,  and  King. 

Line  556.  Seve  and  verdeur.  French  terms 
relating  to  wines,  which  signify  their  flavour 
and  poignancy  (Pope.) 

Line  560.  Bladen— Hays.  Names  of  Game- 
sters. Bladen  is  a black  man.  Robert  Knight, 
Cashier  of  the  South-Sea  Company,  who  fled 
from  England  in  1720  (afterwards  pardoned  in 
1742).  These  lived  with  the  utmost  magnifi- 
cence at  Paris,  and  kept  open  Tables  frequented 
by  persons  of  the  first  Quality  of  England,  and 
even  by  Princes  of  the  Blood  of  France,  (Pope 
and  Warburton.) 

Line  576.  A Gregorian , one  a Gormogon.  A 
sort  of  Lay-brothers,  Slips  from  the  Root  of  the 
Free-Masons.  (Pope  and  Warburton.)  ‘ Grego- 
rians’  are  mentioned  as  ‘ a convivial  sect,’  and 
‘ a kind  of  Masons,  but  without  their  sign,’  in 
Crabbe’s  Borough , Letter  x.  (Ward.) 

Line  578.  Pope  refused  this  degree  when 
offered  to  him  on  a visit  undertaken  to  Oxford 
with  Warburton,  because  the  University  would 
not  confer  the  degree  of  D.  D.  upon  Warburton, 
to  whom  some  of  its  members  had  proposed  it. 
(Roscoe.) 

Line  608.  Gilbert.  Archbishop  of  York. 

Line  629.  She  comes  ! she  comes  ! etc.  Here 
the  Muse,  like  Jove’s  Eagle,  after  a sudden 
stoop  at  ignoble  game,  soareth  again  to  the 
skies.  As  Prophecy  hath  ever  been  one  of  the 
chief  provinces  of  Poesy,  our  Poet  here  foretells 
from  what  we  feel,  what  we  are  to  fear  ; and, 
in  the  style  of  other  prophets,  hath  used  the 
future  tense  for  the  preterite : since  what  he 
says  shall  be,  is  already  to  be  seen,  in  the  wait- 
ings of  some  even  of  our  most  adored  authors, 
in  Divinity,  Philosophy,  Physics,  Metaphysics, 
&c.  who  are  too  good  indeed  to  be  named  in 
such  company.  (Pope.) 


BIBLIOGRAPHICAL  NOTE 

Mention  is  made  in  this  list  merely  of  the 
collected  editions  of  Pope’s  poems  which  were 
published  during  his  life,  and  of  the  best  edi- 
tions which  have  been  published  since. 

1.  The  W orks  of  Mr . Alexander  Pope.  Lon- 
don : Printed  by  W.  Bowyer  for  Bernard  Lin- 
tot,  between  the  Temple  Gates,  1717.  Quarto 


Pages  249,  250 


and  folio.  (Containing  all  the  acknowledged 
poems  which  Pope  had  hitherto  published,  and 
some  new  ones.) 

2.  Same  title.  Vol.  II.  London  : Printed 
by  J.  Wright  for  Lawton  Gilliver,  at  Homer’s 
Head  in  Fleet  Street,  1735.  Quarto  and  folio. 
(Containing  poems  published  by  Pope  after 
1717.) 

3.  The  Works  of  Mr.  Alexander  Pope  in 
Prose.  Letters  of  Mr.  Alexander  Pope  and 
Several  of  his  Friends.  London:  Knapton, 
Gilliver,  Brindley  and  Dodsley,  1737.  (The  first 
avowed  edition  of  his  letters.) 

4.  Same  title.  Vol.  II.  London : Dodsley, 
1741.  (Containing  correspondence  with  Swift, 
Memoirs  of  Scriblerus,  papers  from  The  Guar- 
dian, etc.) 

5.  The  Works  of  Alexander  Pope , Esq.  In 
Nine  Volumes  complete.  With  his  last  correc- 
tions, additions,  and  improvements,  as  they 
were  delivered  to  the  editor  a little  before  his 
death  ; together  with  the  Commentaries  and 
Notes  of  Mr.  Warburton.  London  : Knapton, 
Lintot,  Tonson,  and  Draper,  1751.  Octavo. 

6.  The  Works  of  Alexander  Pope , Esq.,  in 
Nine  Volumes  Complete,  with  a Memoir  of  the 
Author,  and  with  Notes  and  Illustrations  by 
Joseph  Warton,  D.D.,  and  others.  London  : 
1797. 

7.  The  Works  of  Alexander  Pope , Esq.  in 
Prose  and  Verse , containing  the  principal  Notes 
of  Drs.  Warburton  and  Warton,  Illustrations 
and  Critical  and  Explanatory  Remarks  by 
Johnson,  Wakefield,  A.  Chalmers,  and  others. 
To  which  are  added,  now  first  published,  some 
original  Letters,  additional  Observations,  and 
Memoirs  of  the  Life  of  the  Author,  by  the  Rev. 
William  Lisle  Bowles.  London:  1806.  Octavo, 
10  vols. 

(This  edition  led  to  some  controversy  between 
Bowles  and  Lord  Byron.) 

8.  The  Works  of  Alexander  Pope,  Esq.  With 
Notes  and  Illustrations  by  himself  and  others  : 
to  which  are  added  a New  Life  of  the  Author, 
an  Estimate  of  bis  poetical  Character  and  Writ- 
ings, and  occasional  Remarks.  By  William 
Roscoe.  London:  1824.  Octavo,  10  vols. 

9.  Poetical  Works.  With  extracts  from  his 
Correspondence,  and  Memoir  by  Robert 
Carruthers.  London  : 1858.  Octavo,  2 vols. 

10.  The  Works  of  Alexander  Pope.  New 
Edition.  Including  unpublished  letters,  and 
other  new  materials.  Collected  in  part  by  J. 
W.  Croker.  With  Introduction  and  Notes  by 
Whitwell  Elwin,  and  by  W.  J.  Courthope. 
London  : Murray,  1871-1889.  Octavo,  10  vols. 
(This  is  now  the  standard  edition  of  Pope.) 


INDEX  OF  FIRST  FINES 


A Bisliop,  by  his  neighbors  hated,  119. 

A gold  watch  found  on  cinder  whore,  132. 

A pleasing  Form,  a firm,  yet  cautious  Mind, 
133. 

A shepherd’s  boy  (he  seeks  no  better  name),  23. 

A soul  as  full  of  worth  as  void  of  Pride,  115. 

1 A Wood  ! ’ quoth  Lewis,  and  with  that,  102.  i 

Achilles’  wrath,  to  Greece  the  direful  spring  1 
261. 

Again  ? new  tumults  in  my  breast  ? 217 

Ah,  friend!  ’tis  true  — this  truth  .you  lovers 
I know,  11(5. 

All  hail,  once  pleasing,  once  inspiring  shade. 
130. 

All  night  the  Chiefs  before  th^ir  vessels  iay, 
364. 

And  now  Olympus’  shining  gates  unfold,  295. 

And  now  to  Xanthus’  gliding  stream  they 
drove,  486. 

And  Pallas  now.  to  ..aise  the  rivals’  fires,  612. 

As  some  fond  virgin,  whom  her  mother’s  care, 

102. 

As  when  that  hero,  who  in  each  campaign,  12;>. 

At  length,  my  Friend  (while  Time,  with  still 
career,  104. 

At  length  we  reach’d  iEolia’s  sea-girt  shore, 
568. 

Aurora  now,  fair  Daughter  of  the  Dawn,  341. 

Authors  are  judged  by  strange  capricious  rules, 
108. 

Authors  the  world  and  their  dull  brains  have 
traced,  131. 

Awake,  my  St.  John ! leave  all  meaner  things, 

( 138. 

1 Begone,  ye  Critics,  and  restrain  your  spite,  2. 

Behold  ! ambitious  of  the  British  bays,  133. 

Behold  the  woes  of  matrimonial  life,  46. 

] Beneath  the  shade  a spreading  beech  displays, 
24. 

But  anxious  cares  the  pensive  nymph  opprest, 

' 95‘ 

But  he,  deep-musing,  o’er  the  mountains  stray  d, 

I 585. 

» But  in  her  temple’s  last  recess  inclosed,  237. 

But  nor  the  genial  feast,  nor  flowing  bowl,  412. 

But  Pallas  now  Tydides’  soul  inspires,  306. 

Celia,  we  know,  is  sixty-five,  125. 

Close  by  those  meads,  for  ever  crown’d  with 
flowers,  92. 

Close  to  the  best  known  author  Umbra  sits, 
119. 

Come,  fill  the  South  Sea  goblet  full,  115. 

Come,  gentle  air ! th’  iEolian  shepherd  said, 
16. 

Cyllenius  now  to  Pluto’s  dreary  reign,  626. 


Dear  Colonel.  Cobham’s  and  your  country’s 
friend.  197 

Dear  damn’d,  distracting  town,  farewell ! 103. 
Descend  ye  Nine,  descend  and  sing,  78. 

Did  Milton’s  prose,  O Charles,  thy  death  de- 


fend ? 132. 

Dorset,  the  Grace  of  Courts,  the  Muses’  Pride, 


133. 


Fain  would  my  Muse  the  flowery  treasures 
sing,  16. 

Fair  Charmer,  cease  ! nor  make  your  voice  & 
prize.  16. 

Father  of  all ! in  ev’ry  age,  175. 

Pew  words  are  best ; I wish  you  well,  116. 

First  in  these  fields  I try  the  sylvan  strains,  21. 

Flutt’ring  spread  thy  purple  Pinions,  126. 

Fraternal  rage,  the  guilty  Thebes’  alarms,  3. 

Goddess  of  woods,  tremendous  in  the  chase, 
109. 

Go  ! fair  example  of  untainted  youth,  134. 

Great  G [eorge],  such  servants  since  thou  well 
canst  lack,  133. 

Grown  old  in  rhyme,  ’t  were  barb’rous  to  dis- 
card, 107. 

Happy  the  man  whose  wish  and  care,  1. 

He  ceas’d;  but  left  so  pleasing  on  their  ear, 
578. 

Here  lies  Lord  Coning sby  — be  civil ! 121. 

Here  lies  what  had  nor  birth,  nor  shape,  nor 
fame,  132. 

Here  rests  a Woman,  good  without  pretence, 
134. 

Here,  shunning  idleness  at  once  and  praise,  131. 

Here,  stopt  by  hasty  Death,  Alexis  lies,  104. 

Here  then  we  rest : — ‘ The  Universal  Cause,’ 
146. 

Here,  Withers ! rest  ; thou  bravest,  gentlest 
mind,  135. 

Heroes  and  Kings  ! your  distance  keep,  136. 

High  on  a gorgeous  seat,  that  far  outshone,  230. 

How  much,  egregious  Moore  ! are  we,  119. 

I am  his  Highness’  dog  at  Kew,  131. 

I know  the  thing  that ’s  most  uncommon,  118. 

I ’ve  often  wish’d  that  I had  clear,  214. 

I was  brought  from  Chelsea  last  year,  127. 

If  modest  Youth,  with  cool  Reflection  crown  d, 
136. 

In  amaze,  121. 

In  beauty,  or  wit,  109. 

In  every  Town  where  Thamis  rolls  his  tyde,  15. 

In  that  soft  season,  when  descending  showers, 
52. 

In  these  deep  solitudes  and  awful  cells,  110. 


668 


INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES 


In  these  gay  thoughts  the  Loves  and  Graces 
shine,  80. 

In  vain  you  boast  poetic  names  of  yore,  83. 
Jonathan  Swift,  13C 

Kneller,  by  Heav’n,  and  not  a master,  taught, 
134. 

Know  then  thyself,  presume  not  God  to  scan, 
142. 


See  the  wild  waste  of  all-devouring  years  ! 174. 
She  said,  and  for  her  lost  Galanthis  sighs,  G3. 
She  said : the  pitying  audience  melt  in  tears,  79. 
Should  D(enni)s  print,  how  once  you  robb’d 
your  brother,  132. 

‘ Shut,  shut  the  door,  good  John ! ’ fatigued,  I 
said,  170. 

Silence  ! coeval  with  Eternity,  17. 

Since  my  old  friend  has  grown  so  great,  115. 

So  bright  is  thy  beauty,  so  charming  thy  song, 


Learn  then  what  morals  Critics  ought  to  show, 
75. 

Lest  you  should  think  that  verse  shall  die, 


Muse,  ’t  is  enough,  at  length  thy  labour  ends, 
103. 

My  Lord  complains  that  Pope,  stark  mad  with 
gardens,  128. 

Nature  and  Nature’s  laws  lay  hid  in  Night, 
135. 

No  ^pleasing  sleep  had  seal’d  each  mortal  eye, 


So  spoke  the  Guardian  of  the  Trojan  state,  332. 

So  warr’d  both  armies  on  th’  ensanguin’d  shore, 
433. 

Soon  as  Aurora,  Daughter  of  the  Dawn,  602. 

Soon  as  Aurora  heav’d  her  orient  head,  471. 

Soon  as  Glumdalelitch  miss’d  her  pleasing  care. 

122. 

Speak,  Gracious  Lord,  oh,  speak  ; thy  servant 
hears,  1. 

Statesman,  yet  Friend  to  Truth  ! of  Soul  sin- 
cere, 134. 

Such  were  the  notes  thy  once-lov’d  Poet  sung, 
116. 


Not  to  admire,  is  all  the  art  I know,  189. 

Not  twice  a twelvemonth  you  appear  in  print. 
208..  ’ 
Not  with  more  glories,  in  th’  ethereal  plain,  90. 
Nothing  so  true  as  what  you  once  let  fall,  161. 
Now  Europe  balanced,  neither  side  prevails, 
79. 

Now  from  the  finish’d  games  the  Grecian  band, 

520. 

NoW  had  Minerva  reach’d  those  ample  plains, 
594. 

Now  Heav’n  forsakes  the  fight ; th’  immortals 
yield,  322. 

Now  in  swift  flight  they  pass  the  trench  pro- 
found, 421. 


Tell,  if  you  can,  which  did  the  worse,  132. 

The  Basset-Table  spread,  the  Tallier  come,  105. 
The  fair  Pomona  flourish’d  in  his  reign,  65. 
The  Mighty  Mother,  and  her  son  who  brings, 
22G. 

The  patient  heav’nly  man  thus  suppliant  pray’d, 

553# 

The  playful  smiles  around  the  dimpled  mouth, 
109. 

The  sacred  Sun  above  the  waters  rais’d,  535. 
The  saffron  Morn,  with  early  blushes  spread, 
374. 

Then  fierce  the  Hero  o’er  the  threshold  strode, 
618. 

Then  thus  Ulysses  : ‘ Thou  whom  first  in  sway, 


O Happiness  ! our  being’s  end  and  aim  J 150. 

O wretched  B[ritain],  jealous  now  of  all,  128. 

Of  all  the  causes  which  conspire  to  blind,  70. 

Of  gentle  Philips  will  I ever  sing,  121. 

Of  Manners  gentle,  of  Affections  mild,  135. 

Oh,  be  thou  blest  with  all  that  Heav’n  can 
send,  118. 

On  the  cold  earth  divine  Patroclus  spread,  449. 
Once  in  his  life  M[oo]re  judges  right,  132. 

Once  (says  an  author,  where  I need  not  say), 
130. 

Ozell,  at  Sanger’s  call,  invoked  his  Muse,  80. 

Pallas  grew  vapourish  once  and  odd,  121. 
Parson,  these  things  in  thy  possessing,  18. 
Peace,  flatt’ring  Bishop  ! lying  Dean  ! 131. 
Phryne  had  talents  for  mankind,  18. 

Prodigious  this  ! the  Frail-one  of  our  play,  100. 

Resign’d  to  live,  prepared  to  die,  128. 


There  are  (I  scarce  can  think  it,  but  am  told), 
182. 

There  liv’d  in  Lombardy,  as  authors  write,  35. 
This  modest  stone,  what  few  vain  marbles  can, 
135. 

This  verse  be  thine,  my  friend,  nor  thou  refuse, 

82. 

Tho’  Artemisia  talks  by  fits,  18. 

Tho’  sprightly  Sappho  force  our  love  and  praise, 
130. 

Thou  who  shalt  stop  where  Thames’  translucent 
wave,  127.. 

Thus  by  their  leader’s  care  each  martial  band, 
287. 

Thus  humbled  in  the  dust  the  pensive  train, 

505.. 

Thus  joyful  Troy  maintain’d  the  watch  of  night, 

352.  . 

Thus  like  the  rage  of  fire  the  combat  burns, 
461. 


St.John,  whose  love  indulged  my  labours  past, 

Say,  lovely  Youth,  that  dost  my  heart  command, 

b°.  . 

See,  Sir,  here ’s  the  grand  approach,  101. 


Thus  round  Pelides  breathing  war  and  blood, 
477. 

Thus  to  their  bulwarks,  smit  with  panic  fear, 
496. 

Thv  forest,  Windsor  ! and  thy  green  retreats, 


INDEX  OF  FIRST  LINES 


669 


Thyreliques,  Rowe!  to  this  sad  shrine  we  trust, 
134. 

Thyrsis ! the  music  of  that  murm’ring  spring, 

20. 


What  makes  you  write  at  this  odd  rate  ? 132. 
What ’s  Fame  with  men,  by  custom  of  the 
nation,  101. 

When  Eastern  lovers  feed  the  Funeral  Fire, 


’T  is  all  a libel  — Paxton,  Sir,  will  say,  210. 

’T  is  hard  to  say  if  greater  want  of  skill,  07. 

’T  is  strange  the  Miser  should  his  cares  employ, 
171. 


130. 


When  now  the  Thund’rer  on  the  sea-beat  coast, 
390. 


When  other  fair  ones  to  the  shades  go  down. 


’T  is  true,  my  Lord,  I gave  my  word,  216. 

To  one  fair  lady  out  of  Court,  106. 

To  thee,  we  wretches  of  the  Houyhnhnm  band, 
123. 

To  this  sad  shrine,  whoe’er  thou  art,  draw 
near,  133. 

To  wake  the  soul  by  tender  strokes  of  art,  100. 
Tom  Wood  of  Chiswick,  deep  divine.  131. 

Under  this  Marble,  or  under  this  Sill,  136. 


125. 

When  simple  Macer , now  of  high  renown,  102. 
When  wise  Ulysses  from  his  native  coast,  79. 
Whence  deathless  ‘ Kit-cat  ’ took  its  name,  106, 
While  Celia’s  tears  make  sorrow  bright,  17. 
While  thus  the  hero’s  pious  cares  attend,  388; 
While  you,  great  Patron  of  Mankind  ! sustain, 
192. 

Who  shall  decide  when  doctors  disagree,  165, 
With  no  poetic  ardour  fired,  126. 

With  scornful  mien,  and  various  toss  of  air, 


Vital  spark  of  heav’nly  flame,  81. 


107. 

Women  ben  full  of  ragerie,  15. 


Welcome,  thrice  welcome  to  thy  native  place  ! 
124. 

Well,  if  it  be  my  time  to  quit  the  stage,  204. 

Well,  then,  poor  G lies  underground  ! 136. 

Wesley,  if  Wesley ’t  is  they  mean,  131. 

What,  and  how  great,  the  Virtue  and  the  Art, 
184. 


Ye  Lords  and  Commons,  men  of  wit,  120. 

Ye  Nymphs  of  Solyma  ! begin  the  song,  85. 

Ye  shades,  where  sacred  truth  is  sought,  117. 
Yes,  I beheld  th’  Athenian  Queen,  127. 

Yes,  thank  my  stars  ! as  early  as  I knew,  202. 
Yes,  ’t  is  the  time  (I  cried),  impose  the  chain, 


What  beck’ning  ghost  along  the  moonlight 
shade,  83. 

What  dire  offence  from  am’rous  causes  springs, 
89. 

What  god,  what  genius  did  the  pencil  move, 
116. 

What  is  Prudery  ? 118. 


128. 

Yes,  we  have  liv’d  — One  pang  and  then  we 
part  ! 135. 

Yes,  you  despise  the  man  to  books  confin’d,  157. 
Yet,  yet  a moment,  one  dim  ray  of  light,  242. 
You  beat  your  Pate,  and  fancy  Wit  will  come, 
121. 


INDEX  OF  TITLES 


[The  titles  of  major  works  and  general  divisions  are  set  in  small  capitals.] 


Addison,  Mr.,  Epistle  to,  173. 

Alley,  The,  15. 

Anonymous,  A Question  by,  132. 

Answer  to  the  following  Question  of  Mrs.  Howe, 

Arbuthnot,  Dr.,  Epistle  to,  176. 

Argus,  79. 

Artemisia,  18. 

Atterbury,  Dr.  Francis,  On,  135. 

Autumn  ; or,  Hylas  and  vEgon,  24. 

Basset-Table,  The,  104. 

Bathurst,  Lord,  Lines  to,  102. 

Blount,  Miss,  Epistle  to,  with  the  Works  of 
Voiture,  80. 

Blount,  Mrs.  Teresa,  Epistle  to,  102. 

Boileau,  Verbatim  from,  130. 

Brutus,  Prayer  of,  108. 

Brutus,  Two  Choruses  to  the  Tragedy  of,  117. 
Buckingham,  Edmund,  Duke  of,  On,  136. 

Cato,  Prologue  to  Mr.  Addison’s,  100. 

Celia,  125. 

Challenge,  The,  106. 

Chaucer,  Imitation  of,  15. 

Corbet,  Mrs.,  On,  134. 

Cowley,  Imitation  of,  16. 

Craggs,  James,  Esq.,  Epistle  to,  115. 

Craggs,  James,  Esq.,  On,  134. 

Curll  Miscellanies,  The,  119. 

Dialogue,  A,  115. 

Donne,  Dr.  John,  Dean  of  St.  Paul’s,  Satires 
of,  versified,  202. 

Dorset,  Charles,  Earl  of,  On,  133. 

Dryope,  The  Fable  of,  63. 

Duke  of^  Buckingham,  Lines  occasioned  by 
Some  Verses  of  His  Grace  the,  103. 

Duke  of  Marlborough’s  House  at  Woodstock, 
Upon  the,  101. 

Dunciad,  The,  218. 

Dying  Christian  to  His  Soul,  The,  81. 

Earl  of  Dorset,  Imitation  of,  18. 

Early  Poems,  1 . 

Elegy  to  the  Memory  of  an  Unfortunate  Lady, 

Eloisa  to  Abelard,  110. 

Epigram  engraved  on  the  Collar  of  a Dog  which 
I gave  to  His  Royal  Highness,  131. 

Epigrams,  121,  128.  132,  133. 

Epigram  on  the  Toasts  of  the  Kit-cat  Club,  106. 
Epilogue  to  Mr.  Rowe’s  Jane  Shore,  100. 


Epilogue  to  the  Satires,  208. 

Epistle  to  Dr.  Arbuthnot,  176. 

Epistle  to  James  Craggs,  Esq.,  115. 

Epistle  to  Miss  Blount  with  the  works  of  Voi- 
ture, 80. 

Epistle  to  Mr.  Addison,  173. 

Epistle  to  Mr.  Jervas,  82. 

Epistle  to  Mrs.  Teresa  Blount,  102. 

Epistle  to  Robert,  Earl  of  Oxford  and  Morti- 
mer, 116. 

Epitaphs,  133. 

Epitaphs,  121,  132,  i,36. 

Essay  on  Criticism,  An,  67. 

Essay  on  Man,  An,  137. 

Europe,  The  Balance  of,  79. 

Extemporaneous  Lines  on  a Portrait  of  Lady 
Mary  Wortley  Montagu,  painted  by  Kneller, 
i no  J ’ 


Fable  of  Dryope,  The,  63. 

Farewell  to  London,  A,  103. 

Fenton,  Mr.  Elijah,  On,  135. 

First  Book  of  Statius’s  Thebais,  The,  2. 

For  One  who  would  not  be  buried  in  Westmin- 
ster Abbey,  136. 

Garden,  The,  16. 

Gay,  Mr.,  To,  116. 

Gay,  Mr.,  On,  135. 

Grub-Street  Journal,  From  the,  131. 

Gulliver,  Mary,  to  Captain  Lemuel  Gulliver,  123. 

Gulliver,  To  Mr.  Lemuel,  123. 

Happy  Life  of  a Country  Parson,  The,  18. 

Harcourt,  Hon.  Simon,  On  the,  133. 

Horace,  The  First  Epistle  of  the  First  Book  of, 
187. 

Horace,  The  Sixth  Epistle  of  the  First  Book  of, 
189. 

Horace,  The  Seventh  Epistle  of  the  First  Book 
of,  216. 

Horace,  The  First  Epistle  of  the  Second  Book 
of,  191. 

Horace,  The  Second  Epistle  of  the  Second  Book 
of,  197. 

Horace,  The  First  Satire  of  the  Second  Book 
of,  182. 

Horace,  The  Second  Satire  of  the  Second  Book 
of,  184. 

Horace,  The  Sixth  Satire  of  the  Second  Book 
of,  214. 

Horace,  The  First  Ode  of  the  Fourth  Book  of, 
217. 


INDEX  OF  TITLES 


671 


Horace,  Tlie  Ninth  Ode  of  the  Fourth  Book  of, 
217. 

Hough,  Bishop,  119.  . 

Howe,  Mrs.,  Answer  to  the  following  Question 
of,  118. 

Iliad,  The,  251. 

Imitations  of  English  Poets,  14. 

Imitation  of  Chaucer,  15. 

Imitation  of  Cowley,  16. 

Imitation  of  Dr.  Swift,  18. 

Imitation  of  Martial,  104. 

Imitation  of  Spenser,  15. 

Imitation  of  the  Earl  of  Dorset,  18. 

Imitation  of  the  Earl  of  Rochester,  17. 

Imitation  of  Tibullus,  104. 

Imitation  of  Waller,  196. 

Impromptu  to  Lady  Wincliilsea,  83. 

Inscription  on  a Grotto,  the  Work  of  Nine  La- 
dies, 131. 

Inscription  upon  a Puncli-Bowl,  An,  115. 

Jane  Shore,  Epilogue  to  Mr.  Rowe’s,  100. 
January  and  May;  or,  The  Merchant’s  Tale, 
35. 

, Jervas,  Mr.,  Epistle  to,  82. 

Kit-cat  Club,  Epigram  on  the  Toasts  of  the, 
106. 

Kneller,  Sir  Godfrey,  On,  134. 

Lamentation  of  Glumdalclitch  for  the  Loss  of 
Grildrig,  The,  122. 

Later  Poems,  125. 

Lines  occasioned  by  Some  Verses  of  His  Grace, 
the  Duke  of  Buckingham,  103. 

Lines  on  Swift’s  Ancestors,  130. 

Lines  to  Lord  Bathurst,  102. 

Lines  written  in  Evelyn’s  Book  of  Coins,  131. 
Lines  written  in  Windsor  Forest,  130. 

London,  A Farewell  to,  103. 

Looking-Glass,  The,  107. 

Macer,  102. 

Martial,  Imitation-  of,  104. 

, Men,  Of  the  Knowledge  and  Characters  of , 157. 
Messiah,  84. 

Montagu,  Lady  Mary  Wortley,  To,  109. 
Monument  of  the  Hon.  R.  Digby  and  of  His 
Sister  Mary,  On  the,  134. 

Moral  Essays,  156. 

More,  Mr.  John,  To,  119. 

Nature  and  State  of  Man,  with  respect  to  Hap- 
i piness,  Of  the,  150. 

Nature  and  State  of  Man,  with  respect  to  Him- 
self as  an  Individual,  Of  the,  141. 

Nature  and  State  of  Man,  with  respect  to  So- 
ciety, Of  the,  145. 

Nature  and  State  of  Man,  with  respect  to  the 
Universe,  Of  the,  137. 

Newton,  Sir  Isaac,  Intended  for,  135. 

Ode  for  Music  on  St.  Cecilia’s  Day,  78. 

Ode  on  Solitude,  1. 

Ode  to  Quinbus  Flest.rin,  121. 

Odyssey,  The,  535. 


On  a Certain  Lady  at  Court,  118. 

On  a Fan  of  the  Author’s  Design,  16. 

On  a Lady  singing  to  her  Lute,  16. 

On  a Picture  of  Queen  Caroline,  131. 

On  a Portrait  of  Lady  Mary  Wortley  Montagu, 
painted  by  Kneller,  109. 

On  Beaufort  House  Gate  at  Chiswick,  127. 

On  Certain  Ladies,  125. 

On  Charles,  Earl  of  Dorset,  133. 

On  Dr.  Francis  Atterbury,  135. 

On  Drawings  of  the  Statues  of  Apollo,  V enus, 
and  Hercules,  116. 

On  Edmund,  Duke  of  Buckingham,  136. 

On  General  Henry  Withers,  135. 

On  his  Grotto  at  Twickenham,  127. 

On  James  Craggs,  Esq.,  134. 

On  Mr.  Elijah  Fenton,  135. 

On  Mr.  Gay,  135. 

On  Mr.  Rowe,  134. 

On  Mrs.  Corbet,  134. 

On  Mrs.  Tofts,  a Famous  Opera-Singer,  80. 

On  receiving  from  the  Right  Hon.  the  i^ady 
Frances  Shirley  a Standish  and  Two  Pens, 
127. 

On  seeing  the  Ladies  at  Crux  Easton  walk  in 
the  Woods  by  the  Grotto,  131. 

On  Silence,  17. 

On  Sir  Godfrey  Kneller,  134. 

On  Sir  William  Trumbull,  133. 

On  the  Countess  of  Burlington  cutting  Paper, 
121. 

On  the  Hon.  Simon  Harcourt,  133. 

On  the  Monument  of  the  Hon.  R.  Digby  and  of 
his  Sister  Mary,  134. 

On  Two  Lovers  struck  Dead  by  Lightning, 
136. 

Oxford  and  Mortimer,  Epistle  to  Robert,  Earl 
of,  116.  _ , 

Oxford,  Right  Hon.  the  Earl  of,  To  the,  131. 

Paraphrase,  A (On Thomas  & Kempis,  1.  iii.c.2),l. 
Paraphrases  from  Chaucer,  35. 

Pastoral  Poetry,  Discourse  on,  19. 

Pastorals,  19. 

Phryne,  18. 

Poems  of  Uncertain  Date,  130. 

Poems  Suggested  by  Gulliver,  121. 

Poems  written  between  1708  and  1712,  78. 
Poems  written  between  1713  and  1717, 100. 
Prayer,  Universal,  175. 

Prayer  of  Brutus,  108. 

Prologue,  designed  for  Mr.  D’Urfey’s  Last 

Prologue  (to  a play  for  Mr.  Dennis’s  Benefit), 
125. 

Prologue  to  Mr.  Addison’s  Cato,  100. 

Prologue  to  the  ‘ Three  Hours  after  Marriage, 
108. 

Queen  Caroline,  On  a Picture  of,  131. 

Question  by  Anonymous,  A,  132. 

Quinbus  Fiestrin,  Ode  to,  121. 

Rape  of  the  Lock,  The,  88. 

Riches,  Of  the  Use  of,  165,  170. 

Rochester,  Earl  of,  Imitation  of,  17. 

Rowe,  Mr.,  On,  134. 


672 


INDEX  OF  TITLES 


St.  Cecilia’s  Day,  Ode  for  Music  on,  78. 

Sandys’  Ghost,  120- 
Sappho  to  Phaon,  60. 

Satires,  176. 

Satires,  Epistles,  and  Odes  of  Horace  imitated, 

Satires  of  Dr.  John  Donne,  Dean  of  St.  Paul’s, 
versified,  202. 

Seventeen  Hundred  and  Forty  (1740)  : A Poem, 

Shepherds,  The  Three  Gentle,  121. 

Solitude,  Ode  on,  1. 

Song-,  by  a Person  of  Quality,  126. 

Southern,  Mr.  Thomas,  To,  128. 

Spenser,  Imitation  of,  15. 

Spring  ; or,  Damon,  21 . 

Summer  ; or,  Alexis,  23. 

Swift’s  Ancestors,  Lines  on,  130. 

Swift,  Dr.,  Imitation  of,  18. 


To  Mr.  Thomas  Southern,  128. 

To  Mrs.  M.  B.  on  Her  Birthday,  118. 

Io  the  Author  of  a Poem  entitled  Successio,  2. 
To  the  Right  Hbn.  the  Earl  of  Oxford,  131. 
Iranslations  from  Homer,  251. 
Translations  from  Ovid,  60. 

Translator,  The,  80. 

Trumbull,  Sir  William,  On,  133. 

Twickenham,  On  his  Grotto  at,  127. 

Two  Choruses  to  the  Tragedy  of  Brutus,  117. 

I wo  Lovers,  struck  Dead  by  Lightning,  On,  136. 


Umbra,  119. 

Universal  Prayer,  175. 


Verbatim  from  Boileau,  130. 
Verses  left  by  Mr.  Pope,  126. 
Verses  to  Mr.  C.,  116. 
Vertumnus  and  Pomona,  65. 


Thebais,  The  First  Book  of  Statius’s,  2. 
Temple  of  Fame,  The,  52. 

Tibullus,  Imitation  of,  104. 

To  a Lady,  with  the  Temple  of  Fame,  101. 
To  Erinna,  130. 

To  Lady  Mary  Wortley  Montagu,  109. 

To  Mr.  Gay,  116. 

To  Mr.  John  More,  119. 

To  Mr.  Lemuel  Gulliver,  123. 


Waller,  Imitation  of,  16. 

Weeping,  17. 

Wife  of  Bath,  The,  46. 

Winchilsea,  Impromptu  to  Lady,  83. 
Windsor  Forest,  28.  . 

Windsor  Forest,  Lines  written  in,  130. 
Winter  ; or,  Daphne,  26. 

Withers,  General  Henry,  On,  135. 
Women,  Of  the  Characters  of,  161. 


